Page 43

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

NAKOA

W ith great reluctance, I detangle myself from my mate and my pack to check the progress of Salvation. I’m anxious to see if we’re inching closer to North Sector’s shore or drifting out to sea, seeing as Leo, Raphael, and I got the engine running on a wing and a prayer.

I shield my eyes from the setting sun, just as we enter a wall of mist followed by a seemingly impenetrable fog.

I frown knowing that I have to trust that we’re in the right direction because the amount of tinkering was the wheel on this floating rusted piece of shit will reassure me.

I just have to trust it believe it. But I’ve never been someone to believe without seeing it with my own two eyes.

“Compass… I need to find a compass.”

Well today, consider yourself a believer. Now get your ass away from the wheel, Nakoa

I still at my name, my true name, rolling from my omega’s full lips as she grins up at me. She tucks my hand against the swell of her belly.

“What about your brother?”

I’d long since given up on rescuing him, but if a ship really did make it off the island…

Hope is such a dangerous, fragile thing.

I don’t know what I did to deserve someone so precious, but I’ll fight until my dying breath to protect Grace.

I’m going to get seasick, she teases, but the greenish hue to her cheeks is enough for me to pull back. The air smells bad enough today. Don’t need my omega spilling her guts all over the narrow deck.

“Isn’t that a… lighthouse?”

My eyes widened at this, elated because nothing has worked on this floating shitcan for a decade. Not without patching up.

But I tense as this new light flickers. A flashlight, maybe? But it seems to be laser sharp, like the toy Raphael showed me from the mainland when we were young, playing with his cat.

“Watch out!” I shout, shoving my mate into the net to cushion the thrust.

Before she can protest, I leap back as a barrage of bullets hits the deck. I see shadows marching on the sand instantly through the heavy fog. I don’t give my mind time to think my actions through; my first reaction is to grab a spear and hurl it at the one with a laser pointed at my mate.

The impact is brutal, blood splattering his comrade as I pick up yet another spear and chuck it.

These fucking savages can smell her. I know this. Only mates can smell unique pheromones after the claiming bite. But even a backwater BUMPKIN like me knows the scent of a pregnant omega doesn’t discriminate. So why they fuck are they targeting her and not me!?

“Grace, get below deck right now,” I grit out, trying to silence the wail of agony that claws at my throat.

I can’t scream, I can’t focus on the fact I think a bone was shattered by the bullet. Or maybe the clean exit wound just hurts that fucking much. Not like I’ve been shot before. I’ve been through many forms of torture, but nothing as fast as this.

Gut wrenching screams.

I have to focus on saving my baby and my omega!

But

go! I scream as another barrage of bullets batters the side of the haul.

Just as her brown curls bounce down the steps, a bullet barely misses her head. Rage blinds me to all else as a roar reads through me. I’m going to gut these bastards and hang them by said guts the second we make it on sure.

However, as the boat lurches, I’m not certain I’ll ever get the satisfaction. Everything is tilting too swiftly, too harshly from a slight adjustment of our course. Then, wetness coats my bare feet and I look down in horror.

The bullets has pierced the boat. We’re going to sink.

My mate, my child, my pack are going to drown if I don’t figure out what the fuck I’m going to do now.