Stuck in an Island with Twelve Beautiful Women
Chapter 1497

Chapter 1497: Chapter 1497

Jude didn’t know how long the glow lasted. It pulsed through them like a second heartbeat, their bodies tangled, spent, sated - and still craving.

The pool in the center of the chamber rippled, reflecting the golden hues of their skin, their markings, the soft laughter and breathless moans that lingered like perfume.

Every surface held a memory now: a back arched in pleasure, lips parted in ecstasy, fingers slipping through sweat-slicked hair. It wasn’t just lovemaking.

It was a transformation. A ritual. A communion with the island and with each other.

Lucy curled against him, her chest rising and falling slowly, golden light tracing her curves in delicate spirals. She brushed her lips over his shoulder, then looked up, her eyes half-lidded but burning with something deeper.

"She wants more," she whispered.

Jude’s brow furrowed. "Who?"

Lucy didn’t answer. She only turned her gaze toward the tunnel they had entered from. And when Jude followed her line of sight, he saw her - Sophie. Standing just beyond the threshold. Her arms crossed, her breath visible in the sudden shift of cool air. She hadn’t come in. She had watched. Her jaw was clenched, her expression unreadable.

Jude sat up slowly, disentangling from Emma’s embrace, from Layla’s fingers tracing circles along his chest. Sophie didn’t move as he approached. She didn’t flinch as he stepped into the mouth of the corridor where the warmth began to fade, the air turning dense with mist. But her eyes - God, her eyes burned.

"You didn’t stop," she said.

He shook his head. "I couldn’t. None of us could."

"You didn’t try ." There was pain there. Deep. Raw. "You said you wouldn’t let it change you."

"It hasn’t." He reached for her. "Sophie - "

She pulled back. "Then why do you feel like a stranger?"

That hit harder than anything. His hand fell to his side. His chest ached, and not from exertion.

"They’re still us," he said quietly. "I’m still me."

"Then why did I dream of drowning?" she asked, stepping closer now. Her voice was trembling. "Why did I wake gasping for breath, alone in the dark, while you were down here - wrapped in golden light and bodies and whatever the fuck this is?"

Jude looked back toward the chamber. The moans had quieted. The glow had softened. The others were beginning to stir, stretch, rise slowly like petals unfolding. "It’s not what it looks like."

"Then tell me," Sophie whispered, leaning in so close he could feel the heat of her breath. "Tell me what she whispered to you when she kissed you."

He swallowed hard. "She said she never left."

Sophie’s lips pressed together. She turned, stepping away - but then she stopped.

"You want me to join, don’t you?" she asked.

He hesitated.

Sophie glanced over her shoulder. "Do you want me in your arms? Or do you want me glowing?"

"I want you," he said. "Whatever form that takes."

She faced him fully now, her bare feet silent on the moss-covered stone. Her hands trembled. "I’m scared, Jude."

"So am I."

"But you went anyway."

He stepped forward again, slower this time. "Because I couldn’t lose them."

"You might lose me instead."

He froze.

She reached out this time, her fingers brushing the edge of his jaw. "And that scares you more, doesn’t it?"

His throat tightened. "Yes."

Sophie stared into his eyes, then nodded once. "Then don’t beg me to cross the line. Not until I’m ready."

"I won’t," he promised.

She leaned in and kissed him - slow, gentle, but with a desperation underneath, a promise forged from fire and fear. Then she stepped past him and into the chamber.

The golden light grew brighter.

Not because Sophie joined.

Because something else awakened.

Rose, who had remained still in the center of the pool, gasped - her body arching suddenly, her hands clutching the edge of the stone. The water turned black beneath her, pulsing in time with the marks on her skin. Her eyes flared open, glowing more vividly than before.

Layla rushed to her side. "Rose?"

Rose’s lips moved, but no words came - only a sound. A low, deep note that seemed to come from the island itself. It rumbled through the stone and the water and their bones.

"She’s not in pain," Emma said quickly, moving to help support her.

"No," Stella whispered. "She’s becoming ."

A shape formed beneath the water - first faint, then clearer. A second tree, smaller, darker than the one in the cave. Its roots curled up through the pool like veins, wrapping gently around Rose’s legs, her hips, her waist. She didn’t resist.

"She’s bonding with it," Lucy said, awe-struck.

Natalie stepped forward. "The tree is her now."

And then Rose spoke.

"They’re coming."

Everyone stilled.

Jude’s eyes locked on hers. "Who?"

"The ones who built this place," she whispered. "The ones who sang first."

The markings on their skin began to hum again - every curve and line glowing brighter, hotter. A tension filled the chamber, a pressure that seemed to stretch time itself. In the distance - through stone, through air, through memory - they heard it.

Drums.

Low. Rhythmic. Like heartbeats.

Like footsteps.

Sophie stepped beside Jude. "This isn’t over, is it?"

"No," he said, reaching for her hand. "It’s just beginning."

And the island breathed.

The breath wasn’t gentle. It was a rush - a surge of heat and sound and scent that flooded the chamber and made the moss tremble on the walls. The drums grew louder, and with them came a scent of wet earth, of old fires and salt and flowers long extinct. Rose stood in the center, her chest rising and falling like she’d just emerged from drowning, eyes wide, her mouth parting as the black roots around her waist pulsed with life. They were moving. Growing. Spreading.

Jude didn’t realize his feet were backing up until Sophie’s fingers tightened around his. He turned to her, but she was staring at Rose, transfixed, just like the others. Layla’s lips had parted slightly, as if catching the rhythm of the drums in her breath.