Though she didn’t truly understand what that meant until the door slid open.
The first person she encountered was already struggling with the gas that had been released. He might have had a mask at some point, but he didn’t anymore. His face was bloody, his body racked with convulsive coughs. When she came close, he put a hand up, pale and wavering through the clouds of smoke and greenish poison.
And she simply shot him through it. She shot him without hesitation, without the remorse that had plagued her since the desert. She barely stopped to watch him punch back against the wall, and she certainly didn’t flinch when most of him disintegrated into a haze of blue and red.
She just moved on to the next one.
Of course, most of them were on the floor by this point. Even the ones still wearing masks were having trouble, which she refused to think about too clearly. It might mean they had been injured in some other way. It might mean that the gas had melted through the rubber.
Either way, she had do this, and do this fast. She nailed a guy trying to hide behind the couch, and the one still groaning by the stairs—almost getting cocky now, almost letting her goal override the here and now.
But a shot from the upstairs hallway brought her back. She only just managed to flatten herself against the side of the staircase when they fired again, this time pinging right into the spot where she’d been a moment before.
And then it was a game of patience. A slow wait to see if he would come out a little farther, straining with ears she no longer had. Barely able to make out anything beyond her own strange, harsh, hollow breathing, watching for the angle of his next shot then turn, turn, fire.
It got him in the leg. But as the rounds she was using could collapse a brick wall, the leg was good enough. He went down screaming in that horrible muffled way a mask made possible as she took the stairs two at a time and leapt right over him.
Now the hall. Oh, the hall was going to be a nightmare. She had to brace herself at the top step, breathing too hard, adrenaline too high. If she wasn’t careful, she was going to go into shock—but not yet, not yet. First, she was going to face whatever was in this bottleneck that led to the control room.
She was going to face it, even though she’d been right about the nightmare part. She’d been right, but in the wrong way. She’d expected to eyeball around the corner and see rows of night vision goggles, like insect eyes.
Instead, there were bodies. Piles and piles of bodies, so tangled and bloody she could barely make out which part belonged to whom. She took one tentative step between two dark shapes, and a random arm rolled over her foot. Another step and she saw a face staring up at her—so intently she primed her weapon.
But then she realized. The face was not attached to anything. Something had blown it off the bone beneath, and dear God, she didn’t know what to make of that.
Even if she kind of did. She knew, by this point. Horror and hope mingled inside her, and hope won out. He put up a fight. A real fight, with whatever he could find in the control room. Makeshift bombs, she thought. A sidearm stripped maybe, to expose the explosive charge inside.
It had to be. Something had fucked all these people up, and it had done so in such a thorough way that there was definitely a chance. She just needed to get to him before the gas destroyed his lungs. She just had to fight through this maze of bodies.
And she did. She wrestled to the door of the control room, firing into anything that moved, straining and striving not only to get to him, but to keep her rising feelings under wraps. The urge to shout his name was consuming her. Her insides were on fire, eagerness making her too stupid and too clumsy.
She almost tripped and fell on a number of occasions, and if there’d been someone in the control room they would have had her dead to rights. They would have just blasted her head off—though luckily that wasn’t the main problem with letting such giddiness rattle through her.
No, the real problem was the impact it had when she burst into the room and saw the mess. Saw the wreckage.
Saw the bodies.
He’d tried to barricade himself in with a filing cabinet, but the twisted pile of metal behind the door no longer resembled one. The door itself no longer resembled a door. Something had taken a big bite out of it, before rampaging through the room.
And the word was rampaging.
One of the intruders was splayed across the main console, the screens behind his body cracked and flickering. In fact, they were flickering so badly she couldn’t see for a second, and was sure the man’s face was Sergei’s. Every person in there became Sergei for one breathless, frantic moment, that wretched hopefulness giving way to terror and the brutal reality.
He couldn’t have survived this.
Why had she let herself think he might have? She turned over bodies with shaking hands and found missing faces…holes the size of dinner plates…bits missing that people definitely needed to carry on living. By the time she’d cleared her way through to something familiar, her hands were wet with a mix of other people’s blood and her own. Her face was wet with it too—though maybe that was something else. Maybe it was all her feelings just leaking out of her eyes, as she uncovered what she definitely didn’t want to.
That was the t-shirt he’d been wearing. She knew it immediately, even though she could only see a square of it, between two half-disintegrated people. It struck her like the sight of a long-lost friend in a crowd, only so much more powerful for so many, many terrible reasons.
