The Last Twilight by Marjorie M. Liu Read Free Book Online Page B

relaxed, just a fraction. She wanted to see, she wanted to know, but as she began to look over her shoulder those strong warm hands stopped her, sliding up her spine, into her hair. The familiarity of that contact made her breath catch—and then the hands were gone and the cold that surrounded her, the loss of that odd anchor, left her breathless.
    She looked up. Stared into a pale gaze, golden and hot. Caught another flash of light in those eyes, though it lasted only seconds.
    “Are you hurt?” murmured the man. Rikki shook her head, unable to speak—too rattled, too consumed. She heard her name shouted and tried again to turn. Her knees wobbled, making her stagger, but those long arms slid around her waist, holding her against a hard lean body. He was hot as hell; an invading heat, soaking through skin to bone. For one heartbeat she felt safe in that warmth, that embrace—utterly protected—and it was such a foreign startling feeling, she almost forgot what had happened. Or why feeling safe could never be possible.
    Again, her name was called. She managed to turn, just enough to see Mack stumbling toward her, accompanied by members of his team. Another figure stood near, the second man on shore who had been watching her. He held a gun. She could not see his eyes behind the goggles, but he was staring at the crocodile, which was drifting, smoking, sparks and embers still clinging to its leathery hide.
    Mack stopped just out of reach—teetering on his toes, hands clenched into fists. He tried to say her name but croaked, his voice breaking on every syllable.
    “I’m fine,” Rikki said, but that was reflex talking and not the truth. She had just taken a bath in a soup made of death, swallowed it down into her body. Just like the man who had saved her life. His face was wet. His mask off.
    Worse than Ebola. Not the same thing at all.
    Rikki looked at Mack and saw it in his eyes. Horror.
    “Isolation ward,” she whispered. “Two beds. Do it now, Mack. Hurry.”
    But Mack said nothing, did nothing—staring instead like an idiot, all of his people blinking behind their goggles like owls. As though she were the crocodile, spinning and burning and dying. Rikki wanted to scream at them—she wanted to jump out of her skin and run until she died—and felt the beginnings of terrible nauseating panic swell hard from her heart to her groin.
    No. No, no. Rikki dragged in a hard shuddering breath, and the hands at her waist tightened. The man. Rikki turned, meeting that long cool gaze, so calm, so steady; here was an anchor, safe in his unnatural stillness. For a moment it was just the two of them, no one else—and that was right, good, true—because it was just them. Same boat. Same death.
    “We’re a disease now,” she whispered, shocked at herself but unable to stop; unable to curb the desperate haunting desire to make one last connection, to be seen, to be heard. “You and I are the only ones who will remember that we’re people.”
    He stared, and in that moment the world began spinning again and the camp poured down upon them: bodies, voices, masked faces and gloved hands, all trying to pull her away. The man refused to let go. He held her close, tight, and she felt his lips touch her ear, his breath hot as fire.
    “Then we will remember,” he breathed, and his words, the unrelenting conviction in his voice, shot like an arrow down her spine. He let go and she reached for him— instinct, raw—but everyone moved too fast—finally, fast—and a wall of people swept between them before she could so much as graze his sleeve. She glimpsed him only once, still watching her over the sea of heads, and his gaze was focused and hard, and only for her.
    Disconcerting, thrilling, heartbreaking. She could not look away, and when Mack stepped in front of her, blocking her view of the man’s face, she could not say whether she felt relief or disappointment.
    But she did feel alone. And for the first time in years, she