Page 70

Behind his grim expression was an unrivaled tenacity. His eyes were vehement in resolve and I found myself filled with admiration. If only I could be that strong.

I scooched toward him and leaned against the opposite side of the doorway.

When he drooped a hand over his bent knee, I hooked my pinky around his thumb. “What do you pray for?”

He stared at our hands. “Forgiveness, guidance, strength”—the corner of his mouth lifted—”ye.”

Something in my chest squeezed. “We should sleep separately.”

“No.” He interlaced our fingers. “Sleeping with me arms around ye is me favorite part of every day. I won’t have it another way.”

I blew out a breath. That went both ways. How had I allowed him to nose dive straight into the recesses of my heart? “That’s probably best. Where we’re headed, we’ll need to share body warmth.”

His lashes flew up. When he opened his mouth, I said, “We’re going to find the Shard.” If they still existed.

He closed his mouth and rolled his lips as if sampling my words. “And wha’ about your animosity toward mankind?”

Was I that transparent? “Ah well, some starry-eyed bloke has shown me the yellow brick road. Maybe I’ll find a heart.”

That earned me the patented Roark smile. “And wha’ if the Shard’s just a cantankerous auld man pressing buttons on a ham radio?”

“We won’t know until we pull back the curtain.”

He raised his hand and smoothed hair from my cheek. “Then pull your socks up. Iceland will freeze the balls off a brass monkey.”

Roark spent the next two days scribbling on his maps of the U.K., marking towns along the way that might have the supplies we’d need. I spent that time cleaning my weapons, honing my strength in the gym and scouring the genetics primer from the library.

The night before we planned to depart, he woke me, kneeling beside me, his features twisted in a queer wonderment. “Evie. Evie.”

“Mm?”

“Did ye read any of your entomology texts? Or any of the books on aphids?”

Seriously? He woke me for that? My lids fluttered closed and I waved him away. “Tomorrow.”

“I read them.” He shook me. “Evie? Do ye know wha’ the aphid’s biggest predator is?”

“My 5.56 round between the eyes.”

His hands hooked under my armpits and slid me to a sitting position. I groaned my annoyance. He curled a knuckle under my chin and lifted my eyes to his. Even in the dim candlelight, his jades were fierce. “Aphids. The wee insects. Do ye know their predator, love?”

I exaggerated another yawn.

His hand brushed my shoulder and extended before me. Two ladybugs gripped his fingers.

“Ladybirds. The bloody aphids’ predators are ladybirds.” He let the beetles wiggle into my lap. “Do ye know wha’ this means?”

I flicked the bugs across the room. “We need an exterminator?”

He squinted at me, his tone impatient. “Wise up and listen. I prayed for a sign.”

I lifted a shoulder. “Like the spinning sun of the Medjugorje sunset? Or the bleeding Bolivian statues?”

He sidled closer, palm circling my nape.

“I very specifically asked for…” His eyes dipped to my lips then darted back up. “I asked for a sign to acknowledge you’re more sacred than me vow.”

He sat back on his ankles and pulled the blanket away from me. My body teemed with bustling beetles. Ladybugs perched on my arms and thighs and stirred in the bedding that surrounded me.

I jumped out of the bed and swatted them off. “Oh God, where did they come from?”

“Exactly.” He ran his hand over his mouth. Creases spread from the corners of his eyes. “Ye are hallowed.”

“You can’t be serious.” I brushed the last of them away and grimaced. “This isn’t the first time they’ve flocked to me like this.” My dad’s boat. My Lakota name.

He stood still, hands to his sides, watching the bed. “This is big. Bigger than us.”

Good lord. “Maybe they’re like mosquitoes, only biting certain people. Maybe I exude an odor that attracts them.”

“I’m going to wet the tea.”

The blankets seemed to move under the writhing red bodies. A shiver ran through me. “Something stronger than tea.”

He held up a bottle of Bushmills and patted a stool by the bar. I sat, and he filled our tumblers. “Can ye have children?”

My nerves resurfaced. “That’s…what? What the hell does my fertility have to do with our insect problem?”

He passed me a glass. “I’ve wanted to ask ye since I met ye. I decided to come out with it straight away.” He sat next to me. “I know it’s not an easy question.”

No, it wasn’t. But I kept nothing from the man. “I had an IUD implanted three years ago. It’s like ninety-nine point ninety-nine-percent effective against pregnancy. And no periods, one less thing to worry about. I should get two more years out it.”

He traced the lip of his glass. “So if it was removed. Ye could get pregnant?”