“She will be waiting for us there.”

  The words hung in the stale air, vibrating with a cold that didn’t belong to Damon. Then, the amber light in his eyes sputtered. It died like a blown fuse. His knees buckled, and he hit the metal floor with a dead-weight thud.

  Now, the cabin walls pressed in, metal and rust and the stink of seawater that had settled into every crevice. Frankie stood near the rusted porthole, watching Damon where he sat slumped against the wall. His breathing came in ragged pulls. Each exhale seemed to take effort. Dee Dee hunched over her phone by the door, scrolling through photos of the ship’s layout they’d snapped before the signal died. The screen’s pale glow lit her face from below, throwing shadows across her furrowed brow. Ted paced. Three steps one way. Turn. Three steps the opposite direction. The floorboards creaked under his weight.

  “We can’t stay here,” Dee Dee said. Her voice was low, steady. She didn’t lift her eyes from the screen. “Camella said the clue is in the Captain’s safe. On the bridge. We find it, we find the skin, we salt it, and this nightmare ends.”

  “The bridge means going up through the promenade decks,” Ted said. He stopped pacing. His sneakers squeaked on the damp metal. “With the—with the people. The dead ones.”

  The sour tang of fear spiked in the air, rolling off Ted in waves. It burned Frankie’s nose, sharp and metallic, overpowering the smell of rust. She’d seen them. Translucent forms flickering in doorways. The crew. The passengers. Hundreds of souls, trapped and twisted by decades of torment. Some had faces. Some didn’t. The ones without faces were worse.

  “We go together,” Frankie said. She pressed her palms against the cold porthole glass. “We stick close, we move fast.”

  Ted’s eyes cut to Damon. “What about him?”

  Damon sat with his head bowed, palms pressed to his temples. Sweat sheened his dark skin, caught the weak overhead light. His dreadlocks hung limp around his face, dripping condensation.

  “He comes with us,” Frankie said.

  “Frankie.” Ted’s voice dropped. “He can barely stand.”

  “I said he comes with us.”

  “You saw what she did to him.” Ted gestured toward Damon. His hand shook slightly. “She hugged him close to death. Then she put hooks into him. What happens when we’re in those corridors and she decides to yank her fishing rod?”

  Heat flared in Frankie’s chest. She took a step toward Ted. “We’re not leaving him.”

  “I’m not saying leave him. I’m saying—” Ted ran a hand through his blonde hair. It stood up in wild spikes where his fingers passed through. “I’m saying he’s a liability. He needs to stay here where it’s safe—where we’re safe from—”

  “Say it.”

  Damon’s voice cut through the cabin.

  The sound was wrong. Not deep. Not warm. It scratched its way out of his throat, dry as dead leaves. “From me. You want to lock me in here because you think I’m dangerous.”

  Frankie turned. Damon had lifted his head. His eyes—those warm brown eyes she’d admired from afar for years, those eyes that had softened when he’d smiled at her on the beach three days ago—were different. The amber glow was faint but unmistakable. Like embers buried in ash.

  “Damon,” Frankie started.

  “You want to leave me behind.” Damon stood. His movements were too smooth. Too controlled. No stumbling, no weakness in his legs. He swayed slightly but didn’t fall. “You think I’m weak.”

  “Damon, look at yourself. You’re not—”

  “You’ve always been jealous.” The words came out cold. Vicious. Each syllable sharp enough to draw blood. “Jealous I surf better. Jealous Frankie wanted me instead of you.”

  Ted’s mouth dropped. “That’s not true, dude! I love Frankie as a friend. Not as a girlfriend. She wanted you!”

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  Frankie’s throat constricted. “Damon, stop. You’re not—”

  “Always the sidekick, aren’t you, Ted?” Damon’s lips pulled into a smile. But it wasn’t his smile. It stretched too wide, showed too many teeth. The expression didn’t reach his eyes. “Making jokes so no one notices you’re useless.”

  The cabin’s temperature seemed to drop. Frankie’s breath misted in front of her face.

  “Ted knows what he is.” The voice was still Damon’s—but underneath it, something else threaded through. Dry. Grinding. Like charcoal rubbing on paper. “A coward hiding behind a laugh track. No wonder you want me gone. Can’t handle being near a real man.”

