Chapter Three

JT’s bungalow, which was a cross between a bunker and the jungle version of a bachelor pad, was surrounded by a twenty-foot-high stone wal topped with wickedly pointed chunks of jade and obsidian. The stones sparkled in the fading sunlight that glinted down through the gap that the wal ed compound made in the rain-forest canopy.

When the gates were closed, there was no getting inside.

They were closed.

Natalie’s heart sank as she let the Jeep rol to a stop. She was going to have to get out and use the intercom panel. Let the groveling begin.

She hated this. But the vil agers had agreed to give her an hour, and the clock was ticking.

A quick look assured her that the fireproof lockbox under the driver’s seat was secure. After the run-in with the locals, she had locked the crystal skul away. She was dying to carry it with her, but she’d be devastated if she lost it. What was more, she didn’t trust JT not to hand it over to the vil agers if he thought that would settle things down. He had made it brutal y clear that he had his life exactly the way he wanted it and didn’t intend to do—or let her do—anything to upset that balance.

Well, what do you expect from a guy who’s got FREEDOM inked in big letters on his forearm?

Her exes would probably appreciate the irony of her being on the receiving end of the “it’s not you; it’s me” letdown.

Embarrassment—it wasn’t heartbreak despite what Javier thought—churned in her stomach as she headed for the touchpad next to the gate. Mildly resenting the fact that he’d never given her the code, she leaned on the buzzer, then stared up into the security camera, trying to fake a pleasant

“let’s just be friends” smile.

There was no response.

She didn’t know which was worse, the thought that he wasn’t home . . . or that he was.

After buzzing a second time, she hit the intercom. “JT? It’s Natalie. This is business, okay? Not personal. Let me in.”

Stil nothing.

“Shit.” Now what? She couldn’t cal him with the satel ite transmissions on the fritz, which left . . .

nothing. A chil skimmed through her at the knowledge that she was forty minutes away from losing the biggest find of her career, along with the first tangible link she had managed to uncover in nearly a decade of searching for something—anything—connected to the locket she had been found with as a baby. Frustration slapped through her, making her skin itch, but she reminded herself that she stil had the skul . That was something, right? But the itches didn’t subside.

She turned and headed back to the Jeep. She had made it halfway there when the background forest noise went silent. And she realized with sudden sickening clarity that the itch wasn’t frustration after al . It was a warning!

The instincts she had been ignoring suddenly lashed at her, through her, bringing images of jaguars and the recent livestock kil s in the area. She was a woman walking out alone, unarmed.

Stupid move, Nat. Her heart leaped into her throat as she lunged for the Jeep, and the weapon within it.

She was a few paces short of the vehicle when a dark blur erupted from the greenery and slammed into her, sending her crashing into the side of the Jeep and then down. High-pitched squeals battered her eardrums, making her head ring, and she screamed as a dark-furred, red-eyed creature leaned over her, its batlike face splitting into a three-cornered leer of moist, inhuman hunger that she had seen before, carved in stone.

Camazotz!

Instead of arms, it had elongated wings with tattered sails and wickedly barbed claws at the ends of the bony struts. Its dark brown, almost black skin was covered with patches of mismatching fur, and it smel ed terrible, like a rotting animal carcass. The miasma brought tears, though not before she saw up close and personal that it was male, its long penis tipped with a leaflike flattening.

Panicked, she tried to worm her way under the Jeep, screaming, “Help me!”

A pair of claws hooked her arm, dragged her out. Pain slashed through her. Terror. Sobbing, she kicked at the creature, but caught only air as it hauled her upright, screeching almost above the level of her hearing.

Its mouth split wide, revealing a black cavern of a throat framed by long, curved teeth.

“Help!” Natalie thrashed against the creature’s hold. She was al alone, in the middle of nowhere, JT wasn’t home, and—

Automatic gunfire slammed out of the nearby forest and into the bat creature.

The bul ets ripped into the thing’s upper body, blowing back a spray of blackish blood and chunks. The creature reeled and dropped her. But incredibly, horribly, it spun toward the new threat as black ichor rained down from its wounds.

Seeing the flash of a weapon and the curve of a man’s shoulder in the forest, Natalie scrambled up and screamed, “Kil it!”

“Get down!”

She flung herself flat as a heavy thump split the air and a fist-size missile caught the creature in the midsection and then detonated. Hot, oily black sprayed and the thing flew backward and went down in a limp mass.

