Nova’s bent at the waist, throwing up. Switching off is hard on people, but it’s never been an issue for me. I hate leaving her, but we have to.
“McClain won’t be able to help,” he says. “It’s just us.”
That one word—us—makes my heart squeeze in my chest. I thought the two of us would change this island hell into something better. Find a way for those who want to go back home. We’re the most powerful people here, and together, we’re a force.
I miss what we had. Or, I guess, what I thought we had. I trusted him and believed in him with my whole heart. Now I fear he hasn’t tried to explain his involvement in making aromium because there is no explanation. He was Team Whitman—until he wasn’t. I don’t know how to trust anyone who supports that monster.
Word seems to have spread around camp, because when we go through the front gate, people are standing around watching us. It’s not curiosity, but worry I see etched into their expressions.
We don’t have time to stop and reassure them. The news that we’re giving up half our supplies and weapons is going to create more than just worry. It could be an all-out panic, and Marcus may not be around to steady the ship.
Getting Ellison stabilized is more important, though. The guards at the Sub entrance scramble to get the door open as we approach, rain falling so heavily it’s hard to see through it.
“Don’t leave your posts,” Marcus barks at the guards as we run into the Sub.
We race down the wide concrete path into the main area quickly. There are only a handful of people down here, and they give us a wide berth.
Marcus takes Ellison into one of her treatment rooms, setting her on the table.
“I need two sixteen-gauge needles and tubing.” He goes over to the wall and pulls open the stainless steel cabinet doors one at a time, frantically searching. “You have to be above her and your arm needs to be below your heart.”
“Above her. Okay. Uh ...”
I search the room, trying to figure out how I’m going to position myself above Ellison without the ability to levitate.
“You can sit on the table,” Marcus says. “Find some alcohol wipes and clean your antecubital site on both arms.”
“Where is that?” I’ve seen Ellison get alcohol wipes, so I’m able to go right to the drawer where she keeps them.
“Inner elbow. Clean her sites, too.” He slams a cabinet door. “Fuck! Where’s the fucking tubing?”
I make an executive decision, opening the door and yelling out into the main Sub area. “Someone go get McClain! Carry him here if you have to. We need him right now!”
“I can do this,” Marcus says, but I feel like he’s talking to himself more than me.
I answer anyway.
“I know you can. But her arm needs to be stitched up, too. You only have so many hands.”
“No, it’s good. You’re right, we need McClain.”
He gets his supplies together while I clean my arms and Ellison’s, trying not to think about how pale and lifeless she looks. The dirt and blood smeared all over her jars me, because this isEllison.Always steady. Always calm. Always helping the rest of us with everything from bug bites to amputations. She’s the caregiver, not the one who needs it.
Until now.
Marcus is so tall I have to look up to meet his eyes from my position sitting on the table. So many emotions swirl around in the dark-brown depths of his eyes that it takes my breath away.
“You’re positive you’reOneg?” he asks, taking a needle out of its packaging.
“Positive.”
“I don’t have a soft touch.”
My heart does a wild dance in my chest as I say, “I know.”
He used to ravage me in bed, pinning me down and bringing me to a new plane of consciousness with his body. It wasn’t just the climax—the savage, all-consuming way he got me there each time was like nothing I’d ever felt before.
He studies my inner arm, goose bumps washing over my skin. “I have to put on a tourniquet. It’ll hurt.”
