Jon frowned. “That’s it? That’s your strategy? You touch me? You’re touching me now.”
She nodded. “Do you trust me?”
“Well…yeah. But?—”
“Close your eyes.”
He closed them, hoping she was right, terrified she was wrong. Would she be able to slit his throat in time? They had no way to know how the infected turned. No one had observed it. Or at least no one had observed it and lived. Was it a slow gradual process? Was it sudden? If it was like throwing a switch, Sophie’d have no chance. The only way she had any chance at all was if she could see him turning, and decide to put an end to it. To him. He wouldn’t block her in any way. In fact, he hoped to be aware enough to tilt his head back and offer his throat.
His life was, in every sense of the words, in her hands.
“So how—” he began, then stopped. Suddenly the heat became even more intense, like a sun blooming in his arm, the heat spreading up through his arm, through his chest. He could feel his heart heating up, the strangest sensation he’d ever had.
At the same time, he could feel a nasty chill inside him, ice prickling in his veins, horrible and painful. With a lurch to his heart, he realized that the sensation of cold was the virus. He was turning.
God, he was turning.
Black cold ice, eating him up, pushing away the heat. His body was a battlefield, like a cold dead planet approaching the sun.
Pain wrenched through his muscles, he felt his heart contract from the cold that gripped it. Something freezing cold, like Satan’s hand, was squeezing his heart.
Jon gasped for breath but breathing hurt. His lungs were on fire but encased in ice. He couldn’t move his lungs, he couldn’t breathe, his heart tried to beat its way through his chest as it fought the cold. The cold swam through his system like black smoke, infiltrating every cell, eagerly seeking out the warm places so it could squeeze them in its cold dead embrace.
It wsn’t working. Jon could feel himself start to go under. To his horror, visions of blood and violence starting filling his head. Thepleasureof biting and tearing and maiming. A deep satisfactory bloodlust in a rising tide, like sexual desire. He fought it, he fought it as hard as he could. Sweat broke out all over his body. It felt like he was sweating blood.
“Sophie.” He could barely get the words out. “The knife. Now.” He clenched his fists, willing them not to move, but he could feel control slipping away, cold and elusive like smoke. Inside his clenched fists it was as if he could feel Sophie’s soft neck, how good it would feel when he had his hands around it, squeezing…“Sophie!”
He opened his eyes, the lids as heavy as lead. Fuck. Sophie wasn’t reaching for the knife, both hands were on his arm and her eyes glowed as if a firebomb had been lit behind them. An eerie light, almost supernatural, the glow so bright he couldn’t look away.
His hands opened, closed. Heat was pouring into him from Sophie, heat and light. Light he could feel under his skin. Now her entire face glowed, as if the sun had just risen inside her. She was trembling with the force of the power inside her. For it was a power, no question about it. Something more powerful than her, some outside force. A force she was transmitting to him.
His entire body was a battleground, ice and fire. Ice wanted him to turn on her, tear her, bite her, feel her blood in his mouth. He could taste it, the blood rich and fine, a need so strong he was shaking with it. But fire—fire was love and life, Sophie beside him for all his days.
The trembling grew, both of them were shaking hard, sweat pouring out of them. Jon’s jaw had locked, he couldn’t speak, could barely breathe. He wanted to kiss her, he wanted to kill her while the fire and ice fought in his blood, bringing the bloody battlefield to his veins and bones.
Sophie tightened her hold on him even more, that glow so bright it blinded him. With a sudden blast, the ice around his heart exploded and heat suffused his body, running through him, filling him like hot honey down to his fingertips. Every inch of him was filled with heat, even the memory of ice gone.
Sophie let go of his arm and he gasped for air. It came. It filled his lungs with sweetness, where before they had been unable to expand. He drew in air like a man cresting a wave, the sensation sweet and full of life.
A swirl of wind, pine needles blowing in his face, shouts.
The hovercar. Haven. Rescue. Nick’s worried face bending over him, shaking him.
Jon could barely feel his body but he knew he missed Sophie’s touch. “Sophie,” he whispered and Nick frowned and shook his head.
The ice was suddenly back. Not the ice of the infection but the ice of terror. Jon looked down and saw Sophie lying bonelessly on her side, all color and light gone from her face. Motionless. He moved slowly, as if underwater.
“Sophie!” he screamed but nothing came out, just air. He couldn’t move. All his muscles were lax, exhausted from the battle. He toppled over, close to Sophie, one hand on her face. She didn’t move when he touched her, not even a flicker of her eyelids.
Nick had two fingers to her throat. He said something, something absurd. Jon couldn’t hear him, the words were crazy. One word in particular.
Dead.
Jon crawled to cover Sophie’s body with his. She’d given him life, he was going to give it right back.
Nick pulled at his arm, but Jon punched him weakly.
“She’s dead, Jon. I’m so sorry, but Sophie’s dead.” Nick’s voice was low, sad.
