Feed your #interracial #romance addiction #Valentines | Heaven On Hell Island @SheaSwainWrites

On day two of our Valentines' Week feature we have Heaven on Hell Island by Shea Swain. 
Feed your interracial romance addiction right here.
This is a story where race is the conflict. I kid you not. 
Shea Swain stories deal with dark, heavy issues.
So you've been warned. Enjoy.

If Bleu St. James relied on her first impression of Chris, she might have let him drown. But there is something about him that inexplicably draws her in. Maybe it was something she saw when she stared at his calm face as the plane they were on fell from the sky. Now stranded on a mysterious deserted island, Bleu must not only contend with the elements, she must depend on a survivalist who also happens to be a hate-filled extremist.

Chris Stokes can’t keep his eyes off the well-dressed woman, even though he was taught that her kind is beneath him. Her very presence makes him feel inadequate in every way. Yet, Bleu saved his life and he owes her. That means doing his damnedest to keep her alive. Only, Chris can’t deny how alluring Bleu is or how badly he wants her to see him, and not the man he no longer wants to be.

This book contains some views and language that may be uncomfortable for some. This story is about change, growth, and is for adults 18 years and older. Readers discretion advise.


The solid mass of the man didn’t register while Bleu swam with him in tow. But his weight mattered now as she dragged him, backward walking through the hot sand that burned her bare feet. She ignored her aches and the burn of each heated step as she struggled to get the man to the tree-lined area just beyond the beach.
Bleu wasn’t sure how long it took or how many times she fell on her ass, but she eventually managed to get him close to where she wanted. Exhausted, she took several deep breaths as she looked him over.
Even with his dangerous appearance, he was very attractive. He had short dusty blond hair, long thick eyelashes, a strong jaw, a perfectly straight nose, and generous lips.
What a waste, she thought as she stared down at his chest. His t-shirt was ripped, exposing his body which was a work of art in form and imagery. His neck and both arms were covered with tattoos. But, what kept drawing her attention was the design on his chest. It was a huge winged heart, and under that, centered, was a knife handle with a thick long blade that traveled down his stomach. The tip of the knife was hidden under scraps of cloth.
Bleu could appreciate the workmanship of the design—even his beautifully sculpted body was something to admire—but she narrowed her eyes at the two words that stuck out to her above all others. She focused on the words inside the heart.
White Elites.
Sighing, she started CPR. Bleu grabbed his chin and turned his face away from her as he choked out a gush of water. He was a still a bit out of it but he was breathing, so Bleu focused on looking for injuries. The gash on his head looked the worst and it still bled. His leg was a bit scraped up and his hands were bloodied but only one of his fingers was twisted, definitely broken.
She ripped a piece of fabric from his torn t-shirt then took off for the beach. Bleu didn’t know the extent of her own injuries, so she tried to be conscious of her movements and aches as she moved as fast as she could to the water.
She stopped dead in her tracks and shuddered when she noticed a large piece of metal floating in the water, forgetting any aches she felt and her task. Bleu shook as images from inside the crashed plane slithered through her mind. Fear and panic wrapped around her, threatening to pull her into herself. The scent of burning flesh and metal filled her nostrils.
Bleu dropped to her knees in the hot sand and vomited all the contents in her stomach. While she battled a bout of dry heaves, several more floating items caught her eye.
Bleu closed her eyes for several seconds. When she opened them, she ran to the water, dipped her cupped hand in the cool liquid, then brought it to her lips. She lowered her head and kept her gaze down as she rinsed her mouth of bile. Bleu refused to look at the airplane, or what was left of it, as it balanced half on the small island and half in the ocean a short distance from where she was.
Remembering what she was doing prior to her meltdown, Bleu cleaned the homemade cloth then stood and trekked it back to her patient. On the way, she made sure to kick some sand over her mess.
When she returned to her patient’s side, his eyes were still closed. Considering the kind of person he seemed to be, she figured him being unconscious was a good thing.
Bleu quickly cleaned his head wound then placed the wet rag on it. After she was done, Bleu stood and surveyed her surroundings. This place looked like paradise. The water was clear and beautiful, the beach was covered in light brown sand, and a thick lush green forest sat behind her. The air she breathed in seemed fresh and altogether foreign from what she was used to, and the sound of the water was calming.
If it wasn’t for the whole horrendous accident…
But she knew looks could be deceiving. Bleu glanced down at the guy again. Where am I and who or what, other than him, do I have to fear here?
Those were her immediate questions, and just as she posed them to herself, the man’s eyes fluttered.

