by Pam Godwin
Michio removed his hand to wrap it around my throat, his breath tumbling against my temple. “Let’s go.”
Okay, yeah. Good idea. To the shadowed corner of the room? The creaky porch? The dusky recesses of the forest? Nowhere was private enough. Not with two other overprotective men breathing down my neck.
I pulled away from Roark, but he caught my hand and pressed it against his erection. His eyes raised to my face, the emerald depths rotating like a windy forest. “Stay.”
My chest hitched, and I yanked against the shackle of his fingers. Michio understood the nature of my relationship with Roark, perhaps better than I did, but that didn’t mean he liked it. The sudden stillness behind me confirmed it.
I yanked again, no give. “Roark? What are you doing?”
The fingers around my neck vanished, as did the heat at my back. In the next breath, Michio stood over us, shorts in place and expression as forthcoming as a rock. Ever the strong, silent type, Michio simply looked at my hand where Roark held it against his hard cock. Michio’s stance was unreadable, but the man who simmered beneath it did not like to share.
I will kill any man who tries to own ye like a thing to possess.
Roark’s words, and I’d learned not to take anything he said lightly. But he’d never been so bold as to interfere while I was in Michio’s arms. If my suspicion was correct, Roark was asking—no, demanding—he join me and Michio.
Problem was, Michio was seconds from a throw down.
I twisted and jerked my wrist, and when Roark finally released it with a shove, I grabbed the t-shirt beside the bedroll and climbed to my feet. Hurrying to cover myself—neck hole, arm hole, inside-out, fuck it—I shoved the hem down and backed away from the approaching storm. I should say something, but what exactly?
“Ye den’ own her.” Roark’s brogue rumbled low and deep.
I dropped my head back and stared at the rotting rafters. “He knows that.”
Roark sat up and dangled his arms over bent knees. “Den’ think he does, love.”
The only thing Michio moved was his eyes, tracking the flex of Roark’s hands and probably the change in his breaths. Michio never attacked, never threw the first strike. No, he waited for it, his impossible stillness baiting it, and whenever it came, he annihilated.
So when Roark rose and rolled back his shoulders, I stepped between them, facing Roark. “Talk to me.”
A head taller, he lowered his chin, eyes on mine. “This isn’t going to work.”
“What?” I knew what but needed specifics.
“Him”—he jabbed a finger over my shoulder—“stealing off with ye in the middle of the night.” His hand lowered, fisting at his side. “Scuppering me chances with ye.”
“He’s not—” Scuppering? “We’re just trying to be respectful.”
“He can fuck the arse off ye right here.” His expression hardened, not a flicker of conflict in his eyes. “I can handle it.”
Oh my fuck, he wanted to watch? My greedy cunt spasmed just thinking about it. I didn’t just want him to watch. I wanted him to participate. Two men? At the same time? What hot-blooded, woman in her sexual prime wouldn’t want that?
Michio wrapped a hand around my elbow, his body heat suddenly against my side. “You took a vow, Father Molony.”
Roark’s nostrils flared. “Convenient, eh?”
“Can you shut up out there?” Elaine called from the bedroom.
I rubbed my temples and whispered, “Michio, listen. Roark’s not trying to…” I waved my hand around as if it would summon the right words. “Get with me. He just wants…affection.”
“You’re wrong,” Michio said, eyes on Roark. “The priest very much wants to fuck you.”
The veins in Roark’s forearm bulged, the knuckles on his fists blanching.
Michio cocked his head. “His vow is unraveling as we speak.”
Shit. I tried to meet Roark’s gaze, but he refused to look at me. Man, these two knew how to dump cold water on a woman’s libido. Pop. Fizzle. Done.
I stepped back and pointed a finger, first at Michio, then Roark. “If you fight, I’m outta here.”
He swung, and Michio swerved, releasing my arm. Roark threw another punch, but I was already moving, grabbing the carbine on the way out the door.
As I closed it behind me, the far wall shook, followed by a muffled grunt. Probably Roark’s fist. Hopefully, not his head.
