She turned her head, and her eyes widened. A car had run the red light and was speeding toward her.
I didn’t even get to tell him. He’ll never know.
The car crashed into Tabitha’s driver’s side door, turning her world into a chaotic jumble of crunching metal, shattered glass, and agonizing pain before finally…blessed darkness.
Twenty-Eight
After he’d run through a brutal set of exercises that left his limbs trembling and his skin coated in sweat, taken Dexter out back, and showered, Zevris still couldn’t bring himself to go out into the garage to work. It simply didn’t feel right; how could he devote adequate attention to anything while he was worried about Tabitha?
She said she will be fine. I must believe that.
But that thought—and her assurances—provided him little comfort. Humans dealt with a multitude of illnesses every day. Though most of those ailments were minor, easily overcome by human immune systems, some were not…and a large many of people succumbed to disease daily. No matter how many times he tried to shove that knowledge aside, it kept returning to the forefront of his mind. So many of the threats on this planet were ones from which he could protect her, but infection and disease…
Even the Azmus Protectorate’s greatest scientific minds had been unable to stop the plague from ravaging their species across all corners of the galaxy. What could Zevris do that they could not?
I am making this situation harder on myself by pursuing these thoughts.
He wandered into the kitchen. There was a pulsating, ominous feeling in his gut, constantly tightening and loosening, resurging whenever it seemed on the verge of fading away, sometimes so strongly that it crept up into his chest and throat.
Dread. He knew the feeling, had experienced it before, but never to this degree—not even the many times during which his life had been in immediate danger.
The dwelling seemed too quiet now. He’d grown accustomed to having some sort of sound filling it, whether it was Tabitha’s thumping music as she worked, her happy conversation, or her humming as she performed mundane tasks.
Dexter walked into the kitchen from the living room. His tail was down, and he stared up at Zevris with those big, sad eyes. Tabitha called them puppy dog eyes and considered the expression to be a masterful manipulation technique. Zevris was inclined to agree; she’d utilized a similar look on him a few times to great effect.
“She’ll be back soon,” he said as he strode to the fridge and tugged the door open.
With a short, soft whine, Dexter padded over to join Zevris.
“I’m not overreacting,” Zevris muttered. “She’s fine, and so am I.”
He scanned the refrigerator’s contents, barely registering what any of them were. Each item seemed less appetizing than the last.
Had his appetite not already been killed by worry, Tabitha’s absence would have finished it off. Sharing meals with her had become a beloved daily routine. It seemed wrong to have breakfast without her.
He glanced down at Dexter, who was still looking at him with that please, take pity expression. The dog’s downturned tail wagged slowly, as though in expectation.
Smirking, Zevris closed the fridge, went to the pantry, and gave Dexter a few treats from the jar Tabitha kept on a high shelf. Dexter’s sorrows were apparently forgotten while he devoured the crunchy treats.
As Zevris watched the dog eat, his hand itched, brimming with restless energy. He had the urge to pluck his phone from his back pocket and check it, to see if Tabitha had sent any messages. To call her if she hadn’t.
“She hasn’t even been gone an hour,” he growled. “Give her time to do what she set out to do, and get to work.”
He shoved away from the counter, determined to walk into the garage and begin Hank’s custom coffee table. But his legs carried him past the laundry room, which led to the garage, down the hallway, and upstairs.
He snarled a curse at himself as he entered his bedroom. There were so many subtle reminders of Tabitha scattered through the house, like the way she’d tossed the blanket aside on the unmade bed, or the little objects—including the keepsake box he’d gifted her—she’d placed on the dresser, or her scent lingering in the air. He didn’t allow himself to dwell on any of those things.
His gaze settled on the television, and he stalked toward it. He willed his limbs to move calmly, smoothly, as he shifted the television aside and opened the wall panel. During his time on Earth,