Dead of Eve (Trilogy of Eve 1)

He skidded in front of a building veneered with broken windows. “Here.”

We jumped through the glassless opening and ran through a lobby. In the back, a marble counter supported a sheet of glass. The glass was unscathed.

“A bank?” I panted.

He nodded as he ushered me through a steel door. “Bulletproof glass.”

I scoured the dim room behind the glass. The only door was the one we came through. Metal file cabinets and desks edged the windowless brick walls. A bank safe stood in one corner.

He wrestled with the largest cabinet. I helped him push it to block the door. Next to us, the window rattled.

We turned and backed up. Bodies slammed into the glass by the dozens. Claws struck out, spines scraping with a god-awful screech. Mouths splattered drool, smearing their latest victims’ blood on the glass. Moving as one, they crashed into the barrier over and over. The window jiggled and bowed but didn’t fracture. My triple-tempo pulse bludgeoned my ears.

The file cabinet rumbled and began to inch forward as the door jerked. Roark barreled into it. “Evie. Get in the vault.”

I spun in a circle. Did I miss it? “Where?”

“The corner. Go.”

Surely he didn’t mean the standalone safe that wasn’t much bigger than a gun safe?

I pointed to it. “That?”

His body lurched with the moving barricade. He jumped back to the cabinet, spreading his legs to strengthen his base as he leaned. “Hurry.” His expression was panicked, the whites shining around his pupils.

I ran to it and yanked out the shelves. I was wrong. My gun safe at home was bigger. No chance was I squeezing inside, let alone both of us and our weapons. “We can fight them.”

“Like hell,” he shouted. “Houl your wheest and get your arse in there.”

A crack ripped through the glass. The door crashed from its hinges, sprawling Roark and the file cabinet across the floor. I raised the carbine and popped the bastards as they fell through. Too soon, the carbine went dry. I tugged off the sling. The carbine clattered to the floor. My cloak followed. Then I drew the pistol and backed toward the safe.

Bands of daylight streaked past the bodies writhing against the cracked glass. Blood and drool sprayed from starving mouths. Bugs overfilled the lobby, spilling onto the street and into our room.

Roark scrambled to his feet. His sword and scabbard dropped to the floor. I aimed the pistol at the aphid behind him. It stretched a pincer and clutched Roark’s shoulder. I squeezed. The bug let go, blood spouting from its jaw. Roark stumbled forward, wrapped an arm around my waist and lunged us into the safe. His hand clutched the inside handle. I sucked in a breath. He slammed the door shut.

A bang reverberated the safe’s walls. We rocked. Then we tipped. The air knocked out of me when the safe hit the floor, his body buffering my fall. We exhaled as one.

He lay under me. “Are ye well?”

“Nice plan, smart guy. At least we die in a coffin.”

“It was bolted to the wall.” His voice was grim.

“Tell me it’s not airtight.”

His chest rose under me as he dragged in a deep breath. “Ah, now that we’ll find out soon enough.”

Bang. Bang.

Then the scratching began.

Watch and pray so that you will not fall into temptation.

The spirit is willing, but the body is weak.

The Holy Bible, Matthew 26:41

“Your smell is intoxicating.” Roark sucked in a breath through his nose.

The swell in my throat trapped my speech. With my face smashed against his neck and the screeching outside our tomb, my muscles cramped.

“Gun oil,” he went on. “Mixed with embalming fluid and the heady tang of sweat.”

My fingers twitched with the impulse to punch him, but our cramped quarters kept me in check.

The scratching persisted. The aphids’ hunger called to me. And so did Roark’s tang. Under the mask of whiskey, an incredible oakiness blended with chocolate and spice. I tried to pry my nose off his neck and my head met the felt lining above us.

I found my voice. “Hiding your fear of those things behind humor?”

“I think I have more to fear in here than what’s out there.”

My body tensed against the hard ridges of his.

“I can feel their buzzing rippling through ye, lass. And after seeing ye fight last night and out there today, I know ye move like them, ninety to the dozen. Ye could’ve outrun them if I hadn’t slowed us down.”

“I’m not—”

“I’m not suggesting ye are. But ye haven’t been honest. I think you’re the one hiding fear.”

The safe’s steel casing moaned as aphids piled on. I felt their need like words in my ears. He was right. I was hiding my fear. Fear of what I was becoming. Fear of losing my immunity, or never having it to begin with. “I can sense them before I see them. And right now, for the first time, I understand them. They’re not going to give up until they’ve fed.”