Spirits of the Earth: The Complete Series: (A Post-Apocalyptic Series Box Set: Books 1-3) by Milo Fowler (paper ebook reader .TXT) 📕

I don't know. Luther and I agreed that our brothers and sisters should wait until later, when we reach the Preserve. Then, when the daemons can no longer find us, when we're safe, we'll finally fulfill our purpose and repopulate this new earth.

But now? What will Luther think?

Why do I care?

The lock rattles. The door slides open to reveal not only Luther—wearing only a pair of white undershorts—but at least twenty armed soldiers packed close around them, weapons trained on Milton and me.

"Just give the word, Captain," growls one with a protruding jaw, his weapon aimed at Luther's head.

Luther... Our eyes meet as I stand. My lips part. He smiles with relief. I want to run to him, throw my arms around him and weep into his chest. His arms hang limply, palms tilted toward me. He doesn't look away, not for a second. Neither do I.

"You want to tell them, or you want me to?" Milton glances at Willard.

"Of course." He turns on the couch to face his men. "Thanks for coming, boys, but the situation here is under control. Just send Luther inside and shut the door. Everything's fine." He wipes at a fresh trail of blood issuing from his nose. "We're good."

The stocky soldier looks skeptical. "Doesn't look good, Captain. Give the word, and we'll blow these freaks to hell."

"You heard me, Perch," Willard says.

With obvious reluctance, they shove Luther inside and heave the door shut, locking it behind him. I run to him, and he meets me after my second step, pulling me into his strong arms and holding me tight. I throw my arms around his neck and press my face against his cheek. It's rough with stubble and wet with tears. Mine? His?

"You're all right," he gasps, squeezing me.

"Yes...And you—"

He draws back, cupping my face in his hands. "Your eyes—your eyes…" He smiles, looking from my right eye to my left. Then he hugs me close. "Thank God!"

I tremble in his arms, my lungs shuddering as I allow the tears to fall. I cling to him, even as pain throbs in my hollow abdomen. It doesn't matter now. Not right now. Nothing else does.

He kisses my forehead, and a warm sensation floods through me. My heart pounds, my breath catches. I look into his eyes as he touches my face. I take his strong hand and kiss it. Tentative? Maybe. I smile at his smile.

Then I see his fingers.

"Luther?"

I take his hand in mine and cradle it like a wounded bird. Each finger has been mutilated, bruised and bloodied. Where the nails—his claws—should be…they're mangled beyond recognition. He lifts my chin gently with his other hand. I meet his gaze.

"I'm fine, Daiyna." He kisses my cheek tenderly.

I want to kiss him.

"Nothing like two mutos in love," Willard remarks with a vulgar curse.

I want to kill him.

"What should I do with this one?" Milton asks.

Luther half-turns, his arm around me, keeping me close to his side. His jaw muscle twitches as he regards Willard with a steely gaze. "What I want you to do is not necessarily what should be done."

"Oh, have at it, Luther." Willard chuckles, rising to his feet. "She's already busted up my nose. There's plenty of me left to go around. What do you want? C'mon, let me have it. Bust my balls, really give it to me. You know you want to!"

I can tell Luther's tempted. But he doesn't give in. "Sit down."

Willard almost replies, but he sees something in Luther's eyes that makes him keep his mouth shut. Muttering a curse, he slumps onto the couch and stares at the carpet.

"We need him—for now," Luther says. "His men listen to him. We'll need them to follow his orders if we're to make it out of here alive."

Milton nods. "So…stage two?"

Willard can't contain himself. He laughs out loud. "Stage Two?" he mocks. "What? You've got some kind of operation all planned out?"

Milton and Luther nod.

Willard's grin freezes on his face, then fades. He stares hard at Milton. "How long have you been down here?"

Milton shrugs. "Long enough."

"Agreed." Luther squeezes me once more and breaks away, moving back toward the hallway with familiarity. The closet doors slam side to side, and he returns with a few items of men's clothing. He hands me a pair of jeans—coarse and blue. "If you'd like."

I definitely would. I pull them on under my dress.

"When would you like me to start?" Milton stretches his back as though he's warming up for a track meet.

Luther buttons his jeans and tugs on a form-fitting black short-sleeve. His toned arm muscles ripple. "Whenever you'd like. Let us know if we're in the way."

"Shouldn't be a problem." Milton swings the handgun mid-stretch to point at Willard's face. "Have your men open the door now."

"Sure you want that? They've got you outnumbered twenty to one."

"I hope they're all out there chomping at the bit." He retrieves the radio and clicks it on with another static hiss, handing it to Willard. "Tell them to come on in."

"Stage Two, huh?" Willard smirks, shaking his head. "Boy, are you in for some real trouble. And too stupid even to know it. Death's at the door, you damn freak." He barks into the radio, "Jamison, Perch: get the hell in here! Code red!"

As soon as the door's unlocked and shoved open, a horde of Willard's troops charges in, heeding his shrill command to fire at will. Bullets pock the ceiling and the far wall and shatter one of the framed paintings. I hit the floor and cry out. It feels like something has torn inside my abdomen. Luther falls beside me, shielding me with his body. Would he sacrifice himself like this if he knew I could no longer fulfill my purpose?

The air in the room rushes wildly like a mini-tornado's roving around. I spot just a blur here and there as Milton slows down long enough to