Dead of Eve (44 page)

Through the haze of pain, I sought the closest aphid in the psychic cosmos. There, a jolt. I followed the source. The corridor. Near the stairway to the lab. The link iced the heat racing through my veins.
Come
.

Hands traveled up my thighs. An influx of power spread through my limbs, calming me.
Come.

A green shape filled the doorway. Translucent skin rippled over quivering forearms. Its spear extended in response to the blood dripping down my leg.

Attack,
I pushed and layered it with images of the Imago.

The Imago jerked his mouth from my thigh, face bloodied, and reached for the dart gun slung on his back.

I dipped into my power.
Attack.
My heart rate crashed as I drove the command over and over.

Blurred snapshots of insectile arms wheeled around me. The dart gun clattered across the room. A warm gush poured from my nose. My chin fell upon my chest and I clamped my mouth shut to hold back bile.

The Imago dropped at my feet, held down by the crouching aphid. He babbled incoherent sounds, staring at my eyes, and I wondered what he saw there, if they were filled with solid black.

“I’ll call it off if you release me.”

Eyes round and glassy, he nodded.

I sucked in air and sent a prayer to hell for enough juice.
Back.

The bulbous body rose to its full height, but did not back away.

The Imago jumped to his feet and freed the key ring from his belt. His clammy hands gripped mine as the locks sprang open.

Beside me, Michio grunted, eyes on the mouthparts arching from the depths of the aphid’s gullet.

Stay.
A weak command, wrapped in numbness. The link was disintegrating. “Hurry. I’m losing it.”

He dropped to his knees and released my feet. My languid body crumpled into his arms. A metal click told me he’d returned the keys to his belt, then he spun, clutching my back to his chest, hiding his trembling frame behind the cover of mine.

Idiot. I slumped against him and collected spurts of energy from multiple points of contact. His vitality energized my weakened limbs, the very weapons I would use against him. A deep breath.
Attack.

I ducked. The first claw swiped the crown of my head and knocked the Imago to the ground. The second landed in my chest. I stumbled back, tripped over the Imago’s legs and fell upon him.

Hold.
I sent images of his arms, locked down by claws. If I killed the Imago, I’d lose my Yang source and the aphid would turn on me, a risk I hadn’t considered when I called it down there. If I killed the aphid, I’d lose my weapon against the Imago. To buy time, I chanted,
Hold,
aloud or in my head, I wasn’t sure.

Pincers hooked around the Imago’s arms, pinning him to the floor just as I envisioned. But my effort to maintain the choreography caused an exodus of energy.

I slid my hands over the Imago’s belt, his chest, his arms. Finally, I bumped his dagger, clutched it. Dizziness and gelidity crept through me. Consciousness began to slip. I cut away his shirt and rolled onto his bare chest.

Warmth and light infused my senses. I fought the revulsion from the slime of his skin and soaked up his Yang. Then I strengthened my hold on the guard.

Its wavering pincers stilled, clamped harder on the Imago’s arms. Its head bobbed inches from mine. Frown lines, eyelashes, even a pierced ear reminded me this creature was once human.

I gathered my strength and scooted down his legs, cutting away his pants as I moved. His flaccid cock flopped on his hip. I gripped it and raised the knife.

The zagged scar on his forehead reddened. He writhed under the guard’s hold. Tears slicked his lashes.

The fucker was responsible for billions of deaths. He stole Annie and Aaron from me. Corpses rotted feet away, a reminder that his delivery of the virus was only the beginning of his bloodshed.

I brought down the edge. An arch of crimson spurted from his groin and striped his chest. His pathetic shrills stung my ears as he convulsed under me. I wanted to stuff his dick in his mouth, but my vision swam with black dots and my body shook. I tossed the severed flesh.

With numb fingers, I unhooked the key ring from his belt and pushed to my feet. My legs gave out.

Should I kill them first? What if the key didn’t work? Would I need to use the Imago as a hostage?

I scraped the Jambiya, the keys and my knees over the dirt floor and crawled to Michio.

The aphid yanked on the link, testing its snapping point.

Hold goddammit
. With each dragged limb, my vision dissipated in strobe-flashes. Minutes felt like hours. The beat in my ears pounded out the Imago’s tongueless cries. Just had to hold the aphid, move toward the wall. Deep breaths.

