Blood of Eve (Trilogy of Eve 2)

I pulled out of Roark’s embrace and angled toward the gate. The silence lifted, and dense murmurs roared into excitement.

Roark grabbed my hand, halting me. “This is why we didn’t tell ye they were here.”

Because they thought I’d find my way into the crowd before it was contained? I wasn’t that reckless. Jesse and Michio blocked my path with their arms crossed.

I tugged against Roark’s grip. “If it’s contained, let me go to them.” I lowered my voice. “If I remain behind an iron wall, it’ll foster distrust. They need my hope, not my fear.”

Michio’s nostrils flared. “We knew you’d say that.”

Selene stood to the side, her head down, watching us out of the corner of her eye.

I stopped pulling against Roark, and instead stepped toward him and wrapped my arms around his waist, cradling our child between us. “I’m not going to die out there.” Assuming the cliff was no longer a threat, I would at least live long enough to give birth. “I’ll stay near the gate and away from the ledge.”

The blazing heat was brutal, drenching us in sweat, but Roark smelled like soap and musk. He was strong and steady and…testing the hell out of my patience as he shared a look with Jesse and Michio behind me.

My aching need to soothe those people far outweighed whatever risks he was conjuring in his stubborn head. “Come with me.”

Jesse made an amused noise. “Oh, we’ll be with you.”

And so they were. With Jesse and Roark pressed to my sides and Michio at my back, I walked through the gate. Selene disappeared into the crush of bodies, and the guards circled my guardians and me, weapons raised and ready. But they didn’t need to interfere. The crowd didn’t push, didn’t attack. They lowered their heads. Then they lowered to their knees.

“No, don’t kneel.” My heart thumped slow and heavy, my hands finding and gripping Jesse’s and Roark’s. “Please, just…everyone stand up.”

Bodies continued to sink to the ground, rippling from the front row and spreading out, until all I saw was a wave of kneeling people in every direction. Those who peered up from lowered heads, looked at me with awe and respect.

It was too much. My nerves ran wild, shaking my legs and numbing my tongue. My throat caught fire, and a moment later, my eyes joined in, burning and aching and flooding with moisture. Shit, my tears. I raised a hand to quickly wipe the blood away.

Roark caught my arm. “Let them see.”

But it wasn’t me they revered. I mean, they didn’t know me. They knelt before the promise of a miracle, an iconic image of a woman who carried a prophesied child, a baby who might give them a reason to not have to kill their own.

I sniffed, wiped my nose, and sniffed again. Then I drew in a deep breath and shouted through the canyon. “Hi. I’m—” Crap, I didn’t need to state my name. “You don’t need to kneel. Please stand up.”

No one moved.

I turned to Roark, silently begging him to do something.

His emerald eyes lingered on my face a little too long, his smile a little too mischievous. He leaned in, brushed his lips against mine, and lowered to his knees.

My face flushed, and I grabbed his shoulder, tugging. I might as well have been trying to lift a mountain.

I turned and watched, horrified, as Jesse and Michio joined him on their knees. Behind me, Shea, Link, all of my friends—my equals!—were kneeling with their heads bowed. The only ones standing were the armed guards. Oh, and my happy-go-lucky dog, who stood on the inside of the gate with his tongue lolling between the bars.

Ducking my face against my shoulder, I whispered at Jesse out of the corner of my mouth. “Get your ass up.”

His hand encircled my ankle, his thumb stroking.

Fine. If I couldn’t beat them…

I dropped to my knees. But I didn’t make it to the ground. Michio caught my hips mid-drop and hoisted me back to my feet.

Twisting at the waist, I looked around for an escape. I didn’t want to run, but I’d come out here to offer comfort and encouragement, not to tower over them as if they were second class citizens.

I took in all the faces nearest to me and paused on a young, pregnant girl who couldn’t have been older than eighteen. The fresh bite mark on her pale neck was a knife in my stomach. Had she been raped? Or was she carrying a child she’d created with a husband or boyfriend?

She brushed her tangled brown hair from her face and met my eyes. A shaky smile lifted her lips. Her chest rose with a deep breath, and her expression glowed with expectation. Hope in the face of the tragic future she carried in her womb.