A Mad Zombie Party

  I grip her by the jaw, forcing her to face me, and clean her eyes with Frosty's spit-dampened shirt. A creepy move, and yet also gentle, hopefully confusing her.

  "Such spirit. Such stupidity." I pat her cheek before I return to my chair. "Did you know Anima once captured my brother?"

  "I don't ca--"

  "I went to rescue him and got trapped myself. I was surrounded by agents, disarmed and threatened. I couldn't fight, so I relied on bravado." I laugh without humor. "For my efforts, I was forced to watch as my friend--the one I convinced to help me--was stabbed repeatedly in the chest."

  Tiffany pales. Frosty stiffens.

  Ignore him. "Do you know who and what Anima is, Tiffany, daughter of Hannah Reynolds?" I state her address, one of the facts River gave me, letting her know I can easily turn my sights on her mother.

  She pales. "Is it a cartoon?" Her tone is snarky, but she refuses to meet my eyes.

  "Anima," I say, "is a company responsible for the deaths of many of my friends. They captured and experimented on zombies for their own personal gain, and they didn't spare the humans who got in their way. Male, female, young, old. It didn't matter. What you did to me--injecting me with toxin--that's something an Anima employee would do, but the company has been destroyed...which makes me wonder why you did it."

  "I don't like you. Maybe that's why I did it." She realizes her mistake and scowls. "Not that I did anything."

  I smile at her, but it's merely a cold baring of teeth. "You'll be honest with me, or you'll go back in the cage. I'll be sure to turn off all the lights on my way out."

  "Bitch." She tries to stand, but again, Frosty pushes her into the chair. "I'm not scared of you, and I'm not afraid of the dark."

  "You will be...but you didn't let me finish. Do you really think I'd put you back in the cage alone? Oh, sweetheart, you don't know me very well. My brother has a crate full of zombies just waiting for their next meal."

  This is true--because River always has a crate full of zombies somewhere.

  She licks her dry, cracked lips. "I don't know who Anima is, okay, and I didn't do anything to you. You've made a mistake. Got the wrong girl."

  "Liar!" I bang my fists against the arms of my chairs. "I'll give you one more chance, and then I stop being nice. Why did you cut my throat? What did you inject me with at the cemetery? Did you do something to the other slayers, something to negate their abilities? Tell me."

  She gulps. "I'll tell you everything. But you have to give me something in return."

  She's an opportunist. Got it. I smile slowly. "For starters, I'll allow you to live."

  She shakes her head.

  "And," I add, "from this moment on, your responses will purchase your privileges. The lights...the food...a bed in your crate. A blanket. Water to bathe. Towels. Clean clothes."

  She glares at me but says, "I don't know what was in the darts I used on you. I really don't. They weren't meant for a slayer."

  My stomach twists. "You'll get to keep the lights on. Now. For whom were the darts meant?"

  She presses her lips in a firm line.

  Fine. "No dinner tonight. Would you like a bed?"

  Her breath hitches. "Wait. I'd rather have dinner."

  "Sorry, but that opportunity has passed. Maybe you'll earn your breakfast. Last chance to earn that bed."

  "Zombies," she rushes out. "I was supposed to inject zombies."

  A lump grows in my throat. "Why?"

  "I don't know," she says with a stomp of her foot. "I was told what to do, never why."

  That, I believe. Her frustration is palpable. "You want breakfast? Tell me what you did to the other slayers."

  "I put something in their food. A white powder. I don't know what it was."

  I believe that, too. She isn't bright enough to have masterminded this kind of destruction. "Why did you try to kill me?"

  "I wasn't supposed to harm anyone, but you saw me there, at the cemetery. You recognized me and would have ruined everything. You ruined everything anyway," she adds bitterly. "I thought if I got rid of you, I could stay here."

  I arch a brow. "What did I ruin, exactly?"

  "As long as I was on the inside, I got paid to report whatever I learned. The moment I got kicked out, the cash stopped coming."

  So. I almost died so that she could collect a check. "Who paid you?"

  "Who do you think?" With a smile, she throws the name at me as if it's a weapon. "Rebecca Smith."

  Rebecca Smith. A woman I hate with every fiber of my being. The former leader of Anima, and a bitch of the highest order.