The knife clinked the wall. I swiped my eyes with the back of my hand, tried to clear the visual snow. A shadow on my left. I dropped the knife and reached for it. Warmth. Muscle. Michio.

My hands climbed his legs, found the button at his waist. His pants dropped. I hugged every inch of flesh in my reach. Nausea retreated. The golden perfection of his skin came into focus and my body heated.

I crawled up his torso, keeping contact with as much of him as possible. His hips rocked in urging taps. His voice hummed behind his gag.

The keys fumbled in my fingers. At last, the lock snicked. Oh, thank Christ. The shackles fell open and strong arms caught me. I tugged at his gag until it fell away.

A roar burst from his mouth. “I’m going to kill him.” His anger rolled off him in shuddering waves. He pulled away and angled his body toward the Imago.

“No. Don’t let go of me.” I clung to his neck.

“Then let the beast go, Evie. Let it have him.”

With his strength, it was easy to clip my leash on the aphid. I simply willed it. The Imago’s final shriek gave way to greedy slurps and sucking.

Michio shrugged out of his shirt and pulled up his pants, his movements clumsy with the aftereffect of sedation. We slid to the floor and his gaze drifted over my shoulder. A smile stole over his face.

The swoosh of steel erupted behind me. A wet smack followed. Then another. I turned in his arms.

Roark stood over the headless aphid, gore clinging to his sword and cassock. He tapped the Imago’s head with his boot. It rolled from the body.

Jade eyes rose, searched mine. He sheathed the sword, crossed the distance between us in three huge leaps, and pulled me into his embrace.

“Love,” he drawled. Ah, the lilt of that one word. A silken caress.

Giant hands framed my face. I reached for his, mimicking him. Whiskers scratched my palms. Our eyes locked. His exhale was my inhale. So much was said in that shared look. I knew his regrets, his fears, his heart and he knew mine.

Then he took my mouth, a dusting of lips in tender greeting. All too quick, his reluctant release tugged at my bottom lip, a pledge for another time.

Michio staggered to his feet. Something dangerous clouded his eyes, and it was aimed at Roark. “We need to go,
Father
Molony.” Then he wrapped a possessive hand around mine and pulled.

I pulled back, spearing him with a look that unclenched his fingers, and turned to Roark.

Dark membranes caked his face, his curls, his calloused hands. He’d sliced his way there. Getting out would be much of the same. My chest clenched. “Lose your clothes.”

His freckled forehead scrunched into his hairline.

My lips twitched. “You can keep the pants.” I tackled the buttons at his chest. “Don’t have time to explain. Just trust me, okay?”

His hands brushed mine aside. A moment later, his cassock and shirt hit the floor.

“You siphoned him to get past the guards upstairs?” Michio gestured to the dead cook.

“Yeah. And you were right about something else.” I raised my chewed up palm. “Toxic blood.”

The rip of fabric responded. Michio held up long pieces of his abandoned shirt and tied one over my hand.

Deep grooves bracketed Roark’s eyes, which were locked on my bandage. “Wha’ toxic blood?”

Michio secured another strip around the gash on my thigh, a smile in his voice. “Hers. It’s poisonous to the aphids. We can discuss the mechanics later.” His eyes turned to me. “Head up with the priest. I’m two minutes behind you.”

I ran toward the exit. “Where’s Jesse?”

Roark’s drawl followed me into the stairwell. “Distracting the Drone.”

The feeling I’d been ignoring, the one tapping at the edges of my mind, materialized like a knife in the chest. Jesse was the breach, the explosion.

I raced out of the bowels of one hell to rise into another.

Though my soul may set in darkness,

it will rise in perfect light.

I have loved the stars too fondly

to be fearful of the night.

Sarah Williams

Humidity thickened as we rose from the basement. Roark in the lead, we took the stairs two at a time. The steps behind slipped into nothingness.

“Michio,” I shouted into the black cavity.

“Two minutes behind, remember?” Roark’s naked lats contracted through his jog. “Tell me”—he panted—“why I’m not wearing me duds.”

“You know how skin-to-skin blocks my nightmares?”

We stumbled on. A passing torchlight illuminated his nodding head.

“Same thing helps me communicate with the bugs. I can control them. There’s a masculine energy—Michio calls it Yang—that I can somehow borrow for strength, through skin.”

