by Pam Godwin
“Lincoln. They call me Link.” His black eyes took me in from head to toe. Not in a pervy way. It was more of a Yep, she looks like a woman. “You’re cured.”
It wasn’t a question, and I didn’t bother correcting him. This wasn’t the time to give lessons on new-world genetics. First, I needed to convince him not to kill us.
“Link, my name is Evie. This is Jesse and Roark. And in a few hours, your nymphs will begin the physical transformation back to human. My blood is working in their bodies right now, erasing the nymph genome from their DNA.”
Wow, didn’t I sound all smart and calm? Beneath my plastered smile, I was chomping the hell out of my tongue.
He stared at the limp bodies around him, deep grooves rutting across his bald head.
Roark shifted beside me. “We need to move them to a safe environment. If more aphids come…” His accent faded in his bid to make Link understand. “The aphids won’t bite a nymph, but they are no longer nymphs. They den’ look human, but the aphids will scent their human blood.”
“How did you do it?” Link whispered.
I looked around the field, standing in the spotlight of the moon and surrounded by shadows. “We need to move.”
Link nodded at the field of dead bugs. “How did you do that? They don’t just lay down and wait to be killed.”
We had a long night of talking ahead of us. Could we trust them enough to bring them to the house? To have a sit-down with bottled lake-water and cans of beans?
I took in the hungry faces of the men who corralled us, counting each one in turn.
Twenty-one.
Twenty-one strong, fierce men. They didn’t look starved for food. Ages ranging from early twenties to late forties, their physiques rippled with muscle and health, their hair clean and combed. They looked as though they didn’t miss a meal, or a shower, or a work-out. But they did look hungry.
A hunger of another flavor.
They hadn’t seen a woman in over two years, and I felt their starvation in the way their eyes scoured my body, lingering on my most private places. Jesse and Roark pressed closer at my sides, trying to squeeze me backward. I crossed my arms over my chest and held my ground, painfully aware that my shirt gaped open at my back.
No, they couldn’t be trusted.
But when I scanned the cadaverous, helpless bodies at my feet, I knew we didn’t have a choice. What was I going to do? Fight them, kill them, and walk back to the house with ten nymphs on our backs? Right.
The other option was to run. Away from the scary men. Away from the women.
I couldn’t leave them. “We’re squatting in a house a few minutes away. We should talk there.”
Jesse still hadn’t lowered his bow, his expression harsh in the moonlight. “Evie is ours. Do I need to explain what that means?”
Roark leaned forward. “If one of ye touches her without her permission, I’ll kick in your stinkers bridge until ye can’t tell your cunt from your arsehole.” He held out his hand. “Hi. I’m Father Molony.”
Nice one, Roark. Nothing said priest like kicking in a man’s taint.
Link reached up and shook Roark’s hand, his teeth biting down on his lip.
Then he stood with the nymph he called Liliana cradled in his arms. “You understand this is the first time I’ve touched this woman—or any woman—in two years? My men are looking at your girl because they’re, well, men.”
Roark made a noise in his throat. “That’s wha’ we’re afraid of, lad.”
“They’re good men, and these nymphs were our women long before the plague.” Link shifted his weight, his jaw flexing. “We already lost two of them while chasing their crazy asses across five states.”
My breath caught. “Did you say five states?”
How had they kept so many nymphs from changing? Man, I hoped they weren’t part of some fucked-up cult that kept nymphs tied up for sexual rituals.
Link looked around. “We’re in West Virginia, right? We were on the Mississippi Queen in Baton Rouge when the plague hit. Been there ever since.” He read the question on my face. “The nymphs never tried to leave the steamboat. We kept them confined to the upper deck. Fed them. Took care of them.” He sighed. “We didn’t know they could swim.”
My jaw dropped. “Water doesn’t hurt them?”
He glanced at the nymph in his arms, shaking his head. “Nine weeks ago…I don’t know, something prompted them to jump overboard. All twelve of them, all at once. They ran east. Never stopping. Never sleeping. Always running east.”
