When Earth is conquered by the sinister Greys and the alien who killed Evie's husband returns seeking her help, she must find a way to enact her revenge and fight the growing feelings for the creature who is an exact replica of the man she loved.
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I was wrapped in a duvet so thick that I felt cocooned in it, the warmth hugging me tight, an embrace I wished could last forever, but which I knew would end soon when I had to wake up and start the day. Breakfast. Work. Grocery shopping. It all nagged at me, a constant tug on the back of my eyelids, making me groan, then sigh, as I stretched out my muscles and forced myself to open my eyes.
No. This wasn't right.
I frowned, disorientated, still caught in the fuzzy embers of slumber. A dull pulsation throbbed at the edge of my forehead and I raised my hand to it, touching my fingertips to the tender spot and wincing. A stab of pain came then, sharp, jagged, bringing my world back into focus.
Bringing everything back into focus.
I gasped, kicking off the sleeping bag that I was wrapped in and scrambled backwards, eyes wide and alert.
By my side, a bottle of water and a blister pack containing two painkillers.
In front of me, nothing.
An empty space where the Grey should have been.
An empty room.
Staggering to my feet, I ran to the door, getting my foot caught on the sleeping bag and just about managing to stay on my feet as I grabbed for the handle. I had images of the door being locked, of finding myself shut in here, while the Grey carried out the dark plan he'd been harbouring all along to lead his kind down here into the tunnels.
The handle turned, the door was flung wide and I pelted down the corridor using my hands to feel the way along the darkened passage walls, my feet pounding the floor as I ran, my heart beating wildly in my tightening chest.
I had no idea how long I'd been asleep. How much time had he had to strike? How much time had I gifted him to destroy everything I had left in the New World?
I cursed him as I ran, but most of all I cursed myself. How had I let myself fall asleep? How could I have let my guard down so easily?
It had been his face. Tom's face. I'd watched him as he'd taken the cushion I'd thrown and wedged it under his head as he lay down on the hard floor. He'd looked up at the ceiling, his gaze fixed on a point directly above him where the plaster was cracked, small fissures splintering out like a spider's web. He'd swallowed, his throat moving as he did so, and it was Tom's throat. The one I'd kissed a hundred times and more. Tom's profile in the candlelight. Tom's body, one knee brought up, his foot resting on the floor. One arm – Tom's arm – raised, his hand underneath the cushion, the firm curve of his bicep through his shirt. His other hand resting on his chest, the same chest I had rested my head on countless times, listening to the slow, steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
Tom, in the same room as me.
Tom, risen from the dead.
Tom, breathing, his chest rising, falling, rising, falling.
