Gena Showalter: Through the Zombie Glass

So. Danged. Hot.

Violet eyes almost otherworldly in their purity shuttered, becoming unreadable, even as his lips compressed into a hard, anguished line. I knew him, and knew this was his let’s-just-burn-the-world-to-the-ground-and-call-it-good face.

“What are you doing out of bed, Ali?”

I ignored the question as well as the harshness of his tone, understanding that both sprang from a place of deep concern for me. “What’s wrong?” I asked. “What happened out there?”

Silent, he disarmed, dropping daggers, guns, magazines of ammo and his personal favorite, a crossbow. He’d come to me first, I realized, not even bothering to stop at his house.

“Were you bitten?” I asked. Suffering? Zombie bites left a burning toxin behind. Yes, we had an antidote, but the human body could take only so much before it broke down.

“I saw Haun,” he finally responded.

Oh, no. “Cole, I’m so sorry.” A while back, Haun had been killed by zombies. The fact that Cole had seen him again meant only one thing. Haun had risen from his grave as the enemy.

“I suspected it would happen, but I wasn’t ready for the reality of it.” Cole’s shirt was the next to go.

The blade-sharp cut of his body always stole my breath, and now was no exception, regardless of the horror of our conversation. I drank him in—the delightfully wicked nipple ring, the sinewy chest and washboard abs covered with a plethora of tattoos. Every design, every word, meant something to him, from the names of the friends he’d lost in the war to the depiction of the grim reaper’s scythe. Because that was what he was. A zombie killer.

He was total bad boy—the dangerous guy monsters feared finding in their closets.

And he was closing the distance between us. I buzzed with anticipation, expecting him to draw me into his arms. Instead, he bypassed me to fall onto the bed and cover his face with scabbed hands.

“I ashed him tonight. Ended him forever.”

“I’m so sorry.” I eased beside him and brushed my fingers over his thigh, offering what comfort I could. I knew he understood that he hadn’t actually ashed Haun, or even the ghost of Haun. The creature he’d fought hadn’t had Haun’s memories or his personality. It had had his face and nothing more. His body had simply been a shell for unending hunger and malevolence.

“You had to do it,” I added. “If you’d let him go, he would have come back for you and our friends, and he would have done his best to destroy us.”

“I know, but that doesn’t make it any easier.” He released a shuddering sigh.

I looked him over more intently. He had angry cuts on his arms, chest and stomach. Zombies were spirits, the source of life—or afterlife in their case—and had to be fought by other spirits. That was why, to engage, we had to force ours out of our bodies, like a hand being pulled out of glove. And yet, even though we left our bodies behind, frozen in place, the two were still connected. Whatever injury one received, the other received, as well.

I padded to the bathroom, wet several washrags and grabbed a tube of antibiotic cream.

“Tomorrow I start training again,” I said as I tended him, distracting us both.

He glared up at me through lashes so thick and black he looked as if he wore eyeliner. “Tomorrow’s Halloween. All of us have the day and night off. And by the way, I’m taking you to a costume party at the club. I’m thinking we’ll stick with the whole battered and bruised theme and go as a naughty nurse and even naughtier patient.”

My first outing in weeks would be a date with Cole. Yes, please. “I think you’ll make a very sexy naughty nurse.”

“I know,” he said without missing a beat. “Just wait till you see my dress. Slutty doesn’t even begin to describe. And you will, of course, require a sponge bath.”

Don’t laugh. “Promises, promises.” I tsked, then tried to continue more seriously. “But I never mentioned hunting.” Too many people would be out, and some would be dressed as zombies. At first glance, we might not be able to tell the real deal from the fake. “I only mentioned training. You are working out tomorrow morning, aren’t you?” He always did.

He ignored my question, saying, “You’re not ready.”

“No, you’re not ready for me to be ready, but it’s happening whether you like it or not.”

He scowled at me, dark and dangerous. “Is that so?”

“Yes.” Not many people stood up to Cole Holland. Everyone at our school considered him a full-blown predator, more animal than human. Feral. Dangerous.

They weren’t wrong.

Cole wouldn’t hesitate to tear into someone—anyone—for the slightest offense. Except me. I could do what I wanted, say what I wanted, and he was charmed. Even when he was scowling. And it was strange, definitely something I wasn’t used to—having power over someone else—but I’d be lying if I claimed not to like it.

“Two problems with your plan,” he said. “One, you don’t have a key to the gym. And two, there’s a good chance your instructor will suddenly become unreachable.”

Since he was my instructor, I took his words as the gentle threat they were and sighed.

When I’d first joined his group, he’d thrown me into the thick of battle without hesitation. I think he’d trusted his ability to protect me from any kind of threat more than he’d trusted my skills.

Then I’d proved myself and he’d backed off.

Then he’d accidentally stabbed me.

Yep. Him. He’d aimed for the zombie snarling and biting at him; I’d stepped in to help, and, with a single touch, ashed the only thing shielding my body from his strike. Cole had yet to forgive himself.

Maybe that was why he’d built a wall.

Maybe he needed a reminder of just how wily I could be.

“Cole,” I said huskily, and his eyelids lowered to half-mast.

“Yes, Ali.”

“This.” A slow smile spread as I circled my hands around his ankles—and jerked. He slid off the bed and thumped to the floor.

“What the hell?”

I leaped on top of him, pinning his shoulders with my knees. The action caused the scar on my stomach to throb, but I masked my wince with another smile. “What are you going to do now, Mr. Holland?”

He watched me intently, amusement darkening his irises. “I think I’ll just enjoy the view.” He gripped me by the waist, squeezed just enough to make sure he had my full attention. “From this angle, I can see your—”

Choking back a laugh, I took a swing at him.

“Shorts,” he finished, catching my hand just before impact. I wasn’t given the chance to tug free. He rolled me over, stretched my arms over my head and held me down.

Tricky slayer.

“What are you going to do now, Miss Bell?”

Stay just like this and enjoy? I could smell the pine and soap of his scent. Could hear the rasp of our breath intermingling. Could feel the heat and hardness of his body pressing against me.

“What would you like me to do?” I met his gaze, and the air around us thickened, charged with electricity.

Would he touch me?

I wanted him to touch me.

“You’re not ready for what I’d like you to do.” He searched my face as he reached between us, his actions belying his words... please, please... until he slowly pushed the hem of my tee over my navel, revealing every inch of damaged flesh.

He looked me over, and my stomach quivered. Heck, all of me quivered. He crawled down, down, and kissed one edge of the wound, then the other, and a moan left me.

Please. More.

But a moment passed, then another, and he merely returned to his former position, driving me crazy with his nearness but never doing anything to relieve the tension spiraling inside me.