A Mad Zombie Party - Showalter Gena - Страница 63

“We were just leaving.” Ali stands, gives me a hug—a hug I return—and slinks from the room.

“Again, I’m sorry,” Kat whispers. “I wish... Well, it doesn’t matter, does it. Wishes mean nothing. Actions mean everything.” Then she, too, is gone.

Frosty scowls. “They told you about the vision.” A statement, not a question.

“Yes,” I reply. “And I get why they kept quiet, I really do.”

“You’re taking it better than I did.” He shuts the door with a firm click, then turns the lock, sealing us both inside.

“You wouldn’t think so if you’d peeked into my mind a few minutes ago.” I scrub a hand down my face. “I should have figured things out on my own. The guilt they so often projected, your treatment of me after Kat confessed all.” As I speak, I’m hit by another realization; shock sends me into another tailspin. “You didn’t want me near you, didn’t want me acting as your shield because...you care about me. My life matters to you.”

He raises his chin, unashamed of his feelings. “I told you that already.”

Yes, but I never really believed it until now. “Frosty,” I say, and take a step toward him, my heart singing. But another realization strikes and I still, the singing fading to quiet. Only one of us has a future. He’s going to watch me die.

“I want you to leave town,” he says. “You don’t owe me. You don’t have to atone for your past. Go to college. I’ll pay—”

“Are you freaking serious? How about this? I’ll leave if you leave.”

He shakes his head, adamant. “I can’t abandon my friends in the middle of a war.”

“Neither can I, snowman.” I will be here for him.

Navy blue eyes beseech me. “I need you alive, Milla.”

And I need to touch him. I move forward; the moment I reach him, I sink my greedy hands under his shirt, directly on his chest—over his heart. His skin is white-hot, velvet over steel.

“No one is guaranteed a future,” I remind him, and his heart hammers so quickly I can’t count the beats. “No one, not with a vision or without. All we have is today, this second.” And I don’t want to waste it. “You promised me a kiss.”

He hooks a lock of hair behind my ear. “I promised you more than one. I’m addicted to the taste of you.”

Hot shivers cascade through me. “Let’s pretend, just for a minute, that you’re a normal guy and I’m a normal girl, that we just got back from a date and we’re standing at my door.”

“Yes.” His pupils flare, a full eclipse of desire. “I lean in to kiss you good-night...”

Breathing is impossible. “And I wait, excited and nervous.”

“I hold out as long as I can, savoring every torturous second, but you smell so good, like roses and pecans, and I’m so worked up already, have wanted you all night...”

“I ache for you, and when I can stand it no longer, I wrap my arms around you. Like this...”

We’re both panting. We’re both trembling. Deep down I know he sees me, sees who I am, what I am, and he likes me anyway.

“I whisper your name...and then...finally I kiss you.” His lips press gently against mine, his tongue seeking entry.

I open willingly, urging him inside, and he...utterly...worships...me.

This kiss is the total antithesis of the last one. There’s no maddened rush to reach the finish line. No violence behind our actions, just languid relish. I’ve never been kissed like this. I’m not sure if it’s a hello or a goodbye or both. But there’s meaning to it. A promise.

When he lifts his head, his lips are red and slightly swollen. His eyes are wild, in direct opposition to his movements. I expect him to dive down and kiss me again, only harder and hotter, but he traces his thumbs over the rise of my cheekbones, his gaze never leaving mine, and I decide this is better.

“I haven’t slept in days,” he says. “Want to nap with me?”

In his arms? “Yes.” I don’t care that I’ve only just woken up.

He sheds his weapons and gets comfortable on the bed. I crawl to him and rest my head on his shoulder, drape my arm over his stomach and bend one of my knees over his thighs.

“What if I have the nightmare?” I ask. “What if I catch fire?”

He plays with the ends of my hair. “I’ll burn and I’ll get over it. I’ve got you where I want you. I’m not letting go.”

I hold Milla in my arms as she dozes. Sleeping is impossible for me, my mind a roller coaster of activity. I can’t stop thinking about our kiss—can’t stop craving another. I told myself I’d let her go afterward. I’d walk away and never look back.

But I kissed her and cuddled her closer, and now the thought of leaving her warmth and softness... Yeah, I’d rather eat nails.

I’m falling hard for this girl, and one way or another, I’m going to lose her the way I lost Kat. Even if we both manage to survive the vision, her brother still stands in our way, whether he supports us or not. I’ll never be content playing second string to River—I was second string with my aunt and uncle, and it sucked—just like I know Milla will never be content playing second string to Kat.

The thing is? Kat is no longer my first priority. But River will always be Milla’s.

Maybe she senses my tension. She mutters my name and stretches like a pinup, lifting her arms above her head, arching her back.

So beautiful.

The urge to touch her overwhelms me, and I shift her still-dark locks through my fingers, the strands like silk. The blood in my veins heats, boils...one touch isn’t enough, will never be enough.

I should get up. Leave.

Too late. She blinks open her eyes and gasps. “You’re still here.”

“Where did you expect me to be?”

“Honestly? Anywhere else.” A slow smile blooms. “But I’m glad you stayed.”

There’s a clench of desire low in my gut.

A hard knock sounds at the door. “Zombies are headed toward the house,” Cole announces. “Gear up.”

Zombies? Headed this way?

Mills and I scramble out of bed. The last time zombies approached a home I lived in, they wore bomb collars and destroyed everything in their path, distracting us and allowing Anima’s most lethal agents to close in.

“Don’t try to ditch me out there,” Milla tells me, a tremor in her voice. She straps on the holster for her short swords. “Stay by my side.”

No way in hell. The less time I spend with her during battle, the less likely Ali’s vision is to come true.

“Frosty,” she says, exasperated.

I ignore her and rip open the door. Other slayers are rushing out of their rooms, their expressions a mix of fury and dread. We congregate in the weapons room, hurriedly gathering extra daggers, guns and ammo.

“There are probably two hundred zombies,” Cole says. “Justin and Gavin were on patrol and spotted them. In our favor, they aren’t wearing collars so there are no bombs. Also, when our boys tried to engage, they were ignored. The hordes are acting just like Milla when she searched for Love.”

“But I scented slayers,” she says. “Why would zombies ignore Justin and Gavin?”

“The serum draws like to like, remember.” I hand her my favorite guns, the ones with retractable axes, and show her how to work them. “But why aren’t zombies fighting other zombies right now?”

“They scent Milla.” Kat appears a few feet in front of me, her features tight with worry. “They hunger for thanatos.”

“But she’s not lit up with red flames.” Ali slams a clip in place. “How can they scent it?”

“As with any fire, heat and smoke waft. In this case, spiritual heat and smoke,” Kat replies. “And it’s only growing stronger.”

Milla flattens her hands over her stomach, clearly horrified. “I don’t feel hot. Don’t see any smoke. Should I wear one of the suits?”