The midday’s humidity had cooled off, and the moon cast a dim glow over the porch and surrounding woods. I scanned the tree line and spotted Darwin at the boundary. My vigilant German Shepherd lifted his head, twitched his ears, and returned to his slumber.
And there, in the corner of the porch, waited another complication, another confusing relationship, the guardian of my mind.
Jesse sat against the cabin wall, one leg bent, the other stretched out, and flicked something into the vines that crept around the railing. His bow lay over his leg, and his tomahawk rested beside his hip. He carried handguns and blades as well, but none were visible beneath his fatigues.
I plonked down beside him and settled the carbine over my lap. “This might be their worst fight yet.”
The corner of his mouth kicked up, but his eyes remained fixed on whatever he cupped in his palm. Crumbled leaves? He picked through the brown pieces, flicking some away. Tobacco.
I leaned back and tried to tune out the whisper-shouting inside. If they raised their voices, the aphids would come.
I glanced over at Jesse, my shoulder brushing his. “You heard all of it.”
Of course, he did, but I wanted his thoughts on it.
“Every creature on the mountain heard.”
Something thumped on the cabin floor, and the whispers died down. Maybe they knocked each other out.
Jesse reached for a broad leaf from the pile before him, his boot scraping along the floorboards. “Some things are worth fighting for.”
His deep voice reverberated through my chest, his words layered with meaning. He fought in his own way. Following me to Europe. Freeing me from Malta. And lounging on the porch now so monsters wouldn't break through that door while I slept.
“I owe you my life.”
He shifted, glanced at the trees and back at his hands. “Don’t say that.”
I would never stop saying it.
There was something so unique and earthly about him. Raw. Feral. With his unkempt hair, disregard for social pleasantry, and preference for crude weaponry, he was an extension of the soil and the woods and the wild beauty that was now reclaiming the earth. But the intelligence in his eyes was staggering.
I looked away, studying my hands, as his gaze heated my face. After a silent moment, the movement of his fingers drew my attention. He was rolling the tobacco in leaves. He didn’t smoke. He rolled them for me.
He tied off the end, lit it with a match, and passed it to me.
I accepted it and raised it to my mouth. “Trying to give me lung cancer?”
He turned his head, eyes on the star-speckled sky. “That’s not how you die.”
Oh right. “The cliff or your cock.” I pulled a drag from the cigarette, relishing the burn in my throat. “Let’s talk about that.”
“We have.”
“No. I talk and you sit there all closed-up and glare-y.”
He glared.
“Yeah, just like that.”
His glare lowered to the fingers I rested on the carbine, staring at my hand like he wanted to hold it.
I reached for him, and he jerked back, hissing through his teeth. Jesus. I was really making a mess of everything tonight.
Closing my eyes, I spoke into the dark. “I’m trying to understand why you’re so distant with me.” I peeked at him. “If romantic involvement with you is supposed to kill me, it must have something to do with sex. Like you transferring the virus to me?”
His jaw set.
My heart raced. “But I’m immune.”
“Don’t get ahead of yo
urself.” He nodded at the cabin door. “You have enough going on in there.”
As if on cue, the door opened. Roark stepped out, swiping blood from his lip, and turned toward the man inside. “I found her first.”
Wow, I really needed to lay down the law. “You know—”
“Actually.” Jesse raised a finger. “I found her first.”
I gave him a narrowed look. “You’re making it worse.”
He shrugged, slouched lower to the floor, and shut his eyes, evidently tucking in for the night.
As Roark sat on the top step, Michio emerged. I scanned him for injuries, found none, and met his eyes. He offered me a smile, which loosened some of the tension in my shoulders, but instead of joining me, he strode to the steps and sat beside Roark.
Huh. “So we’re all sorted then?”
Roark grunted. Michio leaned his elbows on his knees. Somewhere in the distance, a bird chirruped.
Jesse lay beside me, eyes closed and arms crossed over his chest. No help there.
I tapped my fingers on the carbine. “You could at least tell me who won.”