Someone was driving a spike into his damn head and that shit had to stop.
Chris groaned as he pried his eyes slightly open, squinting because of the bright light. But a sharp pain made him close them immediately.
He took a deep breath then relaxed enough to try to make sense of his situation. The plane definitely crashed and it seemed he survived.
But, in what condition?
Chris was about to test his limbs when he felt something wet and cool on his face.
“I hope you don’t freak out on me. We may be the only two left.” A soft-spoken female spoke then sighed. “If you can hear me…please don’t kill me.”
The way she brushed the cloth over his face, it was so…gentle. Chris didn’t want to open his eyes so he kept them closed.
The woman continued to wipe for what he thought was a couple of minutes or so, then stopped. Chris held back a groan of frustration. He was enjoying what he felt might be his only relief before opening his eyes and seeing his mangled body. It was most likely mangled because he felt no real pain. All his pain receptors were probably burned away.
“I wonder what color your eyes are?” He didn’t want her to stop but when he felt a soft warm hand on his cheek, he couldn’t hold in the sigh that escaped his mouth.
“Oh, God!”
Dammit, he didn’t mean to scare her off. Chris opened his eyes slowly, allowing some light in. For several seconds he tried to focus but his vision was blurry. After blinking a few times, he was able to make out shapes then objects. He was on his back, looking up at large palm trees and above them was a clear beautiful sky.
Chris tested the range of motion of his neck, moving his head to the side. That’s when he saw her. Her…dark meat. The one he tried so hard to ignore but failed at every turn. She was a few feet away, sitting on the sand with her hand over her mouth. Fearful wide eyes stared down at him.
He wasn’t sure what pissed him off more—the fact that a Lesser touched him or that he actually liked it and didn’t want her to stop. Even knowing the situation, that he just survived a damn plane crash, he didn’t want her to stop touching him. 
Shaking his head in disgust, Chris spread his fingers out, grounding himself in the feeling of the tiny warm granules slipping through them. He instantly knew it was sand as he flattened his palms then worked on pushing himself up into a sitting position. His body rebelled against his movements, screaming out that every inch of his body was sore.
“You should take it slow.”
Her low, sweet, caring, tone irritated him.
“Stop talking to me.” His tone held a finality he hoped she heard.
Grunting, he touched his head in the spot he felt the most intense pain. When he pulled his hand away and held it out in front of him, dark red blood stained his fingers. One of which was bent at an odd angle.
Chris took a deep breath in then snapped the twisted appendage back in place. Movement to his right got his attention. The girl held out a ripped cloth that looked like… Chris looked down at his shredded t-shirt and bare chest. He narrowed his eyes then snatched the scrap of cloth from her hand. She recoiled but he didn’t give a shit. She shouldn’t have touched him or his clothes.
“You’re welcome.”
He noticed her tone was stronger and she sounded offended.
“For what?” he spat back as he glared over at her.
The girl pushed off the sand and stood. Chris gazed at her bare feet, noticing the scrapes and cuts. He then took in her long legs, her disheveled clothing, and arms. Her injuries looked superficial, with only a few cuts and bruises. She looked like she’d been in some sort of a scuffle, yet none of that took away from her beauty.
I’m an idiot.
Chris looked away, toward the water and saw what was left of the plane. Seeing the bodies and debris that floated in the water and the risky state of the crash site, he had to wonder how the hell did they survive.
“I don’t think anyone else made it. It…it’s a graveyard in there,” she said, sounding sad.
Why is she sad? I doubt she knew any of those people personally.
Chris didn’t respond to her or say anything that would suggest he heard her.
“You know what…”
Chris turned his head to look at her only to see her stomping away. He rolled over to his knees in an effort to determine his physical condition. Feeling steady, he pushed to his feet.