He was dead, quite clearly. He wouldn’t have remained like that if he were alive, no matter what his injuries were. She was certain of it, so certain that she didn’t want to reach down and lift some guy’s arm from its place across his face. Maybe there would be nothing there, when she did. Maybe those lovely eyes would be gone. God, she couldn’t bear the thought of them being gone, she couldn’t.
And then he suddenly shifted, and she came very close to dying inside. The sound she made at the sight was barely human. Shock turned her into a keening animal, yanking and pushing at bodies before she’d even fully processed what this might mean.
She didn’t want to process what this might mean. She’d already hoped and prayed and strived too much—anything more would heave her over some nightmarish edge. She just needed to see first without any expectations, but even without them the sight of him sort of shoved a knife in her gut.
He’d been shot in the shoulder, though for one dreadful moment it seemed like more. She had to check for a pulse with trembling fingers, but wasn’t reassured when she felt the faintest flutter. Nor did it matter that the wound wasn’t fatal, or that he still had his limbs. He was dying anyway—poisoned by the gas he’d tried to keep out with a makeshift mask.
And that was worse, in many ways. She could fix a wound down in the lab. She had no idea if she could fix the internal damage the gas would do. She wasn’t even sure if the oxygen she then supplied him would help, but had to try. All this was an exercise in trying, despite the terrible odds and the pain and the sense of loss she could already feel.
It was going to take too long to get him down there, she knew, she knew. But still she hooked him under the arms, still she braced herself against the agony, still she hauled him over a blanket of bodies until she just wanted to lie down and die from exhaustion.
The adrenaline high was dying now, and leaving behind a wasteland of desperate melancholy. Everything seemed dark, everything seemed skewed. The stairs rolled up in front of her like an Escher painting, and she came close to falling on more than one occasion. During her darkest moments, she wanted to fall. Falling would have been a release from this monumental effort, and the almost constant possibility of his death.
I’ll get him into the elevator, finally, she thought. And he’ll be gone. He won’t be breathing. I’ve been too lucky so far—this is the price I have to pay.
Yet once they were in the nearly too-cheery lights of the elevator, she could see he was still all right. His chest was movin
g—and was it her imagination or was it stronger than it had been before?
Maybe. Maybe.
She wouldn’t know for sure until she got him down there, and that was still only a possibility. There was a chance the elevator wouldn’t register the lack of threat, and follow the original command. That the interruption had overrode it completely, and couldn’t be restored by simply taking off the clamps. Quite possibly this was the price, and the other stuff was just her imagination running away with her.
Only it wasn’t.
She released the clamps and the elevator began to descend.
She descended with it. Her legs buckled before they hit containment, every bit of strength leaving her in a rush. Suddenly her arms weren’t her arms anymore, and her body wasn’t her body, and as she lay there across the man she’d just hauled a thousand miles, the price finally made itself known.
Her vision was starting to gray around the edges. It was starting to gray, no matter how hard she tried to fight it. The elevator came to a stop and the labs were right there, but she couldn’t stop what was happening to her. This was the final hurdle, and she was going to fail at it. All that effort and she was too weak to haul him that last little bit, too weak to get him the medical care he needed, oh God he was going to die because she’d lost a bit of blood and fought through a tangle of bodies.
Her vision was now a pinprick. It was a single point of light that she wanted to reach out and touch with one faltering hand, and she did. She clutched at it, trying to hold on, trying to be stronger, better, better than this…
But she didn’t have to be, thankfully. As the darkness took her down, her still clawing at the cliff face of consciousness, she felt something take hold of her.
She felt his hand, saving her from that long, slow fall into oblivion.
* * * * *
She woke in a field of bright white, and naturally assumed heaven. She wasn’t the kind of person to just pass out. How ludicrous! No, she must have died. The wound on her arm had been worse than she’d thought, and she’d bled to death on the floor of that fucking elevator.
Which wasn’t far wrong, as it turned out. When she finally managed to turn her aching head, it was to the sight of about a thousand staple stitches. Dr. Frankenstein had apparently operated while she’d been out, and now she was a bristling, puckery mess from the shoulder on down.
And that wasn’t the only sign of her near demise. When she lifted the arm that worked there were wires and tubes attached, including one that looked very, very red. Too red to be artificial really, though she still didn’t dare believe. She’d been through too much to just believe.
And then she saw him.