Roark rubbed a hand over his stubble. “We were just communicating, love.”
“With your fists.”
His big shoulder lifted, flexing the muscles in his back.
There were no manuals for these guys. Just a murky collection of stubbornness to wade through.
“I don’t appreciate all the grunting and shrugging and breathing.” I sucked on the cigarette and snuffed it out. I knew what I wanted. All three of them. And what I didn’t want was them fighting it out and making decisions for me. “Will you be communicating again tomorrow?”
Michio turned, bracing his back against the post. He was the depiction of survival—the strength in his hands, the black abyss of his eyes, the threadbare cotton of his shorts, and God knew what churned in that brain. But his body was his weapon, quick as a bullet and sharp as a blade. “Tomorrow, we leave.”
To go out there, where we had to stick together, work together, and move together seamlessly. Because if we didn’t, there would be no more tomorrows.
I struggled to keep Jesse’s pace, tripping over a tangle of roots, as he led our little group down the mountain terrain. The sun beat down, and a layer of dust worked its way beneath my tank top and jeans. Just behind Jesse, Roark and Elaine trudged through the undergrowth, and though I couldn’t hear Michio, I could sense his heat behind me.
Our group had enough eyes and ears to perceive oncoming danger—a black bear, a rogue aphid, or an ambush of armed men—but the constant caution was exhausting. Humidity saturated my lungs, and blood pumped into my overworked muscles. All of this made worse by the weight of our food supplies, bedrolls, and weapons. We carried everything we owned on our backs.
I shifted the strap of my pack away from a raw spot on my shoulder and rolled my sore neck. In the past, back in my suburban life, a hike like this would’ve been impossible. But I'd broken in my body over the last two years. Long lean muscles replaced my old, puny physique, and with that honed strength came stamina. I had hours left before fatigue really set in.
The hills below stretched to the horizon, bathed in the emerald glow of spruce-firs. What lay beyond wouldn’t be peaceful though. In a few days, we would be neck deep in twisted metal, weathered skeletons, and the stench of despair.
We would reach the Lakota camp soon to drop off Elaine and pick up Tallis and Georges. Pre-virus, the two men worked for Jesse. A hired gun. An aircraft pilot. And after? The same, but without laws, currency, or contracts. They remained in Jesse’s employ for one reason: loyalty. I totally got that. Jesse was a leader, fierce and strong in every way. He would put our lives before his to protect us.
While Michio spent the last month nursing Elaine back to health, Tallis and Georges gathered medical supplies—syringes, blood collection tubes, whatever was on Michio’s list—for our journey ahead. I didn’t know how far they traveled or how much they collected. I only hoped they had returned to the Lakota camp unharmed.
From out of nowhere¸ a streak of black and tan fur bolted by.
I patted my thigh. “Darwin. Hier.”
My German Shepherd slowed but didn’t obey. He tiptoed wide paws through a stream as quiet as the man he pursued. Damn Jesse. He’d even secured Darwin’s loyalty.
“Traitor,” I whispered.
A bushy tail waved back.
Michio’s gait picked up, bringing him to my side. He matched my stride, the granite lines of his profile cut by shards of sunlight. “How many nymphs are left do you think?”
“Thousands.” Hopefully more.
“My assessment as well.” He bent a branch from our path. “We’re too small a team to find them all.”
Leave it to a doctor to point out the shitty odds.
I drew a weary breath. “I know.”
“The world’s a big place.”
Knew that too. The miles I covered since the outbreak had hardened the soles of my feet. From Missouri to England, Malta to Iceland, I could count my nymph encounters on two hands. “We’ll find who we can.” Wherever they were, holed up in empty buildings, haunting alleyways and sewers, or hiding in the shadows. “Free as many as possible. That’s all we can do.”
He ducked beneath a low-hanging tree, his attention on the sloping hillside below. “And what about you?”
I raised the hem of my tank top to wipe the sweat from my lip. “What about me?”
He clasped my hand, gave it a squeeze. “Who will set you free?”
Free from what? From carrying the only known cure and giving it to the world?
