stirred his emotions as well as his blood, a lethal combination when it came to his baser nature. In his weakened state, he would have inevitably lost control, leaving him powerless as the curse latched on to her life force and drained her dry.
The knowledge offered no buffer of comfort, so he shifted his focus to Jolie Duquette, his last, best hope for breaking the shackles that bound him to the bane of his existence. If Duquette’s abilities matched her reputation, he’d be free of the curse by the time the ship disembarked from St. Angelique.
The possibility lifted his spirits and set his mind to racing. To imagining a life without the incessant demands of the beast, free to experience emotions he’d long avoided for the sake of maintaining control. A growing hope pushed back against the loneliness, filling him with the yearning to sever the ties to his solitary existence.
The crowded bus screeched to a stop, jarring Jack from his thoughts. The ride had taken him far from the southern tip of the island, with its shiny new buildings and squeaky-clean streets. So pristine, so beautiful. So blatantly artificial. Not that the tourists seemed to mind. Most of them were too busy basking on the beaches or scuba diving off the coast to notice the desperation lurking beyond the borders of manufactured paradise. Armed guards patrolled the perimeter of the tourist sector, while the remainder of the island wallowed in a pitiful state of decay, still struggling to recover from the devastation brought on by Hurricane Emmaline two years before.
Taking in his surroundings, Jack spotted a tiny, bright green building on the opposite side of the road, the marker he’d been given to indicate his stop. He let go of the tattered handgrip hanging from the ceiling and wove a path to the front of the bus. Once there, he gave the driver a few coins in exchange for directions to Jolie’s home. The old man stashed the money in a dented metal lockbox before rattling off a series of rapid-fire instructions in heavily accented Creole, one hand still gripping the steering wheel as the other pointed toward a rutted dirt road bearing east.
Against his better judgment, Jack followed the driver’s instructions, walking busy narrow streets past people of questionable intent. He was venturing deep into the hillside slums, an area typically avoided by tourists and anyone else with a lick of common sense. The air outside hung hot and humid, thick with the stench of poverty and decay.
Already, he’d felt a hand slip into the back pocket of his jeans, looking to swipe his wallet or anything else of value. Watchful eyes tracked his every movement, probably sizing up the potential of their latest mark. If he made it back to the ship with only a mugging, he’d consider himself fortunate.
Since street signs were nonexistent, he relied on the landmarks the bus driver had given him. He took a right at the burned-out building, then a left at the crumbling remains of a church. The road worsened the farther he walked, deteriorating to a muddy pathway between what looked like an old school bus tilted on its side and a massive pile of trash. A barefoot boy, no older than eight, rummaged through the mound of junk, presumably scavenging for anything of value. Scrawny and jaundiced, the child eyed Jack with open mistrust, muscles bunched as if ready to flee at the slightest hint of danger. It was enough to make Jack’s heart sink.
More than an hour had passed since he’d stepped off the bus. At this rate, he’d need at least two hours to return to the wharf—one hour for walking, plus an additional hour’s drive. Not to mention it probably wasn’t a very bright idea to be outside the security of the tourist corridor when night fell over the tiny island. If he didn’t reach his destination soon, he’d have no choice but to turn back.
Finally, just as he was thinking about giving up, he found the place he was searching for. Like most homes in the area, it
The knowledge offered no buffer of comfort, so he shifted his focus to Jolie Duquette, his last, best hope for breaking the shackles that bound him to the bane of his existence. If Duquette’s abilities matched her reputation, he’d be free of the curse by the time the ship disembarked from St. Angelique.
The possibility lifted his spirits and set his mind to racing. To imagining a life without the incessant demands of the beast, free to experience emotions he’d long avoided for the sake of maintaining control. A growing hope pushed back against the loneliness, filling him with the yearning to sever the ties to his solitary existence.
The crowded bus screeched to a stop, jarring Jack from his thoughts. The ride had taken him far from the southern tip of the island, with its shiny new buildings and squeaky-clean streets. So pristine, so beautiful. So blatantly artificial. Not that the tourists seemed to mind. Most of them were too busy basking on the beaches or scuba diving off the coast to notice the desperation lurking beyond the borders of manufactured paradise. Armed guards patrolled the perimeter of the tourist sector, while the remainder of the island wallowed in a pitiful state of decay, still struggling to recover from the devastation brought on by Hurricane Emmaline two years before.
Taking in his surroundings, Jack spotted a tiny, bright green building on the opposite side of the road, the marker he’d been given to indicate his stop. He let go of the tattered handgrip hanging from the ceiling and wove a path to the front of the bus. Once there, he gave the driver a few coins in exchange for directions to Jolie’s home. The old man stashed the money in a dented metal lockbox before rattling off a series of rapid-fire instructions in heavily accented Creole, one hand still gripping the steering wheel as the other pointed toward a rutted dirt road bearing east.
Against his better judgment, Jack followed the driver’s instructions, walking busy narrow streets past people of questionable intent. He was venturing deep into the hillside slums, an area typically avoided by tourists and anyone else with a lick of common sense. The air outside hung hot and humid, thick with the stench of poverty and decay.
Already, he’d felt a hand slip into the back pocket of his jeans, looking to swipe his wallet or anything else of value. Watchful eyes tracked his every movement, probably sizing up the potential of their latest mark. If he made it back to the ship with only a mugging, he’d consider himself fortunate.
Since street signs were nonexistent, he relied on the landmarks the bus driver had given him. He took a right at the burned-out building, then a left at the crumbling remains of a church. The road worsened the farther he walked, deteriorating to a muddy pathway between what looked like an old school bus tilted on its side and a massive pile of trash. A barefoot boy, no older than eight, rummaged through the mound of junk, presumably scavenging for anything of value. Scrawny and jaundiced, the child eyed Jack with open mistrust, muscles bunched as if ready to flee at the slightest hint of danger. It was enough to make Jack’s heart sink.
More than an hour had passed since he’d stepped off the bus. At this rate, he’d need at least two hours to return to the wharf—one hour for walking, plus an additional hour’s drive. Not to mention it probably wasn’t a very bright idea to be outside the security of the tourist corridor when night fell over the tiny island. If he didn’t reach his destination soon, he’d have no choice but to turn back.
Finally, just as he was thinking about giving up, he found the place he was searching for. Like most homes in the area, it
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