Dead of Eve (25 page)

Time toiled by under the freeze line. Snow and bitter temperatures shut us in for weeks. Roark’s stores of food and supplies could last months. But I could not.

“I made a list of travel supplies.” I took a steadying breath. “I’d like to move on in the next couple days.”

He eyed me from the opposite end of the couch, our legs intertwined. “You’re off your bloody nut. Ye want to travel now? In January? It’s the coldest feckin’ month of year. Ye den’ even have a plan. Ye den’ even know where you’re going.”

I turned a page in
The Hound of the Baskervilles,
my favorite in Roark’s collection. I lifted the frayed hardback until it blocked his face.

He knocked a knee against mine.

While the bunker offered us secrecy from the threats prowling above, we had little privacy from each other. I palmed the stone that lay on my chest. I managed to keep my healing wound concealed from his probing eyes and he stopped asking about it. The scabs and stitches were gone, leaving my chest puckered under a hideous pink scar.

He tapped my knee again.

I sighed and closed the book. “What?”

“Where’d ye get that necklace, temptress?”

The nickname had to go. I dug a toe in his ribs.

“Ackk,” he shrieked.

“You scream like a girl, fickle priest.”

“One of us should play the part.” He caught my foot and kissed it, his smile flashing around white teeth. If only his playfulness could loosen the tension within me.

I traced the veins that webbed the stone. “It was a gift.”

“Tell me.” He massaged my toes.

I told him about my time with the Lakota. About the Great Mystery, the circle, my healing and my peculiar interactions with Jesse. “Besides Ian, the Lakota are the only men who have shown me civility since the outbreak.”

He crooked a brow. “Wha’ about your fickle priest?”

“Hmm. Jury’s still out on that one.”

He locked an arm around my thigh and attempted a hyperextension on my knee. I rolled, twisted out of it and into his lap. He released his grip but kept his arms around my waist. His throat bounced around a swallow, eyes mirroring my hunger. I wanted to close the inches between us. I wanted to find out if he tasted as good as he smelled.

His brogue rumbled from his chest. “Temptress.”

“Prude.”

“Opinionated heathen.”

“Brainwashed god-fearer.”

His gaze drifted over my face, returned to my eyes. “Bugger, you’re so beautiful.”

I swallowed past a tight throat. My self-control was no match for his. I leapt off his lap and ran toward the workout room, the farthest place I could get.

He caught my arm in the hallway. My back hit the wall, held there by his hip.

My thoughts were everywhere and no where they should be. “We need to stop this.”

“It doesn’t have to be like this.” His breath was hot on my temple, his accent thicker than usual. “Trust me, lass. Den’ bolt. Close your eyes.”

Put some faith in me discipline.

I took a shaky breath and did what he asked. A few heartbeats later, his fingers brushed my cheeks. My pulse raced. My clothes felt tight and itchy. He pressed his forehead to mine and inhaled through his nose. His fingers sank in my hair as he whispered at my mouth, “Can we show each other affection without making it about shagging?”

I opened my eyes. “Impossible.” For me, at least.

“We’re both lonely. We have no family and friends to hold or care for. But we have each other.”

Deep breaths. “What kind of affection?”

He cupped my face. His lips touched my forehead. My heart thundered. He tilted my head back and dropped a kiss on the bridge of my nose. Then the tip. I held my breath. His mouth swept over mine, soft and warm. He lingered on my bottom lip.

I didn’t kiss back. My insides flailed in objection.

He released my face and placed his hands on the wall, caging me with his arms. Then he dipped his head to meet my eyes. “So?”

I stuffed my hands in my pockets to keep from yanking him back to my mouth. “I’ve worn out my welcome. It’s time I go. Alone.”

“Hmm.” He dropped his hands. “There’ll be wigs on the green, then. Till my last breath, I’m going to protect ye.”

His unblinking glare said he’d tie me up with rosary beads and stuff an alter cloth in my mouth if I challenged him. A challenge I would normally not back down from.

“I won’t be responsible for your vow.”

“Aw, ye pain in the hole. Ye know full well the vow is futile without ye.”

I rolled my head back against the wall. “Like tits on a nun.”

“Feckin’ apt. Dried up useless tits. Now let’s go see wha’ we can scrape up for dinner.”

“Jaysus’ bloody bitch-bag.” Roark’s roar jerked me awake the next morning. He was in the shower.

I snorted as I rolled out of bed. Bet that mouth had earned him hours of penance.

“Everything okay in there?” I asked through the door.

“Out of water,” he hollered back then opened the door and kissed my cheek. “Sorry I woke ye.”

I followed him to the clothing rack. What would he do if I tugged the towel hanging on his narrow hips? Oh so tempting…

“Pipe must be crocked,” he said. “I have to go up.”

“Crocked? Like broke?”

“Aye,” he said, distracted.

I fixed breakfast while he dressed. After we ate, he checked the pipes running through the bunker. I gathered my weapons. I could look for more clothes. Replenish the mags for the carbine. Maybe rummage through a library. Look for Jesse.

He caught up with me in the kitchen and snatched the pistol from the island. “Quit your running around like a blue-arsed fly. You’re not going.”

“Hell if I’m not. Give me back my gun.”

He flipped it over. “Where’s the safety?”

Duh. Big lever on the side. “In the trigger. Now give it.” I held out my hand and curled my fingers back and forth.

He crouched in front of me, flicked the strap on my thigh holster and seated the gun. Then he rose, his green eyes as still and deep as a Scottish loch and fixed on me. He murmured from inches away, “I’ll feel better if ye den’ go.”

