Chapter 443
Xander
All of us had found spaces to sleep in the tiny cabins belowdecks. We had all wanted to be together,
but there was no bed big enough for the four of us. Also, Stella had told us that sheâd seen us
sleeping in our own beds, and so we had agreed.
Exhaustion claimed me right away, but my sleep was fitful. I tossed and turned until finally, I sat
straight up in bed and grazed the ceiling with my head. For a second, I didnât know where I was.
I wasnât tossing and turning. The yacht was. Without any windows in the cabin, the room was pitch
black, but I felt the boat rolling from side to side. I put out a hand to feel for the wall, suddenly afraid
I was not in a boat, on the sea, but in space, floating without protection. Maybe dreaming. Maybe
transported to some far off place Iâd never heard of.
The second my fingers brushed the wall, I felt solid, anchored, and myself again. I shook off the
fears trying to consume me and fumbled for the light switch. The lights wouldnât turn on, even
though I flicked it several times.
My wolf took over.
He didnât take my body, just my vision and instincts so I could make my way to the door and the
hallway beyond. It was dark there, too, but a faint strip of emergency lighting led me to the stairs so
I could get up on deck. Zane and Mason were right behind me. Lanie had beat us there. I couldnât
see Stella.
âSheâs up there!â Lanie pointed. She had to shout over the sound of the lashing winds pushing
waves up and over the deck.
The sky was light overhead, but not from the sun or the moon. An eerie green glow crackled with
electricity and showed off rolling clouds of billowing fog.
âThat is not normal,â Zane thought-shouted to me.
The fog made a wall. It was hard to see if it was solid, as in if the yacht would crash into it or go
through it, but it was definitely not moving the way fog was supposed to. The wall stretched from the
roiling ocean all the way up to the skies and beyond.
As we all gathered on the foredeck in front of the wheelhouse, I turned to look up into the windows
for any sight of the captain. His silhouette lit up in another flash of lightning. He looked scared out of
his mind. His eyes were wide. His mouth, gaping open in a scream I couldnât hear over the rush and
roar of the storm.
All of a sudden, his gaze locked onto mine. He disappeared from view. Moments later, he was on
the deck, plunging toward us. He slid on the slick wood and fell to one knee. He struggled to get up,
but the yacht was riding a tall wave that pitched us up at an angle so sharp he couldnât get his
footing.
Zane lost his balance and slid down the deck to collide with a large box labeled with emergency
gear. Mason managed to grab onto the railing and stop himself from falling, and he reached out to
grab Lanie and hold her close to stop her, too.
I staggered back, arms pinwheeling, as the yachtâs position shifted and then sent me forward again.
The captain grabbed at my arm and hauled himself upright. His eyes blazed with fear.
âWhat is this? What is happening?â His lips shaped the words, but I could still only barely hear him.
If he wasnât at the helm, were we going to crash? I didnât know shit about how boats worked. The
captain grappled with me, clutching at the front of my shirt. He was still shouting, but I couldnât
understand him. I felt his terror, all right. Sour and stinking even over the electrical scent of the
storm.
Stella appeared like sheâd been there all along and we simply hadnât seen her. Maybe sheâd been
invisible. Maybe we were all hallucinating.
Maybe we were all going to die.
The yacht bore down on the wall of fog at top speed. Every second it seemed like weâd burst
through it, but it remained the same distance away. And then, a hand curled out of the fog. It was
made of the fog itself. Long-taloned fingers clawed.
It grabbed the captain and lifted him into the air, squeezing as his arms and legs flailed. He was
shrieking. The phantom fist crushed him and began to draw him into the wall of mist.
Stella held up both her hands, then slammed them down. The giant hand dropped the captain into a
boneless heap on the deck. I could tell by the way he landed that he was already dead.
The hand disappeared. Was that a scream? An endless, ageless howl of rage? Or was it the storm,
still rising?
Stella worked her hands again, moving them. The captain got to his feet. He lurched toward the
wheelhouse.
He was dead, all right, but Stella was moving him. The rest of us fought to keep our feet as the
captain reappeared in the wheelhouse windows. Stella turned and jumped up on the front of the
boat, holding onto the railing as though she meant to go over.