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I pull away and hold her at arm’s length, my voice thick with meaning.
“Olivia, I love you.”
Thirty-Seven
Olivia
Icouldn’t be more stunned than if lightning struck me out of the clear blue sky. In point of fact, lightning would probably be less shocking, no pun intended.
Yarvok has just told me that he loves me. The words reverberate through my body and soul. I know he’s telling the truth. I can feel it in every way that really matters.
He loves me, but how do I feel about him? I think back to how we met when he saved me from the stampede. I recall our morning coffees, all the time we spent talking about nothing and everything all at once.
When did we start getting so much closer to each other? I don’t know. In some ways it feels like we’ve known each other forever.
The idea of waking up next to Yarvok everyday flares up in my mind. And it sounds kind of perfect.
“Yarvok, I love you too.”
He gasps, placing a ridged palm on my cheek. We stare into each other’s eyes. He pulls me in close to him in a tight embrace. Our hearts beat so close to each other it seems surreal.
“Olivia…” his voice is like velvet caressing my ears as he speaks my name. I can feel how much he cares reverberating through every fiber of my being. His lips part, and he leans in toward me. My mouth opens with a sudden intake of breath as I tilt in, head moving back to accept the impending kiss—
A whistling sound stops us cold. Yarvok’s eyes narrow as he scans the skies above. An orange hued, translucent beer bottle flips through the air and drops toward us.
Yarvok grabs a piece of rebar from the construction equipment and grips it like a baseball bat. As the missile comes in, he tracks it with his golden eyed gaze.
“Got to time this just right,” he mutters. “Hit the exact bottom of the bottle.”
I don’t know why he’s so worried about an incoming bottle. I’ve seen Vakutan shrug off a lot worse. But I step out of his way just the same.
Yarvok swings, the rebar becoming a rust red blur in the air. A sharp almost metallic ping, and then the bottle is flying over the fence toward the region where the Rork rampaged earlier.
The bottle strikes the ground and shatters, and then a ten-foot mushroom cloud erupts from the splinters of glass. A shockwave rings out toward our position, and I feel both the heat and the intensity.
“What was that?”
“A Fratvoyan Cocktail,” Yarvok snarls. “The coward Chadd Gordo is weaponizing his own vomit.”
“And he put it in his beer bottle,” Mylar says snidely. “How appropriate that there’s vomit with his label on it.”
“Incoming!”
Another bottle flashes toward us. I spot Chadd in a hover vehicle about fifteen feet above us. He has the camouflage tech going, which renders his vehicle nearly invisible.
Yarvok whipped a pistol out of a nearby posse member’s holster and used it to shoot the bottle while it was still up in the air. I duck to avoid the rain of glass that follows.
“There he is,” I shout. “Take him out!”
There’s one thing that’s true about the frontier whether it’s in the ancient Earth’s American West or the alien frontier. Everybody from the barber to the shoeshine boy is packing.
The unfortunate Chadd Gordo is subject to a barrage by almost the entire freaking town. I stick my fingers in my ears because the sound is like constant thunder.
His shiny hover car is riddled with bullet holes and energy burns, the stealth circuits blown. He cries out as the guidance system goes haywire and he flips upside down.
The car drops out of the sky and lands with him pinned beneath. I turn away before the impact, but Yarvok snorts in derision.
“The little jerk is still alive.”
