They could have been lovers, but now that she knew—well, wouldn’t he be just an exotic sex toy? Biological or not, you couldn’t love a machine, no matter how well programmed it was, or how much it was designed to simulate human personality.

As she worked to keep up with him, he gestured to her, then stopped. He turned, regarding her with eyes as intent as those of a wolf, a concentration so intense that it was like an actual physical penetration.

This was far from the confidently aggressive partner she’d enjoyed in bed, or even the emotionless professional on the satphone. Maybe those personalities were still there somewhere deep inside this intense, absolutely ferocious being, but not on the surface. He was still Mark, still with the gray eyes, the tight brown hair, the hard-edged jaw, and that slightly eerie inner smile. But he was not a normal human being, and that was absolutely clear.

She had to say something that would communicate some sort of acceptance of him, but she could barely bring herself to speak.

He regarded her, clearly measuring and evaluating.

The hybrids seemed to have left their immediate vicinity, so she decided to attempt to connect with him.

“Mark, I know that I made a mistake.”

He stared at her. There was aggression in it, but also something else, and the woman she was to her core told her what was coming, and when he embraced her, sweeping her into a wave of his immense strength, she found herself filled with an emotion that was deeper than blood, a kind of exhilaration just to feel that power, and the trembling within it that told her of his continuing feelings for her.

He was silent, as still as stone, holding her. Tears came into her eyes, and she lowered her face, that he would not see. She thought, He’s programming. This is programming. How profoundly she despised Dr. Turner.

He thrust her away so hard that she stumbled into the ferns that swept the forest floor, and mayflies rose like sparks in the light.

“Mark, please!”

“They’re moving in.”

“Mark, I’m so ashamed. I want to tell you that.”

He stopped, but just for an instant, then pushed through some brush and they were back at the roadside.

“What’s happening?” she asked.

He did not reply. She had forgotten how difficult to read he was. He’d been a voice on the phone, a figure moving in a landscape, a heartbeat … and a fantasy. He was no fantasy now.

“We’ve got to get a decent vehicle,” he said.

“Where’s the Vespa?” she asked.

“It’s not useful and I’m talking to them, not you.”