Dead of Eve (Trilogy of Eve 1)

I centered my focus on the barricaded doors. If I stared hard enough, put a mountain of hope behind that stare, maybe Jesse would crash through with arrows flying. If I hadn’t left the States…if I’d just stayed with the Lakota—

The cane whacked, wrenching a moan from Roark’s throat.

Whack…Whack.

Roark’s breathing turned fitful. Grunts became gasps. Tremors rolled over strained muscles, sending aftershocks through the chains. And his freckled skin took on a gray pallor that matched my A’s in their final hours.

I jerked against the cuffs, helpless and dying inside, desperately reaching for the aphid link. Once again, the connection disintegrated, and stole the last of my strength.

The hall sang with the whir of the cane’s blow. A ladder of horizontal cuts lined his chest, swelling and springing blood.

Finally, the cane vanished under the Drone’s cloak and he moved away to whisper something to the Imago.

I stared at Roark’s hanging head, silently begging him to look at me. All the bullshit between us had dissolved on the cliff at River Tweed. I wanted…needed him whole, canonic vows and all. I wouldn’t survive without him.

A burn swept through my throat, behind my eyes. Oh Roark… “Please, don’t give up. I need you.”

With slow jerks, his neck straightened. His eyes rolled up. He glanced at me, didn’t seem to see me. Then his eyes focused on mine, lips parted. “I…”

His molars smacked together. The chains strained. He took a hissing breath and widened those eyes that seem to penetrate my soul. “…love…” His voice cracked.

Activity flurried through the hall, but the room narrowed to just the two of us and that thing only we could feel. I’d missed that feeling, how big and alive it was, and pushed it into my face, my eyes, so he could read it there and understand.

His lips quivered. The corner lifted then fell. He mouthed, “Sorry.”

I shook my head, brows crunched together, a sob locked in my throat.

“The vow.” His lips moved, but it was the Drone’s voice that reached my ears.

“Now we feed our army.” His arms spread out and he floated back to us.

Feed? Oh no, no, no.

A tear swelled in Roark’s eye, fell over the red rim, skipped down his cheek.

The Drone pressed against me and palmed my stomach. A violent flutter sparked under his hand and vibrated bone-deep. As if an invisible wall fell away, the aphids surged forward. The doctor evaded a snapping jaw with an acrobatic tumble.

The hand on my stomach clenched. His voice cut through my tremors. “Your body betrays you.” Fingers pressed against my bucking abdomen. “I can feel the croon rising in you. It is calling to me as well.”

Was that why the aphids were on the move? “You’re directing them?”

I didn’t let his manic chuckle disarm me. Think revenge. Mind over body. I projected my will along that invisible thread, the one that led me to the aphids.

The mutants paused, but their line rippled. Their hunger burned like acid in my stomach. I swallowed back the bile searing my throat.

The doctor rolled out from under a bent aphid and landed on one knee. His eyes pinned me. There was no malice there. No emotion. Of the three, he seemed the least insane. Maybe that made him the biggest risk.

The Imago squatted against the far wall. His dart gun lay across his bent knees as he sucked his cigar. That arrogant bastard had to go first.

I filled my head with images of aphids gathered over the Imago’s shredded chest, feasting at a bloody buffet.

All at once, the aphids pivoted then shuffled toward the Imago. The pitch of their buzzing stung my ears and burrowed deep within me. Their need strained. Soon it would crack. Control over them was an illusion.

The Drone jerked away. His shoulders shook. The aphids swung back, their orbs directed at Roark.

I hung onto my will, externalizing it, making it real. Warmth gushed from my nose and trickled over my lip. Copper and iron filled my mouth. Sweat cooled my skin. I gathered my concentration and continued to push images. The Drone peppered with leaking bullet holes. The Imago hanging from a meat hook, fingers dragging through a red puddle. But the aphids’ rush toward Roark didn’t waver.

Laughter bubbled from the Drone. Arms raised to the ceiling, his cloak spread out and eclipsed my view.

Halos circled the wall torches and teetered sideways. My lungs labored through short breaths. The muscles in my face strained against the pressure of my wordless command.

Roark bowed his back and fought his binds. The aphids crawled over each other to get to him feet away.

My broadcast became vocal. “Stop. Stop. Stop.” The ringing in my ears deafened my screams.

A warm palm covered my brow. The skin around the doctor’s piercing eyes creased. His touch jolted through me. I shoved my directive at the aphids, with my gut, with my voice. “Stop.”