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Were they mentally controlled? How deep did that control reach? Could the Drone hear me talking to them? Was he actively broadcasting commands or did he give them orders and send them off?

Thinking back to the battle, none of our attackers interacted with one another. While our guys gestured and shouted and worked together, the fanged men simply drove ahead, single-mindedly focused on killing.

What the fuck was going on?

The darkness of the cab seemed to cling to Michio’s apathetic demeanor. Shadows accentuated the slack outline of his profile. His strong hands lay palms down on his thighs, his athletic body calm and indifferent. What if he’d been harmed so badly his mind had been altered? What if he couldn’t come back from it? God, I wanted to wrap my arms around him.

Up and down, my gaze roamed every inch of him I could see, lingering on the most memorable attributes. His flawless skin had once felt like velvet beneath my hands. The cords in his thick neck used to stretch when he orgasmed. His full lips had tasted like the most exotic spice beneath my tongue. And his fangs, both imposing and erotic, were presently sheathed.

“Did you bite them, Michio? Is the Drone controlling you?”

No response.

I refused to believe he’d killed the Lakota, but maybe he’d seen Elaine? Did he know where she was? Did he know if Jesse and Roark were alive? Not that I’d trust his word on this topic.

The man sitting before me reminded me so much of the stoic Dr. Nealy from a year ago. When I’d met him, he’d been my captor, the doctor who’d held me prisoner in Malta while leading me to believe Roark had died.

But back then, I’d glimpsed traces of emotion beneath the blank mask he tried so hard to maintain. A mask he wore for my protection. And now? I didn’t sense a disguise or pretense.

No one could fake this kind of cruel callousness. He was simply not there.

The Drone was behind this. It was the only explanation. He could command the aphids better than I could, which lent itself to the idea that he could control the men who’d contracted his spider pathogen. Men like Michio.

Wherever we were headed, I was certain the Drone would be waiting, and I wouldn’t be able to defeat him unarmed and caged. Michio was my only chance. I wouldn’t give up on him.

“Remember the first time we made love? We were soaking in the bathtub and you were upset because you thought you’d been too rough with me. You said you were supposed to take care of me, not injure me. Do you remember?” The memories barreled through me, crushing my chest and thickening my voice. “It was the night before we broke out of Fort Manoel. The night before we escaped the Drone.”

His lack of expression only deepened my hurt.

I tightened my grip against the cage wall. “We’ve made love so many times since that night. Do you think about it? Did you miss me at all? Dammit, Michio, I miss you. Please talk to me.”

Woodenly, he reached toward the space between us, and my pulse went nuts. Finally, a reaction!

Gripping the window lever, he slid it shut and pressed the lock. The cold click punched me in the gut. But instead of succumbing to the burn behind my eyes, I lashed back in a fit of fury.

My fingers curled around the metal wires, and I shook the cage with all my might, banging it against the glass, trying to free it from its heavy chains. I jerked and screamed, willing the damned walls to break and pleading for him to open the window, all while glaring murderous daggers at the back of his head.

Eventually, I stopped banging and screeching and closed my eyes. Hands aching and voice raw, I slumped against the wall of the cage and surrendered my body to insufferable mourning. I trembled from head to toe, frozen in the frigid gusts of wind, scared out of my mind, and suffocating under the harrowing pain of betrayal.

I hugged my knees to my chest, and for just a few moments, I allowed myself to wallow. I let all the why me questions unfurl through my head, feeling sorry for my pathetic existence and blaming everyone for every miserable thing that had happened to me. I didn’t try to contain my breathing as it worked its way into a wheezing series of wet hacks. And I cursed Michio. I cursed him even though I knew this man wasn’t him. Mostly I cursed him for sitting in the warm cab while I froze my tits off in the back.

When I finished wading through my wretched neuroticism, I evened my breaths, flexed my fingers, and squared my shoulders. I hadn’t lost my fight.

A comforting realization settled over me. Michio didn’t know I could blow up bugs with my mind, or that I didn’t need skin-on-skin contact, or that my body contained an endless flow of energy that made me feel like I could run all the way back to Missouri.