She cackled. “Your head.”
As if she were carried on the wind, she reached the leader of the Dissent before he could fire another round and shoved a dagger into each jugular.
Reymond’s mouth fell open as his blood spewed over Gemma’s face and clothes. When his eyes had dimmed, she ripped her knives out through his trachea, grinning.
She spun around in anticipation of the next onslaught. But the sight of Reymond’s death sent the remaining Dissent members running. Zion’s army cheered while they fired upon those fleeing the tower.
The battle was over.
Gemma smirked and grasped her blades tighter, hopping onto the balls of her feet to chase down the surviving Dissent members.
“Gemma!” Christian shouted from her right.
Her attention snapped to him. He’d pushed himself into a half-seated position, a hand on his wound, the shield still miraculously around him.
Gemma cocked her head, expecting to see fear in his expression. His bloodstained face simply held her gaze, unflinching.
“Come back to me, Proctor,” he said, his voice breaking despite his unyielding stare.
The alien side of Gemma fought for control, but the tempest within her surrendered to the sound of Christian’s plea.
Time reset, and the distinct smells of blood, gunpowder, and sweat faded into one overwhelming perfume of war. The lighting in the room took on a muted hue, and even the noises grew muffled in her head.
Gemma’s chest rose and fell rapidly as her body adjusted to the horrors she’d allowed the alien to put it through. One glance down at her blood-soaked uniform—all of it red—and the daggers fell from her hands.
Out of the corner of her eye, Reymond’s body lay in a pool of his blood, his eyes wide and throat ripped out through his skin. Gemma squeezed her eyes closed as her hands began to shake.
“Hey”—Christian gently touched her cheek—“look at me.”
Her eyes snapped open. “You shouldn’t be up. That bullet could move—”
A cry of relief left him as he wrapped Gemma in his arms. “I don’t care about some fucking bullet. I had to make sure you were okay.”
She gave him a gentle squeeze then stepped away. “Sit down. That gel only works if you keep gravity from doing its job.”
Christian groaned as Gemma helped him ease to the floor, and she convinced him to lay back down until the medical robots could get him to the infirmary. A little more hemostatic gel stopped the oozing his movement had caused.
He squeezed her hand. “Go help others.”
Gemma shook her head. “I’m not leaving you.”
His thumb stroked the back of her hand. “I had a good field doctor. I’ll be fine.” He gave her that smile that creased his handsome eyes, and saying no to him wasn’t an option anymore.
Gemma sighed and kissed his cheek before rising to her feet to work her way through the fallen.
But before she could take a single step, the room around her spun, and nausea tore through her gut.
She bent over to vomit—
Purple blood gushed from her nose instead.
She collapsed.
Gemma flashed in and out of consciousness, catching only glimpses of conversations.
“Those purple cells . . . since we last checked. I’m not sure how much longer . . .”
“There is an option . . . her DNA.”