“Sounds like ye got lamped in your noggin, love.”

I touched the swelling egg on my head. Yeah, lamped by an obnoxious gold pistol.

A few silent strides later, he said, “Last time I saw ye, I was scran for the aphids. Ye saved me life.”

“I don’t know how, but it works.” I gave him an abbreviated explanation of Yin and Yang and the body. My voice whispered along the flagstone walls until we paused at the final step. Footfalls padded from the depths below. Michio’s jet eyes emerged from the dark.

“What took you so long?” I asked.

Three knives were pressed against my chest. Then the turquoise rock swung above me, dimmed gray by the dark.

A fist of emotions grabbed hold of my esophagus and squeezed. He delayed, risked his life, to collect my knives and my necklace. “Michio.” A choke.

He tied it around my neck, staring into my eyes. I tried fill my expression with all the things I wanted to say, feelings I couldn’t form into words.

Too soon, he looked away, blank mask in place. “Can you feel how many?”

I touched his face, angled his cheek against mine, and imbibed his Yang. My stomach stirred and the trill coiled up my spine. Fingers of energy stretched from my chest, seeking. Vibes bounced back along a dozen invisible threads. “Twelve, at least.”

The muscle in his jaw twitched.

I leaned back. “I held at least that many to get here.”

Lines crimped his brow and vanished just as fast. His chest flexed under the strap of his bag as he reached behind his back and pulled out a long narrow staff. Where the hell did that come from?

“I’ll lead.” He glared at Roark. “Constant contact with her will be more effective than your sword.”

“Hmm. A weapon upgrade. I’m trading up for one with curves.”

“Stop it.” I tried for a scolding tone but my smile ruined it.

A gruff noise scraped from Michio’s throat and his eyes hardened, locked on Roark. “Where was the explosion?”

“Southwest corner.” Roark pushed away from the wall.

Black eyes narrowed. “The drive entrance? Our only access to the street?”

Roark grinned. “Wen’ be needing a car.”

Understanding softened Michio’s features.

Confusion twisted mine. “The explosion was you?” I asked Roark.

“Jesse.”

It sounded both odd and strangely comforting to hear Jesse’s name whispered in Roark’s lyrical accent. “And we’re meeting him where?”

“The dock,” Michio answered. “Ready?”

I solidified my link with the aphids. “Red-eyed and hair-lipped.”

Two gorgeous faces, frozen in puzzlement, stared at me. I sighed and shooed them with the knives.

Blackness draped the corridor. Our pace plodded until our eyes adjusted. Illuminated silhouettes wavered at the end of the hall.

“Eight behind us,” I whispered. “They don’t see us.”

Shadowed heaps came into focus as we stole through the passage. Bodies stacked waist high, sans heads.

“Well done, Father.” Michio nodded, sidling around a headless slump.

The husk of a sconce dangled on the wall next to my face. “Something ate the torches.”

“Sorry, love. Me night vision is better than the sodding snarlies’.” Roark lifted a shoulder. “So I killed the lights.”

The coppery scent of blood smothered the narrow space. Thick plip-plops resonated between the suction of our bare feet as we mucked through.

I jumped over a stretch of disembodied parts with the help of Roark’s hands on my hips. He set me down, but his arms wrapped around me, fingers tracing my ribs. “Ye lost a rake of kilos.”

Michio cut his eyes at me. His expression said nothing. It didn’t have to. After weeks of forced meals, I knew what he was thinking. “I’m fine.”

“Ach. You’re a pull through for a rifle, love. Feels like I’m hugging a throwing star.”

Hard to sound threatening while leaning into his attentive fingers, but I gave my best growl. “This is not the time—”

He pinched my ass. “Den’ get narky.” His head lowered. Lips brushed my earlobe. “You’re still sexy as hell.”

“Nix the flirting—” My insides jumped.

A green flicker sprang from the bend up ahead. Three more followed. I shaped my command, sent it winding up and out.
Stop
.

A slow hiss replaced the scraping of feet. The glowing forms stilled.

“There’s four ahead, blocking the door. Roark, I’m going to move to Michio. Then I’ll hold them while you gut them? ’kay?”

He pressed his lips to my brow and turned us, guiding my back to Michio’s chest.