Nine weeks. I’d been traveling so long, I’d run out of grains of rice. How long ago did we leave Elaine in the mountains? How long had it been since I’d seen Michio? Smelled his breath on my face? Kissed his lips?
“Nine weeks,” Jesse mumbled. “We arrived at the animal safari about that time.”
My chest clenched painfully. I hadn’t seen Michio in two months. Not that he had anything to do with the Mississippi Queen. The nymphs must’ve sensed me when I reached Georgia and come running.
Roark tied my shirt together at my back. Then, after some awkward shuffling, the strangers carried the nymphs back to the house. Jesse and Link bandied glares, each trying to outpace the other for the lead, as the rest of us fell in line behind them.
Ten nymphs and twenty-one men. Boy, did we have a surprise for Shea.
As it turned out, she had a surprise of her own.
I entered the house to find not one but two nymphs in Shea’s care. Steadying my breaths, I crouched at the edge of the rug where we’d left the first one and rubbed my eyes. Then I blinked again at the bodies on the floor. Nope, there were still two.
Two comatose nymphs.
The second one was younger, definitely more rebellious than the first, given the sleeves of ink on her arms and the amount of piercings in her face.
“Are you mad at me?” Shea perched on the couch, twisting the flashlight between her hands.
Jesse and Roark waited outside with the new arrivals, giving me a couple minutes to update Shea. I knew they were using that time to explain Shea’s background to the men, as well as spelling out rules about not touching her without her verbal consent.
Darwin plopped beside me, nudging my hand with his head. A world of chaos was about to walk through that door—men with nymphs and weapons and carnal desires—and Darwin was all like Scratch behind my ears!
I grinned, running my fingers through his dense coat and rubbing the place on his head that made his back leg kick. “I’m not mad. Just…” Why were nymphs popping up everywhere now? I stood and paced the room. “What happened?”
“She rattled the door. I let her in.” Shea shined the flashlight on her arm, revealing a new puncture mark beside the first, both of which were sealing quickly.
I glanced at my own arms, dotted with ten tiny holes, the marks already closing. Maybe the nymphs had some kind of healing agent in their bite?
I needed Michio. To make sense of all this. To share the excitement with me. To hold me. And if I were being honest, after two months without an orgasm, I desperately needed him to fuck me.
Where did this sudden arousal come from?
The scent of twenty-plus hungry men outside. Alpha males. Men with the kind of presence a woman couldn’t ignore. Men who oozed ferocity and confidence and the promise of protection. Men who knew how to take care of their bodies, which meant they would know how to take care of mine.
Stop it. None of those men could hold a candle to my guardians.
I gave Shea a brief run-down on everything she’d missed and reminded her these men hadn't seen a woman in a very long time. Her smile was contagious when I told her about the ten nymphs waiting outside.
I followed her gaze to the two on the floor. Two nymphs explained the multiple scratching sounds I’d heard. And the second one had come to the door after I left, which meant they weren’t just drawn to me. They were drawn to Shea as well.
Which also meant when these twelve nymphs were
fully healed, they could beckon other nymphs and those nymphs could beckon more nymphs and so on. If we traveled in opposite directions, our reach across the continent would be endless. We could cross oceans, our small numbers building, becoming larger, more effective. We could potentially spread the cure to every corner of the world.
My hopeful thoughts shifted to the door as the men marched in with the women. The room filled with footsteps, deep voices, and a fuckton of testosterone. Within seconds, the small three-bedroom house grew exponentially smaller.
A tiny, closed-in boudoir of testosterone. I could smell it, like the sweetest cologne, sifting through me and lathering my inner thighs.
As Roark and Shea led the ten men with women upstairs, I treaded to the far wall and watched the parade of muscle move in. Darwin circled around their boots, sniffing their crotches and wagging his tail. If his hackles rose, mine would, too. When it came to men, I trusted his instincts more than my own.
And the men poured in, carrying packs, barbaric weaponry, flashlights, candles, and kerosene lamps. Soon the house was flooded with light.
