Gena Showalter - The Queen Of Zombie Hearts

Yes, yes. A big, delicious bite. “At one time,” I said, the huskiness of my tone surprising me. I wrapped my arms around his neck. “That look of mine scared you.” With good reason. I’d been loaded with zombie toxin and had literally wanted to eat him. Well, not me but my zombie twin. Z.A.

“Nine,” he went on and nibbled on my ear. “You’re like the world’s most perfect drug. One hundred percent pure, guaranteed to addict after the first taste. I can’t imagine my life without you in it—don’t want to.”

My skin tingled, and my blood flashed white-hot. “Cole,” I said on another moan. I tangled my hands in his hair, angled his head, trying to take over. “Please. Stop talking, and start acting.”

“Ten,” he said and finally—blessedly—pressed his lips against mine. Only it was soft, far too soft. “You would die for me, the same way I would die for you.”

“Yes, yes, I would.” I waited for hard.

He didn’t give it to me. His face hovered directly over mine as he...deliberated his next move?

Happy to help with that. “Take off your shirt,” I commanded, already pulling at the material. “Now.”

He gave me a quick smile. “Impatient?”

“Feral. And don’t you dare complain. You’re to blame.”

“Complain? I’d rather celebrate.” He plucked his shirt from my hands. “Take off your coat.”

I was only surprised it hadn’t already burned off me. I was that hot for him.

As he jerked the cotton over his head, I yanked at my coat and sweater, leaving on the tank, jeans and boots...for now. My gaze, controlled by a force greater than myself, traveled all over him—gold star for this one, God—before settling on his chest. He’d tattooed my name in bold, black letters that stretched from one nipple to the other.

Breathing him in...mmm, soap and strawberries...I traced the design with shaky fingers.

He gave a little moan. “Before we start, Ali-gator, I’ve got to warn you.”

“Before we start?”

He fisted a handful of my hair, careful of my sore nape, and tugged me against him. Male strength against feminine softness. His gaze was fierce, unwavering. “I’m not going all the way with you.”

The heat in my blood instantly cooled. “But why?” Right after my brush with death, he’d been ready. More than ready.

And I had been, too. Still was. I’d accepted that sex was something I could never take back, that it would change the course of our relationship...and me. While I wasn’t a big fan of change, this was Cole. My Cole. I’d deal.

“After your grandmother interrupted us that night,” he said, “I got to thinking.” A hard mask fell over his features, making me suspect he’d done more than think. He’d probably listened to a lecture from his dad. “I’m eighteen. You’re sixteen.”

“Almost seventeen.”

“I’m a legal adult. You’re not.”

“Cole—”

“Let me finish.” His tone was now as hard as his features, intractable. “I think we should wait.”

I peered up at him. At five-ten, I was tall. At six-four, he was taller. He was wider than me, heavier, and anytime I was near him I felt utterly consumed by him. Usually I adored it. Today, not so much. “Two years is—”

“One year, three months.”

“—a long time,” I finished.

“Not when we’ve got a lifetime together.”

I opened my mouth to protest. Finally his lips crashed into mine.

Instant inferno. I kissed him with everything I had. We’d discuss the year-and-three-months wait at another time—maybe after I’d taken the edge off. Right now, I was simply going to enjoy him...and whatever he’d give me.

As my nails scraped against his back, and his hands anchored on my bottom, yanking me even closer, a thousand little fires ignited in my belly, spreading through the rest of me. What I’d thought was an inferno before? Not even close.

The flames must have spread through him, too, because he hoisted me up, rubbing himself against me. I wound my legs around his waist, practically melding our bodies together. He walked to the bed and laid me down, half of me hanging over the edge. All the while, the kiss continued. Hotter. Faster.

“We can do other things,” he rasped. “Like before.”

“Yes. Like before.” The things he’d made me feel...

He planted his hands at my temples and raised his head. Panting, he said, “But maybe we’ll go a little further this time.”

I licked my kiss-swollen lips and uttered a trembling “Why are you still talking?”

His grin was slow and wicked as he played with the clasp of my bra through my tank.

Beyond the bedroom door, glass tinkled.

Cole paused, frowned. “What—”

Multiple footsteps thumped against a wood floor.

Pop.

Pop.

Shocked, we bolted upright together. I knew that sound. Gunshot muffled by a silencer. But...but...

“Someone’s here,” Cole said, rushing to the nightstand to palm one of the weapons perched on top.

Who would attack the Hollands? And why? Doesn’t make any sense...no sense...

Cole gave me a sharp look.

Right. Arm up. I shook my head to disperse the fog of stupidity and pulled two daggers from my boots. I never went anywhere without them. But daggers were for up-close-and-personal grab-and-stabs with zombies. Shots had been fired. I wouldn’t be dealing with zombies.

I dropped the daggers and grabbed the pistol I had stashed in my coat.

“Cole! Run!” his father shouted—just as the bedroom window shattered.

Cole didn’t have a chance to run.

More glass shattered. Something launched him across the room like a rocket-propelled grenade. He smashed into the wall, slid to the floor, leaving a thick, bright red smear of blood behind him.

Chapter 3

NO SPILLED GUTS,

NO GLORY

What the heck was going on?

Gasping, I dropped to my knees. “Cole?” I whispered, frantically crawling toward him. The pistol clinked against the floorboards, reminding me of a ticking clock.

I hated ticking clocks. An entire life could be altered in a single second.

I released the weapon and pressed two fingers into his neck, feeling for a pulse. Don’t be dead, don’t be dead, please, please, don’t be dead. And yeah, okay, I knew death wasn’t the end for us. Look at my sister. But I wasn’t ready to lose any part of Cole.

Thump...thump. Thump...

Thank God! Slow, but strong. He was alive.

His eyes fluttered open. “Ali?”

“It’s okay,” I said. “You’re okay. You’re going to be okay.”

“What happened?”

I surveyed the damage. There was a hole in the shoulder. Blood soaked him.

“Someone just shot you, I think. Right in front of me. That someone could still be out there. We could still be targets.” The two halves of my brain were at war—hope versus dread—screwing with my focus. “What should I do?”

“Bind.” He spoke softly, the word little more than air. “Shoulder.”

Of course. Yes. I knew that. But...binding his shoulder wouldn’t do much good. Blood was gushing out of him. He needed fire; it would cauterize.

Slayers could produce fire; it was necessary to kill zombies. I could produce fire. When summoned, the flames crackled at the ends of our fingers. We pressed them into zombies, and the heat spread, purified, burning away evil and darkness. Eventually, zombies exploded. For some reason, I could flame from head to toe and only a moment of contact was needed to end a zombie.

When used on humans, the fire healed...sometimes. Sometimes it caused final death, just like with zombies.

It had healed me, and it would heal Cole. We were both slayers, and that was the key distinguishing factor between healing and exploding.