I laced our fingers, savoring the contact. “I am free, Michio.”
“It’s your blood that’s needed.” He tugged my hand, stopping my forward motion. “Doesn’t mean you have to do the hunting.”
“I don’t know about that. I can sort of sense nymphs like I can with aphids.”
But it was odd, somewhat confusing. I just didn’t have a good handle on differentiating the sensations.
“Yeah.” His eyes flicked away, and his lips tightened. “Your unique biology could expedite the search.”
Or complicate it.
There was a valid concern behind his reluctance to bring me along. If I died, the cure would die, too. Unless I’d passed it to Elaine when I healed her. Wouldn’t that be cool? If I cured a hundred women and each of them cured a hundred, it would certainly make this world-saving business more feasible. We just needed to find another nymph to test the theory.
If I had that kind of help, maybe I wouldn’t have to spend the remainder of my days searching for creatures that didn’t want to be found. I’d never endeavored to be a missionary. The role didn’t fit. Before the virus, I’d spent most of my time behind a desk, crunching numbers for Christ’s sake.
I looked up into the dark eyes that stared back, breathing in his aura of sandalwood and patience. “Let’s say we assembled some scouting parties and sent them off. What about the refrigeration issue? We can’t back up my blood or store it anywhere, which means they can’t carry around vials of the cure. When they found a nymph, they’d have to come back and retrieve me.” I’d just sit around, waiting. “Sounds like a waste of time.”
“Time you could use to build your own life. Your own family.”
Flashes of Annie and Aaron, their tiny sallow bodies entwined in death, roiled my gut. My mouth went dry, and the backs of my eyes burned. I tried to pull my hand from his.
His hold tightened, his gaze a heavy sea of black. “A new family would never replace the one you had.”
“No?” My voice snapped low and harsh through the woods.
Was he trying to provoke me? Damn him, I needed detachment from those memories, and I sure as fuck didn’t want new ones. Losing my children and husband had twisted me into a killing, fucking, fighting shell of the person I’d been before the aphid plague. Soft-heartedness made me weak, and I refused to be a liability.
A few paces ahead, R
oark paused and met my eyes over his shoulder. His eyebrows dug together, questioning. Could he hear the conversation?
I shook my head. Stay out of this.
Michio lowered his chin, lips inches from mine, his tone deep and unyielding. “Repopulation is the priority.”
Why was he hitting so hard on this? I was just one woman, and one was not enough to repopulate the planet with a viable genetic distribution. My focus was on reviving the female population. So they could do the reproducing. So I wouldn’t have to birth children and risk losing them.
I couldn’t go through that again.
“I’m not getting pregnant.” I twisted my wrist in his grip. “I still have the IUD and—”
“Your implant is nearing expiration.”
“It lasts five years. I’ve had it for four.”
“Its effectiveness will start to decrease soon. Not to mention infections and other complications that could happen without regular checkups.” He released my hand. “I need to remove it, Evie.”
“The hell you do.” I stepped back, stumbling over a fallen branch.
He moved to close the distance, and I slashed a hand between us, halting his approach.
I needed him to understand so we could move forward and never have this conversation again. “This is not the same world that invented candy sprinkles and merry-go-rounds.” I pointed a shaky finger at the horizon, my whisper seething with vehemence. “I’m going to go out there and cure women so they have the choice to conceive, but I will not bring a little girl into this raping, stinking hell we now live in.” I couldn’t fail another child.
His nostrils flared. “Your attitude is disappointing.”
“Fuck you, Michio.” Blood and death boiled through my veins. I’d watched Annie and Aaron grow for seven years. Watched them die for ten hours. This wasn’t attitude. It was fucking heartbreak. “You’ve never had a child, never had one ripped away. You have no right to judge me.”
“I have the right to want my own child,” he said quietly, hauntingly.
My face heated. He’d never voiced it, but I’d glimpsed the longing in his eyes when I talked about my children. I pressed a hand against my aching chest, hating myself for being so selfish, hating him for asking this of me. I couldn’t do it. “Not with me.”