Blood of Eve (Trilogy of Eve 2)

Maybe he’d left me in Georgia because of the bite, because he hadn’t been able to resist the pull of the Drone. But there had to be a limit to the Drone’s persuasion, a boundary he couldn’t force Michio to cross. And Michio was stronger than most people. Even under the influence of the Drone, would he actually try to kill Jesse and Roark?

Michio knew I would survive the physical beatings, but if he retained any memories or feelings at all, he also knew my guardians’ deaths would destroy me. He would fight that with every ounce of strength he had, and I intended to fight right alongside him. Not with muscle and weaponry. Neither of those worked against the Drone in the past. Instead, I needed to understand and outsmart the monster who’d taken Michio’s mind.

I stood beneath the press of his black gaze, my skin itching to draw away from the thick, malicious aura that slithered from him. The bottomless holes of his eyes, the gruesome hang of flesh that comprised his expression, the arrogant way he looked down his bubbled nose at me, all of it effective in making me feel smaller, weaker. But I refused to cringe.

Fuck, I had so many questions I trembled with the need to puke them all over his polished shoes. But I didn’t want to hear his litany of carefully filtered answers. I needed to see beneath the caviler facade. To do that, I needed to surprise him.

“Are you happy?” I gestured around the room, indicating the audience of vacant men. “With them, with whatever your plan is, does all this make you genuinely happy?”

His gaze reached deep into mine, prying and scouring, before turning inward, thoughtful, his hand lifting to touch the hanging flab of his cheek. “True happiness is a destination, is it not? I still have more to accomplish. Missteps to correct. But that’s where you come in.”

I wasn’t sure what to make of that response, but I reminded myself that his pretentiousness served to hide his weaknesses.

“The shower. Come.” The Drone strode out.

Michio and the six other men in the room turned as one toward the doorway and formed a horseshoe at my back, prepared to usher me using whatever force necessary.

Their auras hummed beneath my skin, Michio’s included, but I couldn’t discern him from the others, which terrified me. How different was he from these mindless droids? How much of him remained, locked up inside that head of his?

I followed the Drone into the hall and looked left and right. I could run. Could count exactly how many steps would take me to the next turn and the turn after that. I could blow up every aphid in the dam and momentarily distract the Drone. I could find a loose pipe, a hammer, something hard and lethal to swing at the men who tried to catch me. I knew how much force it would take to smash the skull and terminate the brain. I knew it would take me about thirty minutes to climb the tunnels and sprint away from the dam. And I knew if I escaped, if I ran away like a scared little girl, I would be leaving Michio behind and sentencing Jesse and Roark to death.

With a deep breath, I jogged after the Drone and caught up to his side, the muscles in my legs and back complaining with each step. “You said you could suck my power. How? With a fang in my vein? Or some sort of psychic mind tap?”

If he could truly drain my abilities, why hadn’t he done it already?

The Drone strode beside me, hands in his pockets, watching me out of the corner of his droopy eye. A slow smile scrunched the folds of skin, and his tongue curled around one fang, answering my question on how.

My stomach twisted and tumbled.

Three of the men from the room slipped ahead of us. The other three remained at my back, while Michio stepped to my side, caging me between him and the Drone. Together, the nine of us marched beneath the yellow glow of the overhead bulbs, three rows of three, me in the center.

Subway tiles covered the floors, walls, and ceilings, and more tiled passageways veered off at every turn. We passed open doors that gave way to concrete rooms filled with cots and bunk beds. No other furniture. No personal belongings, memorabilia, or framed photographs. No women. No people.

I stared at Michio’s hand, where it hung at his side so close to mine. If I reached for it and laced our fingers together, would that make me as desperate as Elaine? What if he jerked his hand away? I wasn’t sure I could take much more rejection.

Whoever was walking beside me, this zombie-like creature wearing Michio’s skin, wasn’t the man who had revolted against the Drone in Malta, who rejected Elaine’s affections in the mountains, and who loved me so much he couldn’t be near me without touching me in some way.