More than enough light to illuminate sculpted faces, tight jeans, and even tighter asses. Black men, white men, a few Hispanic, there wasn’t an ugly man in the group. Each one blood-splattered and dangerous-looking, they redefined sexy with a ruthless edge. Most were covered in tattoos, all of them carved to brawny perfection.
I squeezed my thighs together and tried not to make eye-contact, because they were most definitely looking. Every man that strutted through the door set their eyes on me. It shouldn’t have turned me on. I should’ve been watching them for suspicious activity, but evidently my libido overruled my self-preservation.
Jesse gave me a narrowed look from across the room.
“What?” I mouthed.
It wasn’t like he could smell the arousal pooling between my legs. And so what if I was horny? Weirder things have happened.
Oh shit, he was coming over here.
I rested against the wall, all cool and collected, but damn, if his confident fucking swagger didn’t get my pussy excited. My inner muscles quivered in anticipation.
His eyes never left mine as he wove through the crowded room, casually avoiding the brush of his body against the gatherings of men here and there. His bow strapped over his back, his tomahawk hung from his waist, and his hair stuck up in messy ruts from his raking fingers.
When he reached me, he braced a forearm on the wall beside my head and put his mouth at my ear. “You want to fuck these guys?”
His muscular chest heaved against me. It had been so long since I’d seen a shirt on him or Roark, I wasn’t sure either man owned one anymore. Two months of sleeping against all that skin had reduced me to a one-second-from-exploding bundle of aching need.
I closed my eyes and whispered, “I want to fuck you.”
His breath rushed out, fanning across my neck.
“She’ll settle for your fingers.” Roark’s brogue shivered through me, flooding more warmth between my legs.
I opened my eyes, locking on his beside me. “You left Shea upstairs alone?”
“She kicked me out.” Roark leaned against the wall, facing us, his eyes glimmering like polished emeralds. “Where can we find some privacy around here?”
Fuck privacy. I was soaking wet. Fucking throbbing. Fingers would finish it. Just a quick fondle, round and round my opening. Then slide those circular strokes around my clit, and sweet mother…
I hummed and it sounded like a moan.
“We’ll find a place, darlin’.” Jesse breathed, his southern twang caressing the words.
I almost came. “Now? Or two months from now?”
The gap between Jesse’s chest and mine gave Roark just enough space to reach up and pinch my nipple. A golden dreadlock fell across his eyes, that heated gaze fixed on me. “Go upstairs and check on Shea.”
They were torturing me, and they knew it. I needed an escape from this testosterone-choked room, so I slipped around Jesse and walked a direct path to the stairs.
The upper floor had become an infirmary, every bed and inch of floor space piled with blankets and pillows and bedrolls to hold recovering women. The sight of so many skeletal bodies was a cold wash of reality, instantly blasting away my arousal.
Shea bustled around her sleeping patients, tucking them in and checking their vitals. As she hopped from room to room, she shooed the men out. When the last guy descended the stairs, I followed her into one of the bedrooms.
“I’m going to stay up here with them, okay?” She smiled at me, her fingers gently combing the tangled hair of the tattooed woman.
She was a natural care-taker, evident in the way she moved from woman to woman, fussing over their bedding, cleaning their bodies, and humming as she went along. She practically glowed with the need to nurture. I envied that.
I’d survived by shedding the warmer, softer parts of myself and rebuilding something colder, harsher. I was no longer the gentle, loving mother of two beautiful children. I was the acid that filled my stomach whenever I thought of them. I was the colorless ash left beneath their cremated bodies. I was a shadow that carried the excruciating memories of the day they died.
I felt uncomfortable and useless up here with Shea, surrounded by soft bedding and tender touches. I could cure the women. I could kill their enemies. But I didn’t know how to comfort them.
I shoved my hands in my back pockets. “Do you need my help?”
“Nope.” She blew out a content breath, her eyes shining in the dim glow of a candle. “We’re going to be okay, Evie.”
