Nancy Warren - A Valentine from Harlequin - Six Degrees of Romance

But right now the argument didn’t matter, as the screams from below were making her heart pound like bongos.

“Don’t look.” John’s deep brown eyes found hers. “I will protect you.”

Charlotte locked her gaze with John’s. Never had she seen her geek of a fiancé act so manly. Normally he had his eyes glued to a computer report or on a petri dish. This powerful, determined side of him stirred a wanting in her she’d never experienced. For the first time, she regretted their agreement to wait until after they were married to have sex. “Promise?”

“I’d die for you, Charlotte.”

“Don’t say that! Oh, John, don’t let them get us. Not before we’re married. Not before we’ve…”

He smirked. “You think I’m going to let a zombie chew on me before I’ve had a chance to make love to the most beautiful girl in the world?”

Basking in his adoration, Charlotte blushed. “Aww—”

Just then she saw John swing a wrought-iron patio chair straight toward her. She screamed and ducked. Behind her, a zombie’s head went flying off its neck as the wrought iron easily cut through its decaying flesh and bone.

John helped her to stand and wiped a chunk of zombie from the shoulder of her pink satin evening gown. “Close one. This must be an older nest of zombies—the older ones are not as durable. That could prove to our favor.”

“Durable?” Growing queasy, she wilted into his arms. “I can’t do this.”

“You don’t have to, sweetie. Stay by me. I’ll get you to safety.”

“Wait, first we’ve got to find Tina. I don’t want my best friend to get eaten by zombies!”

“Right. But we gotta move, and fast.”

He lifted her and carried her over the zombie’s still-twitching body, then set her down. She brushed bits of something she didn’t want to examine too closely from her floor-length gown, and then they both dashed through the eighteenth-century mansion where Tina’s family had hosted her party.

Social event of the season? More like six o’clock news disaster. John swiped a silver candelabra from a marble-topped table as they rushed by. “Arm yourself,” he said. “They are intelligent. After their initial feed they only have to consume small portions of flesh to survive, and there is very little mental depletion.”

Charlotte accepted the candelabra with a wince. Yet she couldn’t help but swoon a little over his take-command attitude.

Sucking in a fortifying breath, she steeled herself to stay strong and not turn into a weeping Wilma that John would have to abandon to the zombies because she was too frantic to deal. They were in this together. And they would have their wedding day.

Then she remembered the seemingly compromising position in which she had found her fiancé just minutes before, and Charlotte couldn’t help but ask, “John, who was that woman on the balcony?”

“What woman?” John kicked open a pair of swinging doors that led into a gallery, only to be greeted by delirious moans and groping arms. A fresh stew of zombies in fancy evening dress—guests of the ball—lurched toward them.

“Wrong door.” John grabbed her hand and they raced away from the approaching horde, taking a sharp turn into the kitchen. John grabbed a steel-legged bar stool and shoved it through the door handles, forming a sturdy barricade. “That should keep them back. For now.”

Charlotte wondered if her ribs could withstand the torture of her thudding heart as she looked around her. The deserted kitchen was beautiful in the moonlight, the stainless-steel appliances shimmering silver.

Their lives had been blessed up until now. Would it all end tonight?

A strange hissing noise alerted her.

Candelabra in hand and prepared to swing, Charlotte crept around the butcher-block counter. Hunched on the other side and clasping a rosary sat the priest whom Tina had introduced to her earlier. “Father!”

“Back!” The priest wielded his rosary cross as if it were a weapon.

“I’m not a zombie,” she said, kneeling before him. “Are you okay?”

John swung around the other side of the counter to join them, which startled the skittish priest once again. He swung the rosary like a lariat and clocked John on the eyelid.

“Ouch. Is that what I get for missing confession for the last five years?” John rubbed his bleeding brow.

“He’s not a zombie, either?” the trembling priest asked Charlotte.

She shook her head.

“So sorry, son.” The priest sighed. “Demons I can exorcise. Spirits I can cast out. But zombies? What do I do with zombies?”

“Best option?” John shrugged. “Run.”

“I can’t run. My ticker can’t take it. It’s the end of the world. You two are young, the lucky ones.”

“We are.” John clasped Charlotte’s hand. His eyes—the right one now a little clouded with blood thanks to the skittish priest—reflected all the love she held for him. “And since it’s the end of the world, I have a favor to ask of you, Father.”

“I can perform final rites, if that will give you peace.”

“Final—no!” Charlotte protested. “We’ll survive this. We have to. We’re to be married soon.”

The priest wobbled his head as if to say good luck with that.

“Right now,” John said, nodding encouragingly to Charlotte. “Will you marry us, Father?”

“Really?” she asked on a gasp. “You’d be okay with a priest officiating our vows?”

“I know how important it is to you. If we’re going to die tonight, I want to die in my wife’s arms.”

“Oh, John, that’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me. I want to be married tonight, too.”

“You two are crazier than the zombies,” the priest muttered.

A loud bang shook the kitchen door.

“It’s them,” Charlotte cried. She gripped the priest’s arms and helped him to stand. “Please, do it now!”

John made a frantic search of the dark kitchen, dashing to the counter where florists had been preparing the flower arrangements earlier. He gathered bits of damaged calla lilies and shredded leaves into his frantic fingers then shoved the makeshift bouquet at Charlotte. “Can you forgive me for being so stubborn about the priest?”

She wanted to grab him and kiss him, but the doors to the kitchen were starting to splinter and bulge inward. “Forgiven. Hurry,” she ordered, giving the priest a rough shove.

“Dearly beloved—”

“Skip the prologue and get to the necessary stuff.” John tugged Charlotte over to the patio doors and opened them. A small breeze brought in the scent of the fragrant gardens, and the dazzling moonlight fell upon their joined hands. No sign of the living dead stalking the rosebushes. Yet. “Father, hurry up!”

“Do you take this man to be your wedded husband?”

“I do!” Charlotte sucked in the corner of her lip, eyeing the kitchen doors. The groans on the other side were increasing.

“And do you take this woman—”

“Yes, yes, I do. Always and forever, no matter what the world forces upon us.” John squeezed her hands, sending bits of calla lilies across her gown. “I love you, Charlotte Masterson.”

Her new surname suited her perfectly. John’s calmness centered her, bringing her into the moment. She would remember this moment always, the moonlight, the adoration on John’s face—

The kitchen doors smashed inward. Wood shards scattered. A horde of zombies stalked clumsily inside.

The priest shouted, “I now pronounce you man and wife, may no man put asunder—”

John swept Charlotte into his embrace. He kissed her deeply, lovingly, perfectly. And there, amidst the full moon’s spotlight, they became man and wife—till death did part them.