Page 65 of Eternal Devotion

As the boat approached, I withdrew into the forest and watched, straining to hear every bit of conversation.

The men disembarked and tied the boat.

Laughter.

Good-natured jests.

“Fuck, I’m hungry,” one said.

“Are we grabbing a beer?” another asked.

“Take this for a second.” The speaker handed a burlap bag to his companion as he climbed from the boat.

As they crossed toward the Bruce Trail, the man opened the bag and dumped its contents into the brush. The repugnant odor of wild garlic made me stumble backward with a strangled cry.

The men must have heard my unquiet retreat and stilled. One man grabbed the arm of another while holding a finger to his lips. No one spoke as they peered into the forest in my direction. If I was at my strongest, I would have twisted their minds into believing they had heard nothing or implanted the suggestion that the clamor was merely an animal, but I couldn’t.

Eventually, after several minutes of uncomfortable silence, they continued. I should have followed, but I couldn’t, not with any expedience or fastidiousness. Not when the presence of rotting garlic all but confirmed my suspicion.

I should have fed, but my stubbornness won. One more day. Rest would help. I had a potential location, something to explore. It was a start.

The men left from a half dozen vehicles they had parked on a different side street. Once they were gone, I returned to the dock and boat—giving the dumped garlic flowers a wide berth—and debated crossing. The vessel had carried six men both ways, yet I couldn’t convince myself to take the short trip across the water.

Another time. When I was stronger. I would have to eat if I was going to succeed in this task. One more day. It had become a mantra. Not yet. A little longer. This isn’t suffering.

I studied the island for hours as the moon took its journey across the sky. Walking the perimeter of the Sydenham, I sought evidence of life or a structure or some kind that I’d missed, but if one existed, I couldn’t see it.

At close to four in the morning, I used the last of my energy to fly over it. Still, even at low altitude and with autumn reducing the dense tree cover by half, I saw nothing noteworthy.

I headed home, fearing I would be too depleted if I waited any longer.

Collapsing in front of the mansion, my knees buckled, and I braced a hand on the ground as wave after wave of nausea blurred my vision and hunger cleaved my insides.

I smelled him before he spoke. Chamomile tea, crisp apples, and laundry hung in the summer sun.

“Mordecai?”

My brain was too rotted to question how and why he was there.

Base desires roared to life, and the thin threads of suppression were so frayed, I wasn’t sure how much longer I would be able to control them. On impulse, my teeth elongated. Saliva pooled inside my mouth.

I turned and found him standing on the other side of the fountain as though he’d recently emerged from the forest beyond. Wild round eyes full of terror took me in, but he didn’t retreat.

How was he here? How could he remember?

It was I who stumbled backward, hand extended. “Stay away.”

He didn’t listen and advanced, rounding the fountain with slow, cautious steps, his gaze never leaving mine.

“Ensley,” I warned. My legs quivered with the urge to pounce. Defying those natural instincts, I tripped on my feet and fell on my ass.

He stopped several feet away when I hissed and bared my teeth, the truth exposed. Raw and unkind. I didn’t want to frighten him, but I needed him to stay back. The frenzy wanted unleashing, and my control was slipping. My human side, if one remained, had withdrawn into the dark.

Only three weeks. It had only been three weeks.

“What… What are you?” he whispered.

Instead of answering, I unleashed a banshee-like scream that shattered the night before tearing into the house.