ISLAND ILLUSIONS (#2 PARADISE ISLAND duology)

--four--

Teeth clattering from the intensity of the air-conditioning, Miles groaned, throwing off the blanket he'd wrapped around himself. The cold had seeped into his bones and wouldn't quit, and the more he clenched his jaw, the more the migraine that had developed across his forehead grew worse.

Did they have medicine in this place?

No, they'd want me to work out my migraine by hitting someone, right?

He got to his feet and stomped over to the door, exiting out into the overheated afternoon. The blast of warmth caressed his cheeks and instantly soothed his frozen insides, prompting him to unleash the tiniest of smiles.

He absorbed a deep breath, filling his nostrils with the forest fresh scent, begging it to replace Kera's powdery flower aroma he hadn't been able to fully erase. That softness, that comforting smell that had imprinted into his mind after she'd snuggled in his arms, trusting him. Trusting him.

No matter what he did, no matter how he shoved the memory of her down, she kept resurfacing as if she were sitting right next to him, laughing. Or standing beside him, arms crossed as she scanned the horizon with a scowl. Whispering under her breath how all this was unfair, how she shouldn't have been there, shouldn't have been involved.

That was true—she shouldn't have been there. And Miles was slowly realizing that might have been his fault. He could have stopped her before she trespassed into the forest, told her to mind her own business, told her to save herself. He never should have invited her to come along. But how could he have guessed traversing some invisible line into a dark wood might have spelled out his doom? Their doom? He was too busy investigating, too busy following Jessa without question, uncaring of the trouble it'd get him in. Hadn't he told Kera he'd look out for her, ensure she'd get home? Now, he wasn't sure she ever would.

"I'm an idiot," he said under his breath, as he marched over to the iron bench overlooking the bay. The one where Patrek had been seated earlier, but it was now deserted, calling Miles over to it.

He sat, the hot, sunlit surface scorching his ass. He hissed, but settled on the bench and stared down at the view. Sparkling waters—poisoned waters. A heavenly cove of tranquility—of captivity. The postcard image of a tropical island, but it was all fake. Behind that image was the truth: a horde of captors seeking to fuck up young adults like him for absolutely no reason.

He knew he'd done the right thing by scaring Kera, by dropping their alliance to protect himself and the others, and to some extent, her. And yet he'd been cruel, he remembered. His words sliced through her; he'd seen the pain in her face, the discomfort in her posture, shrugging forward in shame. Sure, she'd said wicked things, too; but all of it was warranted, all of it was true. Miles wouldn't deny that, and he could no longer deny that he might have acted too hastily.

He should have approached things differently, instead of impulsively throwing Kera in the face of danger. Yes, her behavior was dangerous, but why had he selfishly shoved her off instead of actually helping her? Guiding her? Explaining to her what his plan was, what he'd been working on in silence since he'd found out he was stuck on the island? There would have been a way to tell her without drawing attention. The ruler couldn't be hovering over them at all times, could she?

He hadn't trusted Kera, not the way she'd trusted him. And now she was on her own and he couldn't help her, because he was being watched, and she was public enemy number one. If he tried to contact her, to reach her, to offer any kind of assistance, the ruler would know. What would the ruler do with him if he were communicating with the person who'd spread the most discord in their group, the one who was capable of waking doubt in all of them?