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A throat cleared and Michio took his time pulling away to glance over his shoulder.

Jesse dumped some insulated clothes on the floor, the skin above his turtleneck exploding in red.

All eyes shifted to me. The cavernous space suddenly felt too cramped for the four of us.

“Change your clothes. It’s just above freezing here.” Jesse eyed us, making a slow journey between our faces, his revealing nothing, and disappeared through the hatch.

I stifled the urge to sigh. My affection with Michio was a discomfort everyone needed to get used to. I turned back to him and caught the twitch kicking up his swollen, wet lips.

“I adore the transparency in your expression.” He pressed a kiss against my open mouth and followed Jesse out.

A pair of cargo pants swung into my view. Roark shook them at me. “I’ll wait with ye while they clear the area of aphids.”

“Roark—”

“He’s good for ye.” He squatted in front of me, fingers working the laces on my boots.

I nudged his hands away. “Roark—”

“They’re both good for ye, if I were honest.” His forearms dangled over his bent knees. The position stretched the fabric of his trousers over his thighs, magnifying the bulk of muscle beneath. “I want ye to be happy. Whatever or whomever it takes.”

“I’m difficult. And high-maintenance. Might take all three of you.”

His delicious smile found its way to my womb. “Whatever ye want.”

I trailed a finger over one golden eyebrow, hypnotized by how the glow in his gaze flooded all my worries. “I want to fall asleep every night wrapped in your warmth, beneath the blaze in your eyes. My own private sunset.”

His breath sawed out, oaky and warm. “Ye got it.”

“I think we’re getting there. All of us.”

Another heady bite of oak fanned my lips. “I think your Lakota’s got a ways to go.”

The hatch swung open, and Tallis poked his head in. “Boss cleared us to leave.”

Outfitted with enough artillery to make Joel proud, I jumped onto the tarmac and sucked in the cool Icelandic air. My hand flew to my nose against the onslaught of rotten eggs.

Michio stepped in stride with me. “Sulfur. The water underground is heated by lava and there’s a leak.”

He jerked his head toward a bus standing on end and half-swallowed by a fissure in the ground. Water spouted from under it, spinning airborne tires.

Rusted debris scattered the broken clumps of concrete. Faded tail numbers rose from charred and twisted metal heaped on buildings and spread across the overgrown brush. Bones—human and other—poked out of scum covered rain puddles.

My nape prickled. “So, you know where the scientists are?”

“Yes. Beckett’s arranged the transport—”

A roar pulsated the concrete under our boots. Hazy figures emerged on the horizon.

I raised the carbine only to be walled off by three large frames. “Move. You’re blocking my aim.”

My guardians didn’t move. Not when the rumble of dozens of motorcycles vibrated my chest. Not when foreign shouting carried through the sulfur-laden air. And not when the first boom of a rifle went off.

And give me silence, give me water, hope.

Give me struggle, iron, volcanoes.

Let bodies cling to me like magnets.

Come quick to my veins and to my mouth.

Speak through my speech and through my blood.

Pablo Neruda

“Komagnor. I dare you,” Jesse shouted.

He stood in front me, feet shoulder width apart, arrow nocked. With Michio and Roark on either side, they formed a wall, blocking my view.

Twenty yards away, Cliff lay in prone position, rifle trained on the commotion I couldn’t see. Where were Georges and Tallis?

“Snub. Go back where you come,” a voice bellowed in a heavy German-like accent.

The volume of sputtering V-twins told me we were outnumbered, but that wasn’t what locked up my muscles. It was the familiar buzz curling through my belly. Beside me, the hair on Darwin’s ruff stood on end.

I wedged through Jesse and Michio. A line of motorcycles stretched across the horizon. Close enough to see the knotted beards and weathered goggles protecting human faces.

Pressed between battle-ready muscle, I whispered to Jesse, “I feel aphids.”

He didn’t move, didn’t look at me. “We cleared the area of them.”

My teeth clicked together. “Then you missed some, asshat.”

The bikers jerked heads in my direction and the man in front held up his hand. “Kona.” He gestured to the riders on his right and thrust his finger my way. The men on his left raised rifles.

Violent shudders rocked my body, shaking my hold on the carbine. “What’s Kona?”

The red-hue in Jesse eyes, aimed at the leather-clad men, sparked to flame. “Woman.”

I fought the need to swallow. A shroud of stillness settled over us, each man waiting for the other to move.

A gurgling cry broke the silence. Followed by another and another, morphing into a symphony of terror. On the outskirts of the line, bikes tumbled. Bodies dropped, dodging jaws, and failing.

Aphids darted out of overturned trucks and shredded hangars. Screams and bullets tore across the airstrip.