Blood of Eve (Trilogy of Eve 2)

“She’s not a threat. It’s done.” Michio glared at the door, like he was a twitch away from running through it. “I’m moving on.”

Jesse and Roark shared a look.

Ruthless venom simmered through my blood. “She raped you.”

“Evie, dammit.” Michio turned toward the door and flipped the deadbolt.

“You don’t move on from that without talking through it.” I touched his arm. “Every time I think about it, my stomach knots up. I’m fucking vibrating with the need to kill her.”

He swung back toward me, aggression rippling through his voice. “When I see her again, I will kill her.” He pulled in a breath and schooled his expression. “Right now, I want you to eat and rest. I’m going to do a full exam on you tomorrow. Run some tests. Your health is my only concern. Are we clear?”

“Yeah.” I felt like I might choke on the air, but at least the starting points of future conversations were out in the open now.

With a cursory glance at Jesse and Roark, he led us out of the bathroom.

Somberness rode on the curls of steam that followed us out of the bathroom. But the air became easier to breathe the moment I saw Shea and Paul waiting in the corridor.

They sat against the wall, heads bowed together in quiet conversation, with Darwin sprawled between their outstretched legs.

Darwin’s single ear perked up. Then he came running, jumping around my feet and rubbing his wet nose against my palm. I gave him the head scratches he wanted, and he scrambled away to pester Jesse for more of the same.

Paul rose and pulled Shea to her feet, as they smiled at one another affectionately. When she scanned my guardians’ faces, her expression faltered. Given their pale complexions, dark circles under their eyes, and arms hanging at their sides, she didn’t have to ask if we’d discussed my pregnancy.

“Your room is ready.” Sympathy creased her eyes as she searched my face. “Are you okay?”

I nodded. “We will be.”

A few minutes and a couple tunnels later, we stood in a large utilitarian room. Empty shelves lined the concrete walls. Two queen mattresses and box springs had been shoved together to make a massive bed in the center. Mounds of blankets and pillows lay on top, round and accommodating like the curvy form of a pregnant woman.

Beside the bed stood a folding table, covered with bowls of steaming food. Darwin circled it, his muzzle huffing at the scents of roasted meat, seasoned noodles, and mixed vegetables.

“It’s not a fancy dinner.” Shea strode to the boxes that sat by the door. “But Eddie can do wonders with canned food and his concoction of spices.”

My mouth watered. “We’re grateful. Please pass along our thanks.”

“I will.” She dug through the first box and removed a bottle of whiskey, offering it to Roark. “Merry Christmas.”

Her reminder of the day staggered me. The last time I’d celebrated Christmas, I was sitting in Joel’s lap in our Missouri home, watching Annie and Aaron open their presents.

I no longer had wrapping paper and ornaments and homemade desserts, but I’d been given the priceless gift of togetherness with my guardians and the new life blooming in my womb.

“Bushmills?” Roark placed his hands on Shea’s face and smacked a kiss on her lips. “On de ball, young lady.”

He accepted the amber bottle and set it on the table.

“It’s the only Bushmills I found in Hunter’s stash, so enjoy it.” She tilted her head. “Though, I have to ask. Why Bushmills? I mean, isn’t it Protestant? I thought Jameson was the Catholic whiskey?”

I grinned. I’d asked him this once, too, and had been thoroughly schooled on Irish whiskeys.

“Ach. That was an American myth.” He gripped my hips and steered me toward the table as he answered Shea’s question. “The master distiller at Bushmills was Catholic, even though it was located in predominately Protestant Northern Ireland. And John Jameson himself was Protestant…and Scottish.”

He said the last word as if it left a bad taste in his mouth. Oh, my very proud Irishman. But I knew the real reason he clung to that particular brand was because it reminded him of his life before the plague. It was a drink he loved during a time he missed. It was his way of coping with this new life.

Shea laughed, softly. “Well, consider me educated.” She reached into another box and removed a cell phone and attached charger. “These things don’t have much use unless you can find one with music storage.”

She turned toward Jesse, who stood nearest to her, and dropped it in his hands.

Excitement fluttered through my veins. “It works?”

She nodded, her smile beaming. “Hunter’s been collecting them. This one had the most variety of music. No Christmas songs though.” She shrugged. “Merry Christmas, you guys.”

Paul’s mocha skin softened around his eyes as he stared down at her, his love evident in the way his whole body seemed to gravitate toward her. She had that effect on people, her goodness and selfless energy a pillar of infectious strength. She was going to be a wonderful mother.