Dead of Eve (Trilogy of Eve 1)

Sandalwood smothered my senses. Not cologne. All natural. All him. I nestled my nose further in his neck. “It’s a tomahawk.”

“It’s barbaric.”

“Who else knows the combinations? His escape will be pinned on you.”

“The cook who delivered his food. He won’t be talking.”

I raised my head. “How can you be sure?”

“A fierce woman showed me an efficient way to silence people.”

I shoved him away. “You took an innocent man’s tongue?”

He folded his hands on his hand and looked at me through thick fans of lashes. “Evie, that man beat your priest at every opportunity and fed him only the spoils from the kitchen.”

Oh, Roark. I released a shaky exhale. “So that’s where you’ve been all day.”

For the first time, his gaze scrutinized my face. “May I treat your injuries?”

I wiggled my jaw. Pain shot through my head, but nothing was broken. “Tell me about the botched plan first.”

“There are no boats on Malta. The Drone sank them all. The only way on or off the archipelago is by plane. But your savage—”

“Jesse.”

“—came by boat. The boat he planned to leave on once he freed you and your priest.”

“And you’d let me go? Just like that?” I knew he would. I wanted to hear it.

“I would see you safe. Above all agendas.”

I opened my eyes, realizing I’d closed them. “What’s the backup plan?”

“I give you the collar and wait. But when I found you downstairs held down by that…” His lips formed a hard line. Then he stood and paced. “I would’ve hauled you off the island myself if Siraj hadn’t been in the courtyard when we passed. It would’ve been a vain attempt. I had no strategy. I was so…” He cast me dark look then resumed pacing. “This island is guarded by hundreds of aphids, each one linked to Aiman. He sees what they see. We wouldn’t have made it beyond the fortress walls.”

“That’s why you haven’t tried to escape with me?”

He knelt before me. “Think about it. Fill your mind with compassion and you’ll find the truth.”

I licked my lips. I believed him all the way down to the marrow of my psyche. “Can we start over?” I offered my hand.

Fingers slid across my palm. “Call me Michio.”

“Michio, I’m Evie.”

He tightened his grip. “Aiman cannot know my identity. If he gets a hold of your blood, the consequences—”

“Time out.” I pulled my hand back. “You’ve been giving him my blood for weeks.”

He shook his head, sat back on his heels. “A sleight of hand. I always swapped your vial with a substitute. Aiman has been relentlessly studying my blood.”

“He’s got to know.” I patted the bruised vein in my elbow. “Don’t men have an extra chromosome?”

“I suggested you are hermaphrodite or intersex with atypical sex chromosomes.”

“What?”

“Of course, it isn’t true. Besides, looking to chromosomes for gender specification is antiquated. I won’t go into that.”

He rose from his knees and returned to the edge of the bed. “Your blood confirmed what I suspected.” He picked at a fray in the blanket.

“Want to tell me what’s making your face twist like that?”

“You’re faster than them. You can control them acoustically. You could see them outside with Siraj tonight when I couldn’t. Is that right?”

I nodded.

“Then there are the spiders. Your predator. They’re drawn to you. The Drone is especially aggressive toward you. He’s never bit anyone else. It’s his spider genetics, his instinct to do so with you. And there’s something else.” He stood and gestured for me to follow him out of the cell. We stopped before the mirror above the bathroom sink.

A towel appeared in front of me as he removed my borrowed shirt. Then he offered a small mirror from the drawer and turned my back toward the sink. I lifted it as he brushed my hair over my shoulder to bare my back. A nickel-sized black spot tattooed my shoulder.

“This is what you’ve been pestering me about. I really have no idea…” I backed up until my butt hit the sink. The roundness of the dot was unnaturally perfect. I reached across my chest and touched it. “…what this is.” No pain or sensation. A shiver crept over my spine as I caught his awed expression.

“I do.” He tilted my hand. The reflection caught four more black dots, each comparable in size and shape to the first one. Three on one shoulder blade. Two on the other. Like blotches of ink under the skin.

He traced the spots, connected one to the other with an invisible line. “You didn’t have them when I examined you on the jet to Malta. They appeared after you passed out in the hall. Was that the first time you tried controlling aphids?”

The mirror shook in my hand. My throat was dry. “Yes.”

“Each time you signal them, a new one appears. And your eyes…”