“Oh, God. Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God.” Natalie lurched to her feet as her rescuer emerged from the rain forest, cradling a big double-barrel across his body.

On one level she recognized JT; she knew his voice, knew the way he moved. On another level, though, the man who stepped out of the shadows and into the fading sunlight was a stranger.

The JT she knew was clean shaven, wel dressed, a strangely urbane oasis in the middle of the tropical wilderness. The JT who faced her now shared the same powerful five-ten frame, skul trim, and cool gray eyes. But he wore several days’ worth of scruff and hard-used bush clothes, and his body was strung bandolier-style with an arsenal of weapons and ammo. He carried himself with the tough purpose of a soldier, moving on the soundless feet of a hunter. And he had just saved her ass.

He once told her the guns in his foyer were for hunting the occasional man-eater among the big cats in the area. Now she knew different.

“Chan camazotz,” she whispered, the nickname the vil agers used for him. Death-bat kil er. She had thought it was a metaphor.

Apparently not.

His eyes were hard and hot, almost feral. “Did he get you?”

A harsh, ugly sob ripped itself from her chest. “That was . . . It was . . . Oh, JT!” She flung herself at him.

He caught her, his arms banding around her with crushing force. Relief poured through her as she burrowed into him, feeling the solid strength of his muscles and the way her body fit against his. His warmth surrounded her, and his voice was raspy when he said her name, over and over again, into her hair. At first she thought she was shaking with fear and shock. Then she realized she wasn’t the one shaking.

“JT?” She pul ed away a little so she could look up at him. “What—”

He interrupted her with a kiss.

There was nothing soft or urbane about his lips on hers this time, nothing civilized about the way he crushed her mouth with his, the way he gripped her. But she was suddenly hanging on to him just as hard.

Heat flared through her, sweeping away the silent agony of the past three days, the heartache, anger, and loss of thinking it was over between them. Because there was nothing “over” about this kiss. It was blatantly carnal and possessive, and everything inside her screamed to be possessed by him.

“What happened to ‘I’m not that into you’?” she whispered against his lips.

He slid his hands from her shoulders to her waist, then down to cup her buttocks and lift her up against his prominent erection. “I lied.”

She knew she should be demanding explanations, but she couldn’t focus on anything but his taste on her lips and tongue, his hardness against her. She was on fire for him, feverish for his touch. Her fingers trembled as she worked her hands under his shirt, fighting the constraints of his weapons.

“Off,” she ordered. “Take it al off.” The world spun around her, flaring hot and cold. He said her name, tried to ease her away, but she clung, needing his heat and strength. She had no filter left, no inhibitions. She whispered what she wanted to do to him in vivid and graphic detail, the words tumbling from her as she cupped him through the tough fabric of his bush pants.

He sucked in a rattling breath. “Natalie.” He caught her wrist. “We can’t—”

Pain slashed through her and she cried out, nearly went to her knees.

He cursed and shifted his grip on her arm. “Fuck. He got you.”

She stared at the ugly slice that ran the length of her right forearm. It was red and meaty, and the edges of the cut were stained black. The raw heat within her flashed from lust to fever in an instant, and she swayed, disoriented.

“Is it . . .” She didn’t finish the question, her words scattering.

“Just a tranquilizer,” JT said, his voice rough. “It’s on their claws. But don’t worry; I’ve got you.

Everything’s going to be okay. I’l take care of you, make sure nothing bad happens to you.”

But as the world grayed out, her gut said he was lying again.

She just didn’t know which part was the lie.

JT eased Natalie to the ground. Her too-pale skin was a stark contrast to her straight, dark hair, and her long dark lashes failed to hide the bruised circles beneath her eyes. Her tipped-up nose and subtly pointed chin, which added to her air of boundless energy when she was up and moving, now made her look delicate. Breakable.

If he hadn’t gotten there in time—

“No looking back,” he reminded himself. He had gotten there in time. Barely.

And now he had to finish the job.

Standing, not letting himself think about anything but the task at hand—because a distracted soldier was a dead one—he pul ed his knife from the scabbard he wore on his thigh. Machete-size, but with its blade edged in a double layer of sacred stones—obsidian and jade—it was the only thing he’d found that could do the job.

When he crouched down beside the ’ zotz, he saw that it was most of the way healed, probably just getting ready to start twitching. Although the jade-tipped ammo and jade-fil ed grenades knocked them down better than ordinary bul ets, the fuckers didn’t stay down if they were intact.

