Page 5 of Seducing Scylla (Mated Myths #1)

Morgan

T o be honest, I don’t run very fast. I’m not a runner, but I pump my short legs as if I spend every day training for a marathon.

Sand kicks out behind me with every step.

I swing my arms as fast as I can and my breaths come in gasps, half terror and half struggling to suck in as much air as possible.

My makeshift cardigan hat flies off my head and I don’t stop to retrieve it.

I don’t stop for anything. Not even to see if the creatures are chasing me.

I hope they’re not chasing me. I’m sure as heck not turning around to find out.

That’s how the girl always dies in a horror movie, and this is feeling pretty damn scary.

I hightail it down the beach away from the creatures, the containers, and the other women. I can’t stop to think about how it looked like they were taking the injured woman with them. Or how I just left them all. I choke out a sob amongst panting breaths. I left them .

The sand morphs into craggy rocks that I slip and slide on, where patches of green algae coat the surface.

The rocky platform juts further out to sea at the base of a dark, stony cliff face.

Tide pools are scattered amongst the rocky surface and waves crash against the edge where the plateau drops off into the ocean.

I scramble, maneuvering the uneven and slippery terrain as quickly as I possibly can.

The blood in my veins pounds in my ears, drowning out the sound of the waves and my harsh breaths.

I begin to lag; my pace becoming not much more than a brisk walk. Exhaustion, fear, and heat have chipped away at me since I was taken. With each step, I feel my will to continue slowly being sapped away. I’m tired of running. I don’t think I can physically run anymore anyway.

I take a risk and glance over my shoulder, expecting to see them right behind me, their forked tongues teasing at the back of my neck as they stare down their next meal.

But they aren’t there. There’s no one chasing me at all.

In fact, I can’t even see where the containers are beached; the cliff face has led me around a bend, and I’m hidden from view.

It’s just me, the rocks, and the ocean .

I slow to a walk, not willing to stop to rest yet; not quite trusting that they won’t round the corner at any moment. I can’t go back the way I came. What if they’re waiting for me? I carry on the only way I can; forward, with one wary step in front of the other.

Water inches across the rocky platform, lapping at my feet and soaking my flats.

My shoes are battered and torn from the abuse they’ve endured in the last…

I don’t know how long it’s been since I was taken.

They do the bare minimum to keep my feet protected from the sharp edges of the rocks and they certainly don’t keep my feet dry, but I don’t dare part with them.

I don’t know how quickly the water will rise with the incoming tide.

I don’t want to risk being caught out here neck-deep in water.

I keep walking forward, my pace quickening once again.

I feel utterly miserable and I’m trying not to think about the water now kissing my ankles, making it harder to discern where is safe to step on the algae-covered rocks.

I stop sharply, the rocky plateau dropping off into the ocean a few meters away, the waves now churning more violently as they crash down upon the stone and rush over its surface with the rising tide.

There’s nothing else. Nowhere to go. It’s steep cliff to my right, eventually meeting back up with a new section of beach, but unless I have suddenly developed the ability to expertly free climb, there is no way I can reach the safety of the other shore.

I let out a whine of disbelief. I turn around.

Can I make it back the other way before the tide sweeps me out to sea?

The water level is rising quickly, almost to my knees in just a few short minutes.

The idea of being sucked out to sea will shortly become a very real possibility.

Maybe I could just throw myself into it and get it over with.

What’s the alternative? Starve? If I don’t die of thirst first. Heat exhaustion could take me out before then.

I don’t know where I am. I don’t know if anyone is looking for me.

Us. Then there are red creatures with wings out there that could do god knows what with me.

If there are creatures like that, then what else is out there?

I think I’d rather be a meal for the sharks.

I continue walking back the way I came, bracing myself against the rocky cliff face, as I lift my legs high above the water with each step, fighting against the suction of the tide.

I misstep, my foot landing on an algae-covered rock instead of a safe one, and fall backward into the water.

I cough and splutter as the salty water splashes against my face where I half lay on the rocks, my head and neck just above the water.

From this angle, something catches my attention.

I can see a dark crevice in the face of the cliff, four feet above the current waterline, a foot or so above where my head would be.

The crevice itself wouldn’t be notable except the rocky cliff face almost looks like it has been carved to make a ladder leading up to this patch of darkness.

They’re not perfectly made by any means, but they definitely look like footholds.

Pushing myself out of the water, now completely saturated, I look again.

It should only be just above my head, but when standing, it’s completely obscured, the rock face blending seamlessly to hide it.

I push through the water until I think I should be standing directly under it and look up.

The opening is small, only big enough for one person to hunch inside it.

“Huh.” How peculiar.

With the tide gaining on me, I have few other options. If I can climb up there, I can wait it out for a few hours. I hope it’s high enough, otherwise I might be taking a swim with the fish regardless .

I take a few steps back, searching for the first foothold.

Finding it, I notice it’s not quite deep enough for a full foot.

I test it precariously with my toes, putting as much weight on it as I can while clutching at the damp cliff face.

It holds, my toes straining inside my flats.

Grabbing onto a crack above my head, I search for the next foothold and place my other foot in it and now I’m suspended completely out of the water.

My limbs shake, unused to using the muscles in my fingertips and toes.

I look up for the next handhold and push up to grab it.

I sigh, resting the side of my face on the cold rock in front of me.

Lifting my foot, I find the next foothold.

I do this four more times, my hands scrambling at the edge of the opening as my arms breach the edge. One more.

I give a gladiator-like scream and heave myself up, crawling forward with my arms until my stomach breaches the lip, and then a knee, which I use to push me deeper into the hole. My fingers are torn and bleeding as I lay on my stomach on the damp sandy rock, panting. I did it.