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“Yes. A title I’ve earned as the leader of the aphid army.”

“These mutants are your…soldiers?” Roark asked.

“Impressive, yes? And this is just a small battalion. There’s more to see.”

He swept his eyes to the aphids closest to us. “Bring them.” He turned, put his back in my scope. I squeezed the trigger.

A streak of green blotted my sight. I lowered the barrel. Black blood coursed from the aphid at my feet. A bodyguard.

I returned to high ready, sighted the Imago’s back. One round left.

Roark’s sword clanked on the rocky ground. Beside it, he bowed his head, a speared mouth angled at his neck. His captor’s hunger tore through me in waves.

I dropped the barrel, fought my panic. “Imago. Call off your fucking bug.”

The Imago’s soulless eyes appeared over his shoulder. “Relinquish the gun.”

“Den’ give it,” Roark said from his bent position.

Outnumbered, I shrugged out of the sling and offered it to the aphid at his neck. Spit dripped from the sharp beak of its mandible, its pearly orbs hypnotizing. Snarls wheezed past its jowls.

It released Roark and snatched the gun from my hands.

All at once, the buzzing resumed. Roark lurched to my side, arms suffocating me against his tense body. “Ye wreck me nerves, woman. I’ll be dealing with ye in a severe and violent manner after this.”

“Such optimism.”

The aphids pushed us forward with mere intimidation. When we reached the valley, Roark crushed my face to his chest. The boys’ transitional cries fractured the icy air. Their mutation had begun.

The Imago prowled through his brigade, chuffing and tapping his cigar. The biceps embracing me went taut every time the Imago cast a look in my direction. I wanted to fight. Or run. I wanted to do something besides stand before that mad man and await our fate. How did he control the bugs? They crowded us shoulder to shoulder. I could feel their hunger as if it were my own. But not one made a move to bite.

The Imago staked his post before me and sucked from his cigar. With a gloved hand, he lifted my chin. “My brother is here, and he will be pleased.”

He squinted at the cliff. Whoomp-whoomp-whoomp clapped down the rocky crag, a sound I hadn’t heard since the outbreak. Then the helicopter emerged in view.

Our hair and clothes lashed around us as it landed. My heart banged on my ribs. Roark enfolded me like body armor, his mouth at my ear. “We’ll get through this. Den’ lose your head.”

The first man disembarked the chopper. Black curls wound over a sable cape. His onyx eyes narrowed on me. The Imago’s brother. My nightmare in flesh. Cold sweat trickled between my breasts.

Roark’s lilt was low. “Is he…”

He craned his neck and found his answer in my eyes. My wrist ached under the pressure from his fingertips.

A claw caught his arm. An insectile mouth pressed under his white collar. Still, he hung on to me as the Imago pried me from his arms.

Roark was one stab away from infection. All it would take was the slightest pressure from that speared mouth. I didn’t dare fight back.

With the aid of his aphid army, the Imago made quick work of binding and gagging us. I twisted my arms against the knots on my wrists. Remembered pain gurgled up. With it, came bile and tremors.

The Imago’s brother approached with the second man from the chopper. The brothers exchanged a clasp of hands.

“The human boys were like sugar on flypaper.” The Imago’s eyes lingered over me. “Our little fly buzzed right to the cliff, unable to flee our sweet trap.”

The man with the onyx eyes towered over me.

“Eveline.” My name rolled from his tongue like a French wine. “It is a pleasure to meet you. I am the Drone.”

Roark’s breathing at my side reminded me that crunching the Drone’s nose with my head would hurt Roark. They would use him against me, the only reason they kept him alive.

“This is my partner, Dr. Michio Nealy. He is going to help you relax for our trip.”

If Dr. Nealy hadn’t been pulling a syringe from his bag, I would’ve admired the chary almond shaped eyes and smooth complexion of his Asian heritage. But as he dripped solute from the hollow point, I fantasized using it as a skewer to pluck those eyes from his head.

The Drone glanced at Roark. “I fear you won’t behave when we separate you from your priest.”

I bucked in the Imago’s grip as he canted, “Nighty-night. Don’t let the bed bugs bite.”

Roark’s gaze steadied me. I lobbed him a silent demand. Stay alive. Promise me. Then I lunged against the arms that held me and pressed my face against his. He exhaled a resolute breath around his gag. He willed me to be strong.

A sting pricked my neck. Warmth tingled through me as the sedative pumped from the needle.