  Four months ago, we had her in our possession. Had I made the call, she would have left us in a body bag. She's the one who blackmailed Milla. She's the one who attached bombs to collared zombies. She's the one who destroyed my home, sending her hazmat-protected agents in to kill our group with bullets when the blasts failed to do the job.

  She's the one who orchestrated Kat's death.

  Ali used her slayer ability to conceal Ms. Smith's memories, essentially making the woman's mind a blank slate. Ms. Smith once did the same to Ali, after all. But with a little help from Cole and Helen, Ali was able to regain full access to her memories. Someone must have helped Ms. Smith. And she must have hidden resources we know nothing about. How else would she have drugs to negate our abilities? Serums to clone zombies, if Milla is right about seeing familiar faces. A potion to turn dynamis into thanatos--or cover it. Isn't that what the journal said? Cover, cover, cover.

  Milla and I return the ballroom, but I barely have my rage under control.

  Everyone else radiates different degrees of shock.

  "Do you believe Tiffany is telling the truth?" Cole asks, his voice tight.

  "Yes." The response comes from Kat, who appears in the center of the room. Tutu-clad Emma stands beside her. "Rebecca Smith is alive, and her memory is back."

  I nod a greeting at Kat, like I do with all my friends, and for once, there's no desire to do more. No desire to close the distance and draw her into my arms. No desire to hug and kiss her or whisper inappropriate things in her ear.

  Maybe my emotions are too dark. Maybe...

  I've finally moved on.

  She's a part of me. She owns a piece of my heart, and she always will. I'll always love her. But I won't--don't--need her anymore.

  The truth hurts me. It also frees me. I can survive without her.

  She returns my nod with a sad smile, as if she can read my mind.

  "We just found out." Emma wrings her hands together. "And only because Rebecca's witnesses took us to court. They requested a second chance to make her realize she's headed down the wrong road."

  Ali sucks in a breath. "Is she protected?"

  "Right now, yes. Which means her location is hidden from us." Kat's shoulders stoop. "I'm sorry."

  "We should have killed her when we had the chance," I say.

  "I get killing in the heat of battle," Milla says, her tone soft. "But she's never part of the battle. She's a coward in that regard. If we'd killed her, it would have been in cold blood, simply to make our lives easier." She places her hand over her heart. "Honestly, I'd rather die before my time knowing I did the right thing than live a long life knowing I did the worst thing."

  Wise words, and damn it, there's no refuting them.

  "I'll call Detective Verra." Cole palms his phone. "I'll let her know what's going on."

  "Meanwhile we'll keep petitioning for answers." Kat links her fingers with Emma's. "Helen is still in court, requesting the recipe for an antidote to counteract whatever Rebecca did to you. All of you," she adds with a glance at Milla.

  Bronx wraps an arm around Reeve's shoulders. "I'll program home-security alerts into each of your cells. If Rebecca sends her agents, you'll know the moment a single perimeter is breeched."

  "Meanwhile, we need to rest. Right now I'm not capable of fighting bedbugs." Gavin wiggles his eyebrows at Jaclyn. His patented move: joke to lighten tension. "Stay in my
room and fight them for me?"

  Justin walks over and slugs him in the arm.

  "Ow." Gavin frowns at him. "I didn't ask her to fight them naked, now, did I?"

  Jaclyn looks ready to fall over with fatigue. Hell, all of us do.

  "Gavin's right," I say. "We need rest."

  Cole nods. "I'm ordering each of you to stay in bed for at least eight hours. We'll reconvene at noon tomorrow and decide what to do about Ms. Smith."

  Emma blows Ali a kiss and disappears. Kat gives me another one of those sad smiles before she, too, is gone. Despite everything, I hate the sadness and I hate to see her go.

  Cole takes Ali's hand and leads her out of the room. Gavin arches a brow at Jaclyn, and she gives an almost imperceptible nod. I'm pretty sure I just witnessed a silent invitation to hook up...along with an acceptance. The two shuffle out of the room, Justin not far behind.

  River steps in front of Milla and says, "You came after me."

  She looks away from him. "It doesn't matter."

  "You came after me, faced Rebecca, and I flayed you for it."

  "Don't. Seriously. It's over and done."

