Monstrum (31 page)

His head comes up at that. “‘If only you had been born a man,'“ he recites, dark eyes flashing, “‘what a Caesar you would have made.'”

My jaw drops, and all my anger whooshes away.

He pauses, a dull flush creeping over his cheeks. “You need to shut up and choose a weapon.”

“That's from
Gladiator,
” I gasp. “The emperor says it to his daughter.”

“Yeah.”

“It's one of my favorite movies.”

Long pause.

“Mine, too.”

I hesitate. “Do you really think that? About me, I mean?”

He hesitates. By now his entire face is a striking shade of red, as though a lobster had mated with a fire truck, but he holds my gaze. Looking into his eyes right now, there's no way I can doubt his sincerity.

“Yeah,” he says.

A lightbulb goes off over my head just as a lump forms in my throat. “Hang on. You did all of that on purpose, didn't you? Goaded me out of my fear just like you did when you wanted me to get into the dinghy?”

“Pretty much.”

“You bastard!”

He shrugs. “It worked, didn't it? I had another quote about courage ready, just in case. From my favorite play. But it's sexist and I didn't think you'd appreciate the comparison to Lady Macbeth. We did a whole unit on it in English last fall.”

Something inside me whirls dizzyingly.
“Lady Macbeth?”

Another, longer pause. A delicious pause.

He steps closer, his voice dropping. “‘Bring forth men-children only;/For thy undaunted mettle should compose/Nothing but males.”

I'm frozen for one arrested second, and then a wild recklessness washes over me. Reaching up, I palm his hard cheekbones and stand on tiptoe.

With a low hum in his throat, he wraps his arms around my waist and effortlessly hefts me up to his level. I stare, unabashed, at his brilliant, long-lashed brown eyes, straight nose and lush lips, and he stares at me just as hungrily.

And then we come together in a kiss that's long, deep and as electrifying as a forked bolt of lightning directly to my brain. For this one second out of time, I let myself go and drown in him, surrendering to the firm pressure of his lips . . . the sweep of his tongue . . . the hard warmth of his body against mine . . . the exquisite feel of him, and the feeling of us, together.

Finally he drops me back to my wobbly feet and stares at me again, his expression turbulent.

“We don't have time for this.” His voice is rough.

“I know,” I say, touching my lips.

“Don't wipe it off,” he says urgently.

“I was rubbing it in.”

With a low curse, he grabs me and pulls me in for another frenzied kiss, his fingers stroking across my face and burrowing into my hair.

Then he lets me go.

Breathless, we stare at each other.

“I'm going to want more of that,” he tells me. “
A lot more
. So make sure you stay alive. Got it?”

I nod.

He doesn't look convinced. “Bria. Promise you'll be careful.”

“I promise. Now you.”

“If you're my reward? You got it.” He gives me a tiny shove toward the blades, dissipating the prickly heat that's running up and down my limbs. “Go on. For all we know, the chimera's camouflaged and in the room with us right now.”

I flinch and nervously look around for signs of the thing. “Thanks for the reminder. So our plan is to stay in here, weapon up and hope for a quick rescue?”

“No,” he says grimly. “Our plan is to weapon up and get to the communications cabin, where we send another SOS, just to be sure.”

“Get to the communications cabin,” I echo, my hand stilling just as I reach the cabinet. I try to act like it's no big deal, but this of course means leaving the relative safety of where we are now and heading into the great unknown with no idea where the chimera is lurking. Anxiety grabs me again, making my hands shake. I clasp my hands together and remind myself that the communications cabin is right next door. “Right. Okay.”

Cortés glances at me over his shoulder and notices, of course.

“What?”

I shake my head.

“It's nothing. If I tell you, you'll call me a coward again.”

“You're not a coward,” he says flatly. “Tell me.”

My fingers go to my throat, to the spot where my necklace no longer hangs, and I miss Mona all the more.

“When Mona got sick?” I begin slowly. “She was in a lot of pain. They thought it was an ulcer at first and sent us home with, I don't know, some prescription antacids. And then they got a bunch more tests back, read the scans, and told us to get back to the hospital now.” I shrug helplessly. “That was scary.”

Cortés keeps quiet, watching me.

“And then they told us she had two weeks to live, and that was scary.”

He makes an indistinct, pained noise.

“And then she lived eight weeks, getting worse the whole time, and that was scary. Then she died, and now I'm all alone in the world, and that's scary.”

Cortés waits.

“So,” I say, only now realizing where I was going with this, “I guess I'd thought I'd already lived through the scariest time in my life.” I try to smile and fail miserably. “Guess I was wrong, huh?”

“You're wrong about two things,” he says quietly, “because you're not alone in the world.”

That does make me smile.

After a minute, we go back to our weapons collection process.

“I know my friends are flipping out right now, about the dinghy leaving us and all.”

“I'm sure Gray is flipping out,” he mutters.

I ignore that the way I ignore how my chest aches at the mention of Gray's name.

“I just wish they were back with us. Then we'd have help and we wouldn't be so outmatched—”

There's a thundering knock on the door.

My entire body jerks. “Oh, my God.”

We scramble to get ready for an attack. I grab the panga again and Cortés backs up a step and aims his rifle at the door.