Which was where he came in.

With one clean motion, he slit the thing’s throat. As air gurgled and blackish blood leaked into the dirt, he steeled himself, grabbed the ’ zotz’s thick, sinewy penis, and did a Bobbitt on it. That part never got easy—it was a guy thing. But the second he had the creature’s limp, creepily warm dick in his hand, the ’ zotz puffed to oily brown smoke and al of it—blood, dick, corpse, the works

—disappeared.

“Go to hel ,” JT muttered. He was no magic user, but the phrase had become his own personal incantation.

With the ’ zotz gone, he returned to Natalie, picked her up, and carried her through the gate into the compound, not letting himself think of what he would’ve come home to if he’d gotten there a few minutes later.

He carried her over the threshold and into the house, through the main room, and into his bedroom.

Logic said she would have been fine on the couch, but the toxin would keep her asleep through the night, so she might as wel be comfortable.

Gritting his teeth, he got her out of her torn, fight-stained clothes and into a tee and sweats that swal owed her smal , delicate frame. To his surprise, the wound on her arm was neatly scabbed, with none of the swel ing or redness he’d seen the few times he’d been able to get a victim away from a ’ zotz. Stil , he cleaned the cut and scrubbed the worst of the sticky ichor off her skin.

By the time he got a bandage on her arm, he was strung tight from a mental slide show of what could’ve happened if he hadn’t gotten back when he did. He shouldn’t have taken off into the forest in the first place, shouldn’t have—

“Fuck.” He lurched away from the bed and headed for the main room, slamming a lid on the what-ifs and making himself deal with the shit he could do something about.

First he armed the security system. Then, while he changed out of his hunting clothes and knocked off the worst of the grime, he pul ed his phone out and hit up Rez. The cal went through, but the connection was shit, with lots of static surrounding a garbled, “. . . never seen anything like it. The damned thing hit us out in the open, right in front of the cave.”

JT’s blood chil ed. Son of a bitch. That was why there had been only one after Natalie. The other one had attacked the temple. “Any casualties?”

“Only the ’ zotz. Did you find your girlfriend?”

Knowing that Rez was harping on the “girlfriend” thing to get him back for disappearing, JT

ignored it. “She’s sleeping off a claw scratch. Did any of her people see the ’ zotz?”

“No—” Static interrupted. When Rez’s voice cut back in, al JT got was, “. . . back at their tents.

They didn’t see anything.”

That was something good, at any rate. Limited the need for damage control. “Get them out of here.”

“They won’t go without her.”

“Make them.” JT would’ve handed her over to her teammates, but he didn’t want to have to explain the half-day coma. More, he would need to talk her down when she woke up, find some way to convince her that she had wrecked the Jeep, banged her head, and hal ucinated the rest of it. Note to self: Roll the Jeep into a ditch down the road.

“About the temple,” Rez began, his words barely audible through the static. “. . . council wants to know what you think.”

“Blow it,” JT said without hesitation. Over the past few years, the vil agers had sealed five other caves that showed evidence of ’ zotz activity. Each time, the demon attacks had skipped a couple of cycles. “Then get Natalie’s team out. Tel them she’s with me, and she’l meet them at the embassy in a couple of days.”

“Wil do.”

JT cut the cal , rubbing his chest, where regret ached. Shit, he hated the idea of blasting an actual temple, rather than just an ichor-encrusted cave—ancestor worship was hardwired into his DNA, he supposed. But he’d been searching for the bat-demons’ sacred sites, had even talked the council into letting Natalie’s team stay in the hopes that their fancy equipment would lead them to pay dirt. And it apparently had, only he hadn’t been there to manage the fal out.

Some fucking protector he’d turned out to be.

That failure, too, was probably hardwired. Despite two tours in the Middle East, he knew too damn wel that—in this war, at least—his people weren’t supposed to be the frontliners. His job was defense and mop-up.

“Shit.” He scrubbed his hands over his face, suddenly feeling his age. He wasn’t near vil age-elder territory yet, but his body sure felt that way al of a sudden. “Get some shut-eye,” he told himself. “The perimeter’s secure.”

As secure as he could make it, anyway, given that the’ zotz suddenly weren’t playing by the old rules, the ones that said they came through the barrier only two at a time, and stuck together once they were out of the underworld. Which meant . . . Hel , he didn’t know what it meant. But it wasn’t good.