  "You're wrong. It'll be over only after I've spent years making it up to you." He holds out his hand. "Please, Milla. Come home with me."

  A very dark curse explodes from me.

  She frowns at me, then says to her brother, "I told Kat I'd sleep with Frosty." Her cheeks brighten to an adorable pink, and I relax. "I mean, not sleep with him, but sleep in the same room with him."

  "Sorry, but there's no way in hell I'm allowing that." River shakes his head, adamant.

  Smiling, she pats his cheek. "You're so cute when you try to boss me around." To me, she says, "Take me to your room."

  "I don't actually have one." I've spent many nights here, but only in her sick room. "We'll have to pick one."

  "Well, all right then." She rubs her eyes. "Let's pick one. I'm not sure how much longer I can stay on my feet."

  "Fine. Stay here. But I'll be sleeping in the room next to yours," River mutters. "And by sleeping I mean listening through the wall, ready to gut a former friend for trying something he shouldn't."

  "Don't worry," Milla says, her gaze swinging in my direction, only to pass over me. "Frosty and I aren't like that. We'll never be like that."

  The words are true, and yet I'm frowning as I lead the pair to the west wing of the house, where all the bedrooms are fully furnished. Most of the doors are shut and locked, couples already inside, doing things I won't be doing to Milla.

  Kissing...touching...

  My hands clench at my sides. There are three open doors in back, and I claim the first, not caring if I find a princess paradise or a man cave. Like Milla, I'm not exactly steady on my feet.

  Out of habit, I memorize my surroundings. Just in case I have to find my way around in the dark. Or fight an assailant during an ambush. King-size bed with mint-green covers. Two intricately carved nightstands and two navy leather chairs in front of a marble fireplace that has veins of pink and gold running throughout.

  Milla says, "Good night, Riv," and shuts the door, sealing us inside. Alone. My mouth goes dry.

  "Mind if I take the first shower?" she asks.

  "Go ahead."

  She shuts herself in the bathroom. A few seconds later, water is raining on porcelain. The pitter-patter should be soothing, but it only revs me up. Milla is wet and naked. How easy it would be to join her, how sweet to wash her back the way she washed mine earlier.

  Frosty and I aren't like that. We'll never be like that.

  I stomp to the dresser, where I find garments of every size. T-shirts, sweatpants, jeans, socks, panties and boxer briefs. I dig out what I need, choose a few things for Milla and pick the lock on the bathroom door. I'm playing with fire, and I know it, but I'm determined to win our game of B & E.

  My blood heats as I step inside, and the thick, mint-scented steam doesn't help. I'm quiet, but the shower curtain suddenly whisks open at one side, just enough for a grinning Milla to stick out her head.

  "Caught you." Water droplets cling to her lashes and glisten on her lips.

  Again, my mouth goes dry. I crave a taste of--

  Nothing. "Hate to break it to you, Mills, but it's easy to catch me when I want to be caught."

  "Mills?"

  "Would you prefer Sweetness?" I drop the clothes as my gaze slides down...down, my mind willing the curtain to fall. I want to see more of her. Want to see all of her.

  Her cheeks flush. As tough as she is, she's also shy, a little vulnerable. Too damn adorable.

  She clears her throat and retreats behind the barrier. "Well. You should probably go."

  Yes, I probably should. But I don't. "You did good tonight. With Tiffany and zombies."

  "Thank you. You and River were right, though. I need to practice using my new ability. At least now I know I can use it without killing everyone I love."

  Love?

  "By the way," she says, "I'll need a new phone. The red flames fried my old one."

  "No problem. There are plenty of extras here. We'll get you one in the morning."

  "Thanks."

  I take a step toward the stall. "Milla?"

  "Yes, Frosty." There's a tremor in her voice.

  What the hell am I doing? "I'm going." I leave at last, before I do something we'll both regret.

  A short while later, she emerges. Her hair is damp and wavy, the T-shirt and shorts I selected far too small for her. Oops. My bad.

  "I thought guys like you could take one look at a girl and guess her size." She tugs at the hem of the shorts. "You failed."

  "Actually, I succeeded." I grab the clothes I intend to wear. "I needed me some eye candy."

  A twinkle in her golden eyes. "How about I pick your outfit?"