“What if it's the chimera?” I ask.

“The chimera doesn't knock.”

“How do we know?”

His face darkens. “Who is it?” he shouts.

“Dr. Baer,” comes the muffled answer. “Let me in! Hurry!”

Cortés and I gape at each other.

Cortés recovers first, moving for the door.

“Wait!” I screech, hurrying to intercept him. “Don't just open it! What if it's a trap?”

“It's not a trap,” Dr. Baer answers wearily.

After a brief hesitation, Cortés pushes me behind him and out of the way. He unlocks the door and yanks it open, grabs a spluttering and surprised Dr. Baer by the collar, drags him inside, and thrusts him against the wall, pinning him there by the throat.

I quickly glance up and down the corridor, see nothing and slam and relock the door.

“Give me one good reason I shouldn't strangle you now for not destroying that thing when you had the chance,” Cortés snarls in the doctor's reddening face. I notice that Dr. Baer's got a nasty and oozing gash on his temple, probably from when the captain hit him earlier.

He takes a deep breath and uses an index finger to shove his wire glasses farther up his nose.

“Because I have an idea how I can kill the bitch now,” he tells us.

C
ortés turns Dr. Baer loose with a rough shove that shows he's in no mood for forgiveness just yet. “What happened to you, anyway? We saw you hit the deck and slide out of sight.”

Dr. Baer gingerly touches his wound. “Yeah. I blacked out for a minute, I think. When I came to, the chimera was running off somewhere. It looked funny.”

“Bria wounded it.” There's an unmistakable note of pride in Cortés's voice and expression as he glances at me. “Sliced off three of its tentacles.”

“Nice work, Bria.” Dr. Baer quickly turns to look at me, then winces, squeezing his eyes shut and gripping the nearest table for support.
“Whoa
.
”

My stomach drops with alarm. “What is it? Your head?”

Dr. Baer waves a hand. “It's no big deal. I probably have a concussion. How do my pupils look?”

Cortés leans in to check. “Dilated. You need some . . . I don't know, pain meds, or something?”

Dr. Baer almost smiles. “Yeah. Because a head injury is the biggest threat to my health and well-being right now.” He straightens his collar and takes a good look around the cabin. A worried shadow moves over his face. “Hang on. Where's everyone else?”

“The others bailed with the crew,” I tell him.

Dr. Baer brightens. “Good.” He thinks for a second, then frowns. “Wait. Murphy left you two behind?”

“Murphy couldn't do anything once the chimera breathed purple fire on him and turned him into a fireball.” I pause, enjoying the slow drain of color from Dr. Baer's face. I want him to wallow in his guilt until it drowns him. “Murphy's dead. He had a horrible death. I had to—”

I trail off, shaking my head because I'm not ready to confess that I had to put Murphy out of his misery.

Dr. Baer looks stricken.

“Cat got your tongue?” I say, running on adrenaline and righteous anger. “Shouldn't you be taking notes or something for your scientific paper on the chimera? ‘Specimen can breathe fire,' right? ‘Specimen can regenerate lost limbs and grow to a height of fifteen feet in fifteen minutes.' How's that sound? I think I'm getting the hang of it, don't you? I think I'd make a pretty good marine biologist, too, Doc.”

Silence from Dr. Baer, who hangs his head and swipes his nose with the back of his hand.

“Say something!” I screech. Cortés moves closer to me, but I edge away. All of my attention is riveted on Dr. Baer. “Your precious creature killed someone else I love! First Maggie, one of my best friends, and now Murphy! So you need to
say something
!”

Dr. Baer raises his head, stares at me with watery blue eyes and shrugs helplessly.

“I'm sorry,” he says in a small, sad voice. “I liked him. He was a good man from what I saw.”

“He
was
a good man!” I shout, incensed by this display of emotion, which is too little and way too late. “Did you know your precious
Mindy
could do that? Make like a dragon?”

“No,” Dr. Baer admits slowly, running a hand over his nape. “I'd feared, but . . . No.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Cortés asks, sneering. “And
you're
the guy who's going to kill the thing? Yeah. Good luck with that.”

“Look, Cortés, I'm no kamikaze.” Dr. Baer's voice hardens with determination. “But it's my responsibility to kill the chimera or die trying. I'm not going to be the guy who unleashes that thing on the world.”

I stare at Dr. Baer with unwilling fascination. Angry red blotches mingle with his freckles, his jaw is tight and a five o'clock shadow is creeping over his chin. He looks older, as though he's gained a lifetime's worth of wisdom and enlightenment in the last several hours. I find myself softening a little.

Respecting him a little.

I shift on my feet. Cortés and I exchange ambivalent glances.

“Look,” Cortés says finally. “It's too late for us to be worried about killing the thing. We don't know what it can do, and even if we did, we don't have the manpower. And you can't take that thing on by yourself, Doc. At this point, we just need to stay alive long enough to get rescued.”

Something comes over me. Cortés is right. I know that. But Dr. Baer is also right—someone's got to kill the chimera. I may not be Dr. Baer's biggest fan but, if he's on the same page about offing the chimera, then he's our new BFF as far as I'm concerned.