The Romance Revival(17)

“He registers temperature, though,” she says. “He tracks lab activity by heat maps. And we are not actually bringing in a Great Dane.”

Awareness lands. “Fuck.”

Luca’s core temperature is currently too low to register; Robert Pattinson will register two bodies going in. But if we’re successful, three people will eventually be moving around the lab. RPattz the AI wonder might register Reanimated Luca as a human intruder. And Leonard could see the data log and register that a human subject was placed in the BioVIVE.

We exchange a nervous look.

“What choice do we have?” I ask, and immediately answer my own question: “None. We have no choice.” I glance at my wrist. “And we’re running out of time to get him in the pod.”

With a harsh exhale, Annie pushes hard, steering us to the right and down the short hallway, through a final set of security doors to the automatic entrance to my lab, where the disembodied voice of Robert Pattinson genteelly acknowledges our arrival. “Good evening, Dr. Martín. Good evening, Dr. Rodriguez.”

“Not now, Rob,” I say, relieved when the doors slide to a close behind us.

As expected, the lab is blissfully empty, and once inside, we break into action. Annie moves to cold storage to grab A-positive blood—Luca’s blood type—while I move to the BioVIVE pod, setting the parameters. When she doesn’t appear at my side, I turn to see her still standing by the walk-in refrigerator with bags of blood in her hands.

“Annie, what are you waiting for?”

She’s gone pale. “We can still call an ambulance, Em. It’s not too late.”

I gape at her. “The compound is the only thing keeping him here. We’re running out of time!”

“We can stop. Give him a transfusion. The compound is holding his pulse at 20 bpm. It’ll hold until they get here.”

Panic swells in my throat and I shake my head quickly, feeling tears fall down my cheeks. “No.”

“Sweetie, the odds of this working are slim to none. Every animal we’ve done has had some issues. Honey had to be retrained. Dodger had kidney issues. Scout—”

“I can deal with kidney issues!”

“Emery, it might be worse than that. And if we’re caught, I mean… we will be eaten alive in prison.”

She’s right, I know, somewhere deep inside where rational thought remains, I know. But I also know that if Luca is gone, I won’t ever be the same. The Emery I am today won’t survive. The only words I can think of spill out of me: “If I lose him, you lose me. Do you understand?”

After a long beat and with a resigned breath, Annie nods, then walks over with the blood. She puts it into the receptacle in the pod, and we carefully undress Luca, being mindful of his injuries. Other than the damage to his thigh, bruises are beginning to bloom across his torso and chest, a sign of probable internal bleeding. He has abrasions on his arms and legs, a laceration on the side of his jaw. His head—and hopefully his brain—seems relatively unscathed.

We lift him, gently settling him onto the BioVIVE pod platform and attaching the sensors and electrodes to his skin and scalp. Annie inserts the pod’s IV into his arm.

I take one more look at his face. His lips are pale, his golden hair falling away from his smooth, ashen forehead. I’m not ready to say goodbye.

So I won’t.

Bending, I kiss his forehead before pushing the Initiate sequence. The observation screens light up with his vitals: Pulse: 18 bpm. Blood pressure: 70/20 mm Hg. Body temperature: 30°C. EEG: Erratic.

I hold my breath as the platform smoothly slides back and connects, the glossy black top gliding into place until Luca is completely contained in the pod. The lights go on; the machine hums to life. Everything seems to be working.

But I don’t know how I’m going to survive the next couple of hours waiting to find out if I’ve lost my husband tonight.





8 HIM




The world is dark, and warm, and small.

And beeping.

Eyes open, but it’s the same as eyes closed.

Complete blackness.

Inside my chest, my… what is it called?

It’s thrashing.

Pinpricks cover my hands and feet.

Heart. It’s called a heart.

I swallow. Gravel against glass.

I don’t know what I am, or where.

It’s cold but then—not.

Warmth seeps into me, core to extremities. A flushing sensation down every limb.

As easy as sinking into a warm bath.

Other sounds rise from outside this world.

Humming.

No, that isn’t right.

The sounds crystallize and take shape: “Pulse 30 bpm.”

A voice. That’s what it’s called.

A different voice this time, thicker, softer, occluded somehow. “Oh my God. Annie. It’s working. He’s okay. He’s okay.”

“Not yet. He’s got to take a conscious breath. Forty bpm. BP 89/60 and rising. Temp 93°F.”

I feel myself taking shape, filling out the flesh of my body.

An urge rises, undeniable, a spasm in my midsection, and I pull in a breath so sharp, so deep, pain crashes through me.

“Respiration!” The beeping doubles, one on top of another.

Someone outside of the blackness is keening. The sound twists my gut.