“And I’ll feel better if you stop thinking of me as a weak little bitch.”

“I den’—” A muscle jumped in his cheek. He leaned in and caressed my lips with his Irish lilt. “I think you’re the only lass left in the world and not worth risking on a water errand I can do alone.”

I resisted the urge to step back. “Too bad. Oh, and while we’re out, we’re swinging by a library. And shopping. I need clothes.”

He scowled.

Oh my, that didn’t look right on his gorgeous face. Still, “You can’t keep me here.”

He gripped my jaw. “I know it, ye obstinate woman.” He lightened his grip. Swayed close. Closer. Deliberate and watchful, he kissed the corners of my mouth.

My heart picked up its pace. His lips parted over mine.

I stepped back. Affection without making it about shagging? Did he part his lips when he kissed his mother? Who was he kidding? I didn’t run, but I didn’t linger. Besides, I had blades to sharpen and ammo to don.

Twenty minutes later, I waited for him by the oval exit in the workout room. I traced the blood stains on the fur sleeve of my cloak. Blood from a chest wound that would’ve been fatal if Jesse hadn’t arrived when he did. Why did he follow me across the Atlantic? Had he followed me to the bunker as well? Could he still be up there?

I blew out a breath. I’d been hidden down there for a month. How stupid to think he waited.

Roark’s boots echoed in the passageway. A gasp escaped me when his unsheathed sword glinted in the doorway. Clad in full cassock, rosary and collar, he read the amusement on my face and grinned. Then he raised the sword. “Hello. Me name is Inigo Montoya. Ye killed me father. Prepare to die.”

I laughed with pangs in my side at hearing the
Princess Bride
quote inflected with his accent. He sheathed the blade and approached me while he elided, “
El
bonny
lass-ocho,
ye
muy
beautiful
temptresta.
Ye put
fire-ito
in me burrito and make me feel like
elwanker-ito
.”

Between fits of laughter, I said, “I don’t know Spanish, but I’m pretty sure you won’t find
wanker-ito
in the dictionary.”

When he stepped toe-to-toe with me, his repartee came in hot breaths on my neck. “I may have
muchocabeza
and
uno
wee
heart-ito
but
te amo mija
.”

“
Te amo mija
?”

He spun the wheel on the door and led me into the alcove.

“Roark?”

I waited in silence while he installed his
wee
explosive. When he stood and faced me, his expression was fierce. “Ye be dog wide up there.”

Dog wide? “Seriously, man. I don’t understand half of what comes out of your mouth.”

He grabbed my wrist and hauled me down the tunnel. “Keep your backside safe, lass.”

The midday sun did nothing for the bitter chill that slapped my face. I squinted watery eyes to shield them from the glare. Add to that the wind speed from the bike. We found out just how fast the Harley could go as we left the neighborhood. Aphids fringed the street as if they lay waiting for our emersion.

“Lanky wasters,” Roark shouted as he yawed the bike in and out of mutant strikes. I sighted the pistol on the closest ones as we passed. One…two…three down. Their buzzing surged through me. Along with a rush of energy. A quirk pulled my lips.

The bike slowed to round the corner. The wave inside me lurched into a rhythm. Up ahead, a single aphid stood in the street, rooted to the pavement. It turned its head. Our eyes locked. Then its wide body quivered in tempo with mine.

Drrrrrrrrone
penetrated my chest. Not my ears.

Roark zigzagged the bike through lawns as we passed it. I looked over my shoulder. The mutant didn’t budge. Not even when the spasm of aphids parted around it.

Drone-drone-drone
vibrated through me. Still, it didn’t move. Its eyes bored into mine. A knowing rammed my chest. A calling pulled me to it. I had to go back.

Would Roark stop the bike? Not a chance. I released my hold on his waist, tucked my chin and arms, and rolled off.

“Evieeee. Bloody hellllll.”

My shoulder hit the pavement. Ow. Fuck.

Tires screeched behind me.

“Evie. I’ll feckin’ kill ye myself.”

I tumbled to my feet and ran toward the fray.

Every conquering temptation represents a new fund of moral energy.

Every trial endured and weathered in the right spirit

makes a soul nobler and stronger than it was before.

William Butler Yeats

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: A COWARD HAS NO SCAR

The furor of aphids sprang toward me, but my focus narrowed on the one who stood still. I braced my wrist and deflected an oncoming claw with my forearm. Then I swapped out the pistol for a knife in midstride.

Roark’s sword clanged behind me. I moved through the horde, slicing and piercing any in my way. Bodies thudded on the road and I spun free of the fight.

The wind blinded me. Blood and drivel clumped my eyelashes. Yet through the haze, I met the rage burning in Roark’s eyes. So what? He didn’t have to follow me into battle. He could’ve left my ass. But there he was, pissed and fighting, instead of dodging and hiding. I’d deal with that complication later.

I turned back to my target, its posture inert. The churning in my chest drew me closer, the knife’s hilt warm in my hand. The aphid’s pearlescent orbs were as unwavering as its body. An invisible current writhed between us. I raised the knife and let its gaze consume me.

Fffffound you
marched through my veins.

“Me?” I asked aloud and felt foolish doing so.

Foooound.

The aphid blurred to the side and disappeared between two houses.

Behind me, the last head thumped to the pavement. Roark panted. I could feel his eyes burning a hole in my back.

“Evie.”

I turned around. He leaned on his sword. The death that clung to him matched the glare he aimed at me. I squared my shoulders and walked forward, stepping over the headless bodies encircling him. He didn’t move as I brushed back the bloodied hair that matted his forehead.