Chapter 17
Blair’s POV
I’d been living on this island for a few months now.
Aside from the occasional supply boat that docked with fresh goods, it was completely cut off from the rest of the world.
My only companions were the salty sea breeze and the seabirds that sometimes skimmed past my window.
Was it lonely? Maybe, in the beginning. But as time dragged on, I’d gotten used to it. Life alone had turned out to be strangely peaceful–maybe even comforting in its own quiet way.
Back when I first arrived, I used to lie awake at night, haunted by everything that had happened between the two packs.
My chest would ache in the dark, the pain always creeping in just before sleep.
But as time went on, those memories sank deep–like stones tossed into the ocean, vanishing beneath the waves.
I no longer wanted to look back.
Everything tied to the packs… to Christian… felt like a dream from a past life, so far gone even the colors of it had started
to fade.
This morning, I checked the hurricane alert on my phone like I always did–just routine.
I made sure the windows and doors were secure, then curled up indoors and waited for the storm to pass.
A few hours later, to my surprise, the sun broke through the clouds. A rare clear day.
I stood in front of my cabin, gazing out at the deep, endless blue of the sea. Something inside me stirred–a sudden urge
to take a walk.
This ocean was a kind of blue I’d never seen before. Vast. Pure. As if it stretched all the way to the edge of the world.
Sometimes, I thought… maybe living like this, away from everything, wasn’t such a bad thing after all.
I strolled slowly down the beach, the sea breeze brushing against my face. Then, in the distance, something caught my
eye–a faint silhouette.
The scent on him was unfamiliar, which immediately put me on guard. But the way he lay there, barely breathing, made me
walk closer without thinking.
I approached–It was a man, curled up on the sand, completely soaked. The area beneath him was stained red with blood.
Had the storm washed him ashore last night?
I knelt down, about to check his pulse, when he stirred. A weak voice escaped his lips.
“Help… me…”
I hesitated for a second. Then, against better judgment, I brought him back to my home.
He slept deeply. I cleaned his wounds and gave him some medicine. When he finally opened his eyes again, it wasn’t the ocean or a hospital ceiling he saw–it was the roof of my home.
He tried to sit up, but I quickly held him down. “Don’t move. Your injuries aren’t healed yet. If those wounds split open
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again, I’m not saving your ass a second time.”
He stared at me, surprised. My voice wasn’t exactly warm, but my hands had been gentle.
I handed him the medicine. “Here. Take it.”
“What is it?” he asked, eyeing the pills warily.
I frowned slightly. “You’ve got a fever and the wounds are infected. Take it or don’t–up to you.”
He didn’t argue, just swallowed them all.
“Thanks for saving me,” he said. “I’m Cassian.”
I took his empty cup. “Can you contact your family? Have someone come pick you up?”
He shook his head and explained that he’d come to visit a nearby pack on a covert mission, but they were ambushed. His
warriors were dead, even his beta–all of them.
Injured and thrown into the sea, he’d only survived because last night’s storm washed him ashore here.
The mission was highly classified, known to very few, which made him suspect it was an inside job.
When he said this, his tone was so cold and detached it sent a chill down my spine.
“No one knows I’m here. Can I stay… just for a while? Until I recover.”
I looked at him, already knowing my answer. ‘No‘ rose to my lips… but in the end, I swallowed it.
“Fine. But once you’re healed, you leave. I don’t keep people here.‘
One afternoon, I was sitting by the floor–to–ceiling window, painting.
I painted the sea.
Outside, the sky was clear, a perfect blue stretching into the horizon. But on my canvas… it was all shadows and chaos. I didn’t know why. I thought I’d let go of all the pain, buried it deep, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t paint the
sunlight.
Cassian walked over and stood behind me, silent for a few moments.
Then he asked, “Are you… not happy?”
I didn’t answer. Just stared at the painting, my brush frozen midair.
Then suddenly, he picked up the brush and added a few strokes in the center of the canvas.
Amid all the darkness–he added a faint streak of light.
I blinked, stunned. Turned to look at him–and met his deep, steady gaze.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have touched your painting. But… I thought maybe this looked better. What do you think?”
I stayed quiet for a long time. Then finally, I set my brush down. “No… it’s good. Better than mine.”
He smiled. It was only then that I realized–he hadn’t talked much these past few days. But he’d always treated me with this quiet, respectful gentleness.
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“The supply boat’s coming tomorrow,” I said, getting up. “And your wounds are mostly healed now. You should leave
then.”
But he stepped in front of me.
“And what about you? Aren’t you leaving?”
I paused.
“This is my home now,” I said quietly. “Where else would I go?”
I’d been hurt too deeply. This island… was the only place I could hide.
The only place where no one would ever find me.
He looked at me, and something shifted in his eyes.
“Come with me,” he said. “Call it repaying a debt if you want. Let me take you out of here–even just for a little while.”