She wasn’t just talking about the women. She meant me and her and the whole damned world.
Given everything we’d endured the last two months, this was the first time I’d seen hope on her face. It softened her brown eyes, lifted her bowed lips, and colored her cheeks. She wore it beautifully and powerfully, emitting it from her pores and lifting the very air I drew into my lungs.
I inhaled another breath of her hope and let that invigorating feeling settle through me. “I love you, you know.”
I hadn’t intended to say it. I wasn’t even sure I’d said those words to my guardians, but once they were out of my mouth, I heard the truth in them. It terrified me, knowing I could lose her in so many horrific ways, but it also strengthened me. I loved this woman, who exemplified all the good that still existed in the world.
She studied me with perceptive eyes. “You’re having a moment, aren’t you?”
I shrugged awkwardly, unsure what to do with myself. “It was bound to happen.”
“I love you, too.” She blinked rapidly, her chin quivering. “Now go on. Get outta here.” She shooed me with a hand. “Go tell those men downstairs your badass story.”
And so I did. Back in the living room and squished between Jesse and Roark on the couch, I talked until the candles dripped to shallow stubs and my voice rasped with overuse.
Link sprawled in the recliner with a flask of bourbon, volleying questions like an eager reporter. His men moved quietly around us, cleaning weapons, repairing shoes, and scraping forks in various cans of food. Some slept. Some kept watch outside. Others sat with us, listening to me ramble.
I detailed every event that affected my life over the past two years, and Jesse and Roark filled in their own experiences. The Drone, the Lakota, the men who raped me, the scar on my chest, our journey to Europe and back, Michio’s biological changes, my inhuman ladybird abilities, the prophecy. There were no stones left unturned when I twisted around and showed the room the spots on my back.
Link took a slug of bourbon and lit a cigarette, holding the smoke in his lungs as he studied Jesse and Roark with razored black eyes.
He exhaled slowly, his gaze landing on Roark. “You’re a celibate priest, but you won’t turn down a blow job.”
I’d just told him there was a monster with wings flying around out there, and this was what he wanted to talk about?
Roark’s hand
tightened on my knee, his thumb tracing the crease between my pinched legs.
Link waved the cigarette in Jesse’s direction. “And you’re a spirit-walker, following the advice of a dead child.”
My hackles shot up, and I jerked forward. Jesse’s arm across my waist pinned me on the couch.
Link reached toward his ankle and stubbed out the cigarette in the folded cuff of his jeans. “I mean no disrespect, Evie. Didn’t have kids of my own. Don’t want to think about what it feels like to lose one.” He looked back at Jesse. “So you follow a prophecy that says your seed will kill your woman.”
Jesse, Roark, and I were pressed together so tightly I felt our collective tension running back and forth between us.
Leaning back in the recliner, Link lit another cigarette, his eyes on Jesse. “It’s been two years since I’ve laid eyes on a woman, but I recognize beauty when I see it. Evie’s a fucking wet dream, and neither one of you are boning her? Fuck, man. That’s some fucked-up shit right there.”
Roark sprung from the couch and slammed into Link with fists flying. His heavy punches connected with flesh, over and over, pummeling Link’s face, ribs, and arms. They rolled off the recliner, Roark punching and Link grunting, as they thrashed across the floor.
Jesse didn’t move, his face relaxed, his eyes following the scuffle.
“Aren’t you going to stop him?” I tried to stand, but his arm held me down.
Ten or so of Link’s men stood around the room, smoking cigarettes and palming flasks, all casual like, watching the fight. Not a single weapon raised.
What the hell was this? Some kind of men-establishing-dominance bullshit?
Bent over Link, Roark continued his attack, his fists raining down, viciously, brutally, with no end in sight. Link raised his arms to block, but he didn’t fight back.
Was this Link testing how sexually repressed Roark was? Or was this his way of proving he and his men were not a threat to me?
Please tell me that sound wasn’t the crunch of bone.
Link’s gurgling manic laugh erupted from beneath Roark’s relentless hits.