The sound echoed like a drumbeat made of breath, soft and rhythmic, pulsing through the trees in waves that matched the lingering throb in Jude's body. He lay still, surrounded by his wives, their bare bodies tangled with his beneath the glow of the black tree. The golden blossoms above pulsed faintly, their light fading to a gentle shimmer, satisfied - for now.
But the island wasn't done.
They all felt it. In the air, in the trembling of the moss, in the shift of wind that moved through the grove like a whisper too ancient to translate. Jude's fingers twitched as he exhaled, and Rose stirred beside him, her lips trailing across his chest.
"You feel it, don't you?" she murmured.
He nodded. "Another tree."
"Another gate," Grace whispered from where she rested her cheek against Jude's thigh. "It's calling."
"Not for us," Emma said, propped on one elbow. "Not yet."
"No," Zoey agreed. "It's for him. Again."