Knowing he should hit the couch, he headed for the bedroom instead. He stood in the doorway for a long moment, watching the gentle rise and fal of Natalie’s chest and seeing the stark white of the gauze four-byfours he’d taped to her arm.

He shouldn’t have admitted that he’d lied about the breakup. As miserable as he’d been for the past seventy-two hours, the situation hadn’t changed. He couldn’t leave the dark, dangerous slice of forest that had become his responsibility . . . and he couldn’t let her stay. She was too perceptive, too foolishly brave. Too much of a fighter.

“What am I going to do with you?” he said softly. It was rhetorical, of course. There was only one thing he could do: make her leave. But first he would watch over her, and make sure she slept safely.

Cursing himself for not being strong enough to walk away now, just as he hadn’t been man enough to stick around after he’d cut her loose, he lay down beside her. She’d be asleep until midmorning at the earliest, and didn’t ever need to know they had spent one last night together.

Her body heat seeped into him, fil ing some of the empty places and easing the aches. He knew it made him a selfish bastard to take the comfort that he wouldn’t have taken—or given—if she were awake. But right then he couldn’t make himself care. He needed this. He needed her.

Rol ing onto his side, he propped himself up on an elbow and let himself look at her, let himself believe that she was there again, one last time. Tomorrow, he would convince her that the ’ zotz had been a nightmare. Then he would drive her back to civilization, where she would get the news that he’d pul ed strings to get her permits revoked . . . and that he’d started the process a month ago. She would hate him for that. And she would leave.

Tonight, though . . . tonight he could reach over and brush at a smudge on her cheek. He could feel the softness of her skin, the warmth of her breath, and—

She turned her face into his hand and gave a soft sigh. JT froze, a bolt of sensation ripping through him when she shifted and rol ed over to curl into him, murmuring something soft and sweet.

There was no way she could be waking up this soon.

Except that she was.

Her eyes fluttered open, their depths blurry and vulnerable as they sought his. The air took on a strange humming note, one that resonated deep within his chest and kindled a sizzle of desire he had no business feeling.

“Natalie,” he said in a rasp that broke partway. “There was an—” Accident, he should have said, but couldn’t stick to the lie. “Ah, hel ,” he whispered.

He would have taken the kiss, but she reached up as he leaned down, so they met halfway. As their lips touched, the strange vibration in the air changed pitch, lowering until it seemed to hum deep in his diaphragm, emptying his chest and knotting his gut.

When her lips parted, he tasted a freshness that chased away old betrayals. And when their tongues touched, a roaring, possessive heat seared through him.

He wanted to take her, wanted to protect her. Wanted to mark her as his own for tonight, even knowing he would have to drive her away tomorrow.

He rose over her, pinned her without breaking the kiss. He growled when she twined her arms around his neck to hold him close, and sizzling energy raced through him, coming from the relief of having her safe, the adrenaline from fighting the ’ zotz, and three miserable fucking days spent in the forest trying to forget about her.

He tasted her, touched her, crushed her against him, and nearly came when she pul ed the bedclothes away and looped a leg around his hips.

Gods, he thought. He didn’t say the word, though, couldn’t let her suspect the deeply buried part of himself that didn’t fol ow the rules and religions of normal humans. So instead he kissed her hard and pressed against her, trying to surround and protect her from everything but himself.

She got a double handful of his shirt—which was only fair, as he had both of his hands up hers

—and twined her foot around the back of his calf, then used the leverage to rol them. Once on top, she rose over him for a long, lingering kiss that made his heart bump.

But then she pul ed away, breathing hard, her eyes dark with arousal and confusion. “JT . . .”

She trailed off, eyes widening as memory returned. Her body stiffened against his. “What the hel was that thing?”

Damn it.

“It’s okay,” he said quickly. “You’re safe here. They can’t get over the wal .” They couldn’t fly until their wings regenerated, and he and the vil agers never let them live that long.

And, shit, he was supposed to be tel ing her it was al a bad dream.

She nodded. “Okay.” But she clearly wasn’t. Her body trembled. Her mouth worked, but nothing came out as a tear broke free.

The sight twisted something tight inside him, which was a surprise.

On two continents’ worth of war, he’d watched lovers grieve, family weep for family, friend for friend. He had sympathized, supported, done his best to avenge the deaths or prevent more kil ing. But he’d never before felt another person’s tears as his own. Not this way.

“Don’t cry. Please.” He reached for her, but she scooted up on the bed and wrapped her arms around her knees.