“Hey. Hey there.” A loud masculine voice boomed out. Chris looked over to his left to see people walking toward him. Well, two people were walking. It looked as if they were struggling to carry a third person.
“Oh my god!” The girl said as she rushed past him to get to the trio. “Are you all alright? I thought we were the only ones.”
Chris rolled his eyes. He felt no urge to help. Even if they weren’t alright, what the hell was he going to do for them?
On all fours, Chris watched the girl reach the trio and immediately lift the legs of the man being carried. The four stopped a few feet from him, lowering the man to a shaded area on the sand. Chris didn’t recognize the three but he didn’t put much effort into committing faces to memory.
He glanced at the girl but quickly focused on the newcomers.
Two men and one woman. The injured male, a mutt of some kind, was unconscious. He looked fairly young, mid to late twenties, he was thickly built, and tall. The other man, the one who carried the mutt, looked older, around mid to late forties. He looked white but you can’t be sure these days. He wore a torn suit so he was probably some kind of businessman.
The woman, who was staring at Chris with barely concealed disgust and a shitload of fear, was about the same age as the businessman. She was attractive, he would even say sexy. Chris wondered how long the blonde-haired blue-eyed beauty would keep her shit together because by the looks of her…the fuse was short…and lit.
“Do you know if anyone else made it?” The man in the suit looked to him. Chris raised his brow then pushed to his feet. He rolled his neck and shoulders, holding in a grunt as he slowly walked toward the water. The girl said the plane was a graveyard but he needed to see for himself. He had to look for Thomas. Chris was sure he survived the crash too. If anyone could survive it, Thomas would have.
“I only just found him,” the girl spoke up after a moment of silence. “…and he was barely…”
Chris heard her telling them she had to help him. It grated his nerves that the black bitch just told them that he needed her.
He heard the businessman introducing himself…like he was at some kind of conference.
Is he going to give her his business card?
“Fuck,” he said under his breath.
Don’t you ever be indebted to anyone, lest of all those fucking lesser races, his father’s angry words echoed in Chris’ head.
Chris ignored them and kept walking. He pulled off his torn t-shirt and dropped it to the sand as he eyed the water that was a couple steps away. He heard the Suit call out to him but he ignored the man. When Chris made it to the shoreline, he undid his boots, peeled off his wet socks, then waded through the water until he was able to dive in.
He had only one thought as he swam.
He had to find Thomas.
Damn the rest of them, Thomas was all that mattered.
The waves picked up the further away from the shore he swam but Chris was a decent swimmer. When he came to the first body floating in the water, he knew instantly that the partially burned body wasn’t Thomas.
He passed several more bodies as he swam on. It didn’t take long to reach the plane that seemed further away than it actually was. He waded in the water, taking a moment to measure the stability of the wreck. Only part of the plane was visible above the water as the tail end of it rested flat, although unsteadily, on the small piece of island.
The craft was split in two but still connected somehow. Chris couldn’t see the front or how much of the front half was intact. Hell, he couldn’t see beyond his feet. What started out as clear blue water turned completely black in the vicinity of the plane. That also meant he didn’t know how deep the water was.
Everyone in that section, the front of the plane, had to be dead unless they were part fish. So, he focused on the part of the plane that rested on the island. Chris didn’t know how stable this section was but it didn’t really matter. He was going in.
He carefully took hold of a section of the plane and tested it by giving it a tug, gently at first then he tested his weight. When it didn’t budge, Chris pulled himself out of the water and up inside the plane.
Two things were apparent to him the moment he was inside.
Thomas was no longer missing. His only friend in the world was dead.
The second thing that was apparent was, as much as his father prepared him for death, Chris realized he wasn’t prepared at all.


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