  "Like you'd really give me clothes. You prefer me naked, and you know it." I'm flirting--again--and I have to stop.

  I don't want to stop.

  The twinkle intensifies. Her cheeks burn with rosy color. Color that spreads lower and lower... And her lips...those plush, red lips...

  Yeah. I gotta stop looking at them. I'm becoming obsessed, and it's putting me in the middle of a tug-of-war I can't win. Want her, don't want her. We can do this, we can't do this. We should try, we shouldn't try.

  I retreat into the bathroom and take a very long shower. So long she has to wonder what I'm doing. So long my skin prunes. After I change my bandages, I dress in a T-shirt and shorts that actually fit me. By the time I emerge, Milla has made a pallet on the floor, and she's buried under it, pretending to be asleep, clearly expecting me to take the bed. Hell, no.

  "Get in the bed, Milla."

  "I'm fine here. Really. I've slept in worse."

  I hate reminders of the crap life she's led...not to mention the horrible way I've treated her. But I'm not going to argue with her. Not this time. She has a terrible habit of winning. I march over, scoop her up and throw her on the mattress.

  Before she's finished bouncing, she grabs me by the nape and yanks. I perform a very undignified face-plant. As fast and wily as she is, she's on top of my back, her knees digging into my shoulders before I can sit up.

  I grin. "Good move, sweet pea, but to keep me down, you'll have to learn to fight dirty."

  Without any more warning than that, I reach around to clasp her arm and jerk her forward, using the counterforce to turn myself. She ends up sprawled across my chest. I roll before she can regain her bearings and trap her with my weight.

  She's far from daunted. "Sweetness... Sweet pea. Not exactly the nicknames I expected from you." The twinkle returns to her eyes, and I want to look away--I have to look away if I'm going to walk from this encounter unscathed, but all that glittering gold...it's like champagne, intoxicating me, until I'm falling deeper and deeper into their depths and happy to drown.

  "For your information," she adds, "if I decide to fight dirty, you'll end up having to scoop your intestines off the floor."

 
She's teasing me, but my humor has fled. I'm too tense, too achy, truly alive for the first time in months. The hardest parts of me are aligned with the softest parts of her; we are two puzzle pieces and we fit together perfectly. Blood rushes through my veins, an awakened river that had burst from a hot spring. My heart pounds against my ribs.

  "Frosty." She flattens her hand on my chest. She's trembling now.

  The air heats and thickens as I slide my hands into her hair and fist the strands. I can't stop the action. I don't want to stop. I just want her.

  "What are we doing?" she asks softly.

  I don't know. Going crazy? Celebrating life while we can? "Making each other feel good?" I rub my lower body against hers and she gasps. So I do it again, and again. "Yeah...that certainly does feel good."

  I tell myself my desire for her is natural. She's a beautiful girl, and a hard-on doesn't mean anything. I can be with her and scratch an itch. Then we can move on. Pretend it never happened and remain friends.

  But I'm not that guy, I remind myself. Not anymore. I stop and roll away from her.

  She stands on unsteady legs and stares down at me. "There's something you need to know about me. It's personal."

  "Tell me."

  "I've had boyfriends. A lot of boyfriends. Actually, no. I haven't. They don't qualify as boyfriends. Most had their fun and took off, leaving me to wonder what I did wrong, what was wrong with me, why they could commit to anyone but me, and I'm not going through that again." Her tone acquires an edge of bitterness. "Especially with you. You're still in love with Kat."

  "I'm not." The girl I once thought I'd marry is now a friend, nothing more. I let her go, just the way she wanted.

  She tried to tell me that we were never meant to be. At the time, I didn't believe her. Now? My blinders are off, and the truth is undeniable. A punch of ice.

  She used to make me laugh, and she used to make me hot, but she never accepted the slayer part of my life. Anytime we spoke of college and getting a "real" job, she begged me to consider accounting.

  "Being a cop...it's too dangerous," she said. "Be safe for once."

  Milla--surprisingly sweet, amazingly sensitive Milla--gets and accepts the danger I face. She stands by my side, protects my back.

  Another punch of ice. The girl I once hated understands me in a way my girlfriend never did.

  "Come here," I say. "Please."

  Milla lies beside me and tentatively links our fingers. It's a gesture of comfort. One I welcome.