Her face was pale, her eyes dark and wide, and her voice broke when she said, “Those things.

Jesus, they’re real. They . . .” She dragged in a ragged, shal ow breath. “The hair. And the smell.

And . . . Holy shit. Holy, holy shit.” She stared at the bandage on her arm.

“Breathe,” he said, pul ing himself up so he was sitting next to her, both of them leaning back against the wal . His arm just grazed hers as she rocked. “Just keep breathing.”

Sometimes that was the only thing to do. Keep going. Keep breathing. He’d figured that out the hard way.

Eventual y, she started breathing more deeply, matching her rhythm to his, leaning on him a little, her skin warming against his. Final y, she let out a long, shuddering sigh, and said, “So . . . tel me about the bat-demons, chan camazotz.”

Chan camazotz. An honorable title in the old trading language of the ancient Maya, bestowed by modern-day descendants who didn’t—couldn’t—understand the irony.

“How do you feel?” he asked, stal ing.

She nodded, accepting the evasion. “Woozy. Scared. Freaked-out.”

“Don’t blame you.” He levered himself off the bed. “Let me get you some water.”

“Wait. My team. The temple . . .”

“Javier and the others are fine.” He paused. “But the temple is gone. I’m sorry.” War demands sacrifice, he thought, hating that the quote was so accurate, and that he couldn’t get the damned writs out of his head no matter how many years he lived in the human world.

She lifted her hand to the locket she wore at her throat, in a habitual comfort-seeking gesture he wasn’t even sure she was aware of. “Gone,” she repeated tonelessly.

When she said nothing more, he headed for the kitchen. By the time he returned with a couple of water-fil ed tumblers, her color was better, her expression less haunted. He handed her one of the glasses and sat back down on the mattress, this time facing her. “Drink. You’l want to flush the rest of the drug out of your system.”

That was a guess. He’d never seen anyone come around so quickly. Maybe the large number of

’ zotz coming through the barrier had somehow diluted their individual potencies. Or perhaps the

’ zotz that attacked her had already used up its venom out hunting.

Granted, there was a different, more complicated explanation, one that involved accelerated healing and strength, but that would’ve been the answer in another time and place. Not here and now. And not Natalie. No way.

She lifted the glass with a hand that stil trembled faintly. But her voice was steady when she said, “Okay, JT. No bul shit. What are they? What’s going on? And why are you real y here? Is it because of them?”

He had told her the sanitized life story he’d told most of the locals and al of the outsiders who had passed through over the years: that he had finished his second tour of duty, made some money during the dotcom boom, and wandered until he found someplace he wanted to stay.

Which was al true. What he hadn’t told her was why he’d been forced to put down roots in this particular chunk of forest.

He couldn’t tel her al of it now, either. “I didn’t come here because of the ’ zotz, but yeah, they’re why I stayed. They were . . .” He didn’t like to remember it, even now. “Rez’s people didn’t have the weapons or training to handle them. They were trying to fight the ’ zotz on their own, and losing.” He paused. “I’m a soldier. That’s al I know how to be.”

Which was the truth, thanks to an educational system that had been “perfected” over thousands of years but didn’t do dick to prepare a kid like him for life in the outside world. He’d thought escaping from the training compound would be the hardest part, but he’d been wrong. Acclimating had been an equal bitch, and he’d never real y managed to integrate al the way.

“So I stayed here,” he continued. “And I became chan camazotz.”

Her eyes were glued to his face. It was pitch-black outside, and the bedside lamp cast a warm yel ow glow that bronzed her pale skin. Her dark hair had fal en from its ponytail. With it hanging down, her bangs cut straight across, and her thick lashes outlining her eyes like kohl, she could have come straight from a tomb painting, an Egyptian princess. A priestess.

Don’t go there.

“Demons . . .” she said softly, almost to herself, stil touching the locket.

“They’re not demons,” he said firmly, doing damage control by trotting out the second layer of his prepared story, which he’d never used before because nobody had ever gotten close enough for him to need it. “There’s no such thing. The camazotz are an evolutionary relic, an archaic species that should have died out a long time ago, but somehow managed to keep going in this one little section of rain forest.”

“Okay.” She nodded. “Al right.That makes more sense than demons arising from the underworld.” But something changed in her expression, almost as if she knew he was lying . . . or she was lying to him in return. “What I don’t get is why you’re hunting them by yourself.”