  Ted flinched. His hands clenched into fists. The knuckles went white.

  “Damon.” Dee Dee stepped forward. She held her phone like a weapon. “You need to fight her. She’s in your head. She’s—”

  Damon moved.

  One second he stood by the wall. The next he slammed into Ted, driving him across the cabin.

  They hit the metal table with a crash. The impact rang through the confined space. Dee Dee screamed. Ted’s breath punched out in a whoosh as Damon’s hands wrapped around his throat.

  “She showed me the truth,” Damon hissed. His eyes blazed amber now, bright and burning. Twin flames. “Showed me what you think of me. How you laugh. How you pity me.”

  Ted clawed at Damon’s wrists. His fingernails scraped skin. His face reddened.

  Adrenaline hit.

  The room tilted.

  Time stopped.

  Dee Dee’s scream was a low, drawn-out drone. Dust motes hung suspended in the air. Frankie launched herself across the cabin. She crossed the distance in a heartbeat. She grabbed Damon’s shoulders. Yanked him off Ted.

  He felt heavy. Wrong. Like trying to hold back a falling tree. He twisted in her grip with a jerky, mechanical violence, snarling, and for a heartbeat his teeth were too sharp, his nails too long.

  “Let go!” Frankie’s voice came out strangled as she wrestled him toward the wall. He fought her—really fought—with a strength no human should possess. His muscles bunched under her hands, rigid as iron. They crashed into the bulkhead hard enough to dent the metal. The impact sent vibrations through the floor.

  Frankie spun him.

  She slammed him chest-first into the rust-streaked surface.

  She pinned his arms.

  Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. Her fangs threatened to descend, but she forced them down, forced herself to stay human. Forced the change back.

  “Damon. Damon, it’s me.” She pressed her weight against him, immobile. Every muscle in his body was taut, ready to spring. “Fight her. I know you’re in there.”

  He thrashed. His head cracked against the metal. Once. Twice. Blood smeared on the rust.

  “Damon!”

  The thrashing slowed. His breathing hitched—jagged, desperate gasps. Like a drowning man breaking the surface.

  “She wants you to hurt us,” Frankie said into his ear. His skin was cold. Too cold. “She feeds on it. Don’t give her what she wants.”

  His whole body shuddered. The amber glow flickered. Faded. The light dimmed like someone had turned down a lamp.

  “Frankie?” His voice broke on her name. Small. Terrified. Completely, utterly him. “Oh God. Frankie, I—”

  She loosened her grip slightly. Enough for him to turn his head. His eyes were brown again. Wide with horror. Tears tracked down his cheeks, leaving cut clean lines through the sweat and grime.

  “She’s in my head.” The words spilled out fast, panicked. He could barely get them past his lips. “I can’t—she shows me things, makes me see—makes me want—” A sob ripped from his chest. His shoulders hitched. “I tried to hurt Ted. I tried to—”

  “You didn’t.” Frankie’s own throat tightened. She swallowed hard. “You didn’t hurt him.”

  “She’s getting stronger.” Damon clutched his temples, fingers digging into his skin. Hard enough to leave marks. “Every second, she digs deeper. I can hear her laughing. Frankie, she’s going to make me—”

  He cried out. His spine arched. The amber glow surged.

  “No!” Frankie pressed him flat against the wall. The metal groaned under the pressure. “Stay with me. Damon, stay—”

  “I can’t fight her much longer.” His voice cracked. Raw. Broken. “You need to go. Find the skin. End this.”

  “Not without you.”

  “Frankie—”

  “I said no.” She held him tighter as he struggled against another wave of Vondra’s influence. His body convulsed. Behind her, she heard Ted coughing, Dee Dee helping him up. The cabin reeked of rust and fear and salt. The air was thick with it, coating her tongue.

  Damon’s whole body went rigid. Relaxed. Rigid again. A puppet with tangled strings.

  “Frankie,” he gasped. His voice was his own again, but barely. Threadbare. Fraying at the edges. “She’s in my head. I can’t—”

  The amber flared. Damon screamed. The sound tore from his throat, bounced off the metal walls, filled every corner of the cabin.

  Frankie tightened her grip until her knuckles ached. She felt the hum of his pulse under her palms. Erratic. Terrified.

  She wasn’t leaving him.

  She would save him.

  Or she would die trying.