He was sitting by her bed, with those same tubes attached to his arm. It was his red that filled the clear plastic. It was his life that he was more than likely risking—yet again, yet again. Oh, she couldn’t believe he was doing this again. Hadn’t he been wounded? Didn’t he give one single shit about himself? Man, she could have just killed him—only kill wasn’t the word that came out when she tried to speak.
No words came out, in fact. Instead she stumbled off the bed in a jelly-like rush, ignoring the way his eyes flicked to her, and the sound of protest he made.
“You need to rest,” he said.
But she didn’t want to rest. She wanted to launch herself at him hard enough to rock him in his chair, and tell him a million times that he was stupid, he was stupid. Oh God, he was so fucking stupid.
“As stupid as you were, doing all that?” he finally asked, and she nodded. She nodded against his big, safe, completely whole shoulder.
“Worse,” she said. “So much worse.”
“Oh? And why’s that?”
She couldn’t fault him for not understanding. Mainly due to the big hand that went to the back of her head as he said it, stroking and stroking away any tiny bit of criticism she wanted to level—but also because he still didn’t know. He had almost never known.
“I didn’t get the chance to say. I thought I wouldn’t ever get the chance to say.”
“Well, you don’t have to worry about that now. You’ll never have to say it from here on in, ’cause I’m never gonna let you go again, honey. Not ever,” he said, but only because he still didn’t understand. He thought she meant goodbye, he thought she meant his farewell, oh he was such a fool.
She even said it to him through her tears, as she pulled back and took his face in her hands—his perfect face, still stamped with surprise at her affection. Still completely uncomprehending of the idea that he could mean anything to her, or be that man he seemed to think he wasn’t. Maybe he would always feel that way, no matter what she did. But oh she was going to do her best to change that. They had a thousand days of lockdown to change that, starting now.
“You really don’t get how amazing you are, do you? Well let me make it really clear for you—so amazing that I would risk everything, just to let you know. Just to tell you I love you, Sergei. I love you. I love you more than my life,” she said, and that was just for starters. She had a million other things all geared up—things about his face and his fears and the thing he’d done for her.
She didn’t need to say any of it, however.
His expression told her she’d said enough. He looked the way she had felt for the majority of their time together—stunned by feelings he’d never expected, and certainly couldn’t contain. And when he put a hand to her face, she knew he’d never try to contain them again.
The gesture was so tender, so full of wonder…
It shattered her in two. It tore open her world.
Then replaced it with this new one—this real one.
“I never thought I’d find someone who could love me the way you do. I never thought anyone could love me at all,” he said, and oh it was such a pleasure to have proved him wrong. To be able to carry on proving him wrong, for the rest of his days.
She started with a kiss, so slow and soft he closed his eyes.
Then a whisper, just to seal the feeling in.
“I won’t ever stop.”
About Charlotte Stein
Charlotte Stein has been writing for over ten years, and perving on hot dudes for even longer than that. However, it’s only recently that she’s had the courage to pair the two together and pen some critically acclaimed, steamy-hot erotic romances. She lives in Brit-land with her very own hunk of manbeef, and their imaginary dog.
You can find her at http://www.themightycharlottestein.blogspot.com, usually in the middle of rambling about nonsense, squee-ing over her totally unexpected life as a writer, and generally lusting after seriously sexy men.
Charlotte welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email addresses on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.
Tell Us What You Think
We appreciate hearing reader opinions about our books. You can email the author directly or you can email us at [email protected] (when contacting Customer Service, be sure to state the book title and author).
Also by Charlotte Stein
All Other Things
Closer
Doubled
Giving
Raw Heat
Sheltered
The Horizon
Ellora’s Cave Publishing
www.ellorascave.com
Almost Real
ISBN 9781419941931
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Almost Real Copyright © 2014 Charlotte Stein
Edited by Grace Bradley
Cover design by Syneca
Cover photography by Serge Lee/Shutterstock.com
Electronic book publication January 2014
The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishing.
With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.
Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
The publisher and author(s) acknowledge the trademark status and trademark ownership of all trademarks, service marks and word marks mentioned in this book.
The publisher does not have any control over, and does not assume any responsibility for, author or third-party websites or their content.
Discover for yourself why readers can’t get enough of the multiple award-winning publisher Ellora’s Cave. Be sure to visit EC on the web at www.ellorascave.com to find erotic reading experiences that will leave you breathless. You can also find our books at all the major e-tailers (Barnes & Noble, Amazon Kindle, Sony, Kobo, Google, Apple iBookstore, All Romance eBooks, and others).
Almost Real Page 15