“What’s the alternative? Cal in the scientific community to ‘study’ them?” He emphasized the word with finger quotes. “No, thanks. Next thing I know, the fuckers are a protected species with a growing population, and the vil age is being moved again.” He’d seen too many forced relocations to al ow that to happen unless Rez and his people wanted to go, which they adamantly didn’t. And he sure as hel wasn’t leaving; nor was he letting a bunch of eggheads get in there and start experimenting on the ’ zotz. Especial y not this close to the zero date.

The secrecy, too, was programmed into his genetic code.

“They need to be exterminated,” he said, “not studied.”

She nodded slowly, her eyes going shadowed. “So what happens now?”

The question hung in the air, taking on meaning beyond the words.

JT slugged back his water, stal ing while his desire to get her the hel out of harm’s way jammed up against other, far more selfish needs. He’d partway blown his cover by admitting that he’d lied about not being into her. But he couldn’t blow the rest of it, not even for her.

That wasn’t just because of the secrecy bred into his bones, either. It was a kindness. It wouldn’t be fair to warn humanity that demons were real, and that they were massing for the 2012

doomsday war, only to fol ow that with the info that the magi who were supposed to protect the earth plane were gone, kil ed twenty-some years ago by their despot leader.

He couldn’t— wouldn’t—do that.

Go home and live your life not knowing what’s coming , he wanted to tel her. It’s better this way. But he couldn’t tel her that without tel ing her the rest, so instead he said, “Your team wil be waiting for you at the embassy. From there, you can either head up to the States, or back out into the field.”

“I take it we’re not welcome here anymore.” It wasn’t a question. More, she didn’t mention their breakup. Instead, she sat there with her pointed chin tilted slightly, as if to say that if he wasn’t going to say anything about their relationship, she sure as hel wasn’t.

That should have been a relief.

He grated, “I’l want your word that you won’t come back, and that you won’t tel anybody about the ’ zotz.”

Logic said he shouldn’t let her go, but what was his other option? He didn’t have the power to wipe her mind, and he sure as hel wasn’t keeping her here, no matter how tempting the option.

There was no way he could deal with the ’ zotz with her around, distracting him.

Something unreadable moved in her eyes, but she nodded. “Okay. If that’s the way you want it.”

A hard pressure shifted in his chest. “It’s not—shit.” He couldn’t say what he wanted to, didn’t want to say what he ought to. So he said nothing.

She set her glass aside and slipped off the bed. “I need a shower.”

He closed his eyes. “Yeah.” There’s no point in wasting effort on could-have-beens, he reminded himself, but that didn’t take away the hol ow ache.

“So do you.”

It took a second for her words to register, another for him to turn and find her standing there, holding out a hand to him.

His mouth went dry even as his gut fisted on a bolt of lust. “Natalie.” His voice caught on the word. “We can’t.”

“We can. We already have.” She dropped her hand, but didn’t back down. “I get the rules—just tonight, no harm, no foul, walk away tomorrow and don’t look back. I can do that. Hel , I’m an expert at it. Just ask Javier.”

“But you said—” He broke off, not wanting to repeat words that had haunted him, taunted him.

“That I was fal ing for you,” she fil ed in. “Trust me, your reaction took care of that. This is just-a-good-time sex.” Something wistful moved in her eyes as she closed the distance between them, leaned in, and brushed her lips across his. “It’s thanks-for-saving-my-ass sex.” Another soft kiss.

“It’s I-missed-you sex.” A deeper, longer kiss that heated him, hardened him. “What do you say?”

But his mind had seized on three smal words that meant far too much: I missed you. She said it as easily as she had said, I think I’m falling for you. They were facts, and she shared them with an honesty that he could never return.

The past three days had royal y sucked, and the next two years without her—or however long he lasted before the ’ zotz got him—would undoubtedly be far worse than he’d imagined, now that he knew what he was missing, what kind of light was being snuffed when the end-time came. But he couldn’t tel her that any more than he could admit he wanted her to stay.

So instead, he cupped her face in his palms and kissed her long and deep, until the throb of lust blotted out everything else. Then, stil kissing her, he started backing her toward the bathroom, where his solar-heated shower was glassed in on three sides, the panels steamy with the tropical night.

Even as he did so, a warning chimed deep inside him, one that said he should watch his step, that he was in danger of acting like the selfish bastards he’d escaped from. But in that moment, he didn’t care.

It was the equinox. And he wanted to make love to her.