A long-necked bird winged into the night and rose above the aphids. Its white plumage glistened as if absorbing their glow. Convenient that it was there. I couldn’t command it, having no connection with it. But I could command the aphids to follow it.
The wings snapped, soaring, taking it away. I focused on it, fed my energy into the image of it. Follow.
Waves of light rippled through the predators. Their virescent bodies turned as one, climbing over each other, chasing the feathered star.
Follow, I pushed. Spasms seized my muscles. So many frenzied threads. Too many to command. My tongue flopped between stabbing teeth. My stomach heaved.
Michio’s arm clenched around me and the ground blurred under his feet. An engine rumbled.
“Did it work?” I slurred. “Are they following it?”
“Get her on the boat,” an unfamiliar voice shouted. “We’re pushing off.”
“J-J…see.” What was wrong with my speech? Roark voiced what I couldn’t. “The Lakota.”
Multiple footsteps pounded the ramp.
“Didn’t make it.” Michio’s lips brushed my cheek. “You were amazing back there, Evie. Just hang on.”
No. No. No. My screams didn’t escape the convulsions in my throat.
“My bag.” He shifted me in his arms. “Out of my way, Roark. She’s seizing.”
Our bodies lurched against the sudden motion beneath us. Sandalwood mingled with a mist of salt and algae. Michio’s chest bolstered the battering contractions.
The jade of Roark’s worried eyes blinked in and out of my vision. His trembling hands cupped my face. “Bloody hell. Do something.”
The wind stilled. The tide hushed. Amidst the darkness, the perfect light carried my body and my soul.
Reason is our soul’s left hand, faith her right.
John Donne
I woke to a sharp prick on my lip, the slide of thread tugging at the hurt.
“Aiman’s fist,” Michio whispered.
“And the one above her eye?” Roark’s brogue was tight, his arm a heavy drape on my waist.
“The same.”
The arm around me hardened. “I want to beat the bag outta him.”
Silence. Then Michio shifted, followed by the creak of leather and slide of zippers.
“That’s the last of her old stitches.” His hushed voice followed his retreating footsteps.
Roark’s fingers perused my body. The lump on my head. The cuts and bumps on my face. The wound on my palm. “They put her through hell.”
A tired sigh. “She held her own.”
There was too much regret in their voices. Time to move on. I dragged my eyes open. Jade ones stared back. His were alert and so very green.
I smiled into them. “I’ve been awake for a while.”
Honey-tinged strands curled around the sharp angles of his freckled cheeks. “I know it. Ye have this adorable habit of wigglin’ your Indian joes when ye wake.”
“My what?”
His chuckle brought me home. “Your toes, lass. Ye wiggle your clever toes.”
Said toes explored the legs intertwined with mine. Ah God, I missed him. I missed this, my hand reaching, strolling along his jaw.
My arm wobbled, dropped to the bed. “Where’s Jesse?”
“How do you feel?” Michio leaned against a rich veneered cabinet, which hovered over bench seats and more cabinets. Candlelight danced across his severe expression. “Any pain?”
I rubbed my eyes with a finger and thumb and rolled to my back. “I feel numb at the moment.”
The double bed I shared with Roark engulfed half of the windowless room. Two oval doors crowded one wall. Clothes swayed from hooks in the ceiling.
Roark pillowed his face on his bicep and regarded me from under hooded eyes. “We’re in the stateroom aft of the yacht, love.”
There was that beautiful smile. The smile I thought I’d never see again. I touched the turned-up corners. “Missed you.”
He tilted his head and pressed a kiss into my captured palm. “Missed ye more.”
Michio shifted his weight and crossed his arms. “It’s important you tell me if anything hurts. You had a seizure.”
“I’ll feel better if you tell me where Jesse is.”
Another shift of hips. “He went after Aiman.”
When I opened my mouth, Roark pressed a finger over it. “He’s got a pilot with him. He’ll meet us in Italy.”
If he survived the Drone and his aphid infested island. “That’s his Plan B?”
His knuckle tapped my chin. “He’ll catch up.”
Michio shoved medical instruments in his bag with impatient and uncharacteristic jerks. “Your vitals are normal, but your body underwent a lot of shock last night.”
“I feel fine.”
That turned his head to look at me over his shoulder. “You did good, Evie.”
Roark’s hand squeezed mine. “Ye redirected hundreds of aphids before ye couped. If ye hadn’t held them a’ the end—”
“Don’t.” I sat up. “Not till we know Jesse’s safe.”
The bedding gathered around my waist, the remains of my chemise gone. The puckered pink C on my chest gleamed against my pale complexion. I shoved the sheets out of my lap. Neat stitches crossed the cut that started at the apex of my inner thigh and stretched as long as the length of my hand.