“Yes. Three. They received the same treatment.”
“I’ll hide the evidence and meet you back at the house.” River doesn’t wait for permission, just takes off.
“Someone help me with Gavin.” Tears spill down Jaclyn’s cheeks as she tries to pull him up one-handed, her other hand tucked against her middle to protect a swollen wrist. “He’s too heavy for me to carry.”
Like Ali and Milla, Gavin is unconscious. Bronx and Chance heft him up, each using a shoulder as a crutch to keep him vertical. Together, we make our way to the vehicles. We’re a ragtag group, but we’re alive. I tell myself that’s enough. For now.
When I open my eyes, the first thing I see is Frosty. His face hovers just above mine. Sublime heat envelops me, saturating me with his scent. His heartbeat drums against my temple.
We’re outside, the night dark. He’s walking...carrying me. I smile...until memories swamp me. We just had our asses handed to us. On a silver platter. With a side of pork rinds. The servers of this ass-handing? Zombies we killed once before.
How?
I have a thing for faces and clothes. Even undead faces and clothes. The people I meet become photographs inside my mind—maybe that’s a slayer trait, maybe not. Tonight I was able to pull the photographs from the last battle and play match. Vintage suit with stains on the tie—match. T-shirt with I’m Kind of a Big Deal stitched across the breast—match. Purple jogging pants—match.
We ashed those zombies a month ago and now they’re back? Impossible.
That’s not even the worst part.
When I was bitten, the red flames mixing with a fresh dose of zombie toxin, I became aware of every slayer within my vicinity? and even a few beyond the graveyard. I lost track of everything else, blindsided by a hunger I couldn’t fight.
I wanted to eat. To gorge.
“I’m awake,” I whisper, doing my best to hide my horror.
“How do you feel?” Frosty sets me on my feet.
We’re at the entrance to the cemetery, where the van is wrecked and Frosty’s truck awaits. “Sore, but grateful I’m alive.”
Our bodies surround the vehicles, and one by one, we join up.
Justin arrives with a new van, and we pile inside. Everyone but Frosty.
“Where—” I begin.
“I’m staying to help River,” he says.
“I’ll stay, too,” I say. I don’t want to be parted from him. He’s injured.
“You haven’t seen yourself.” He gives me a half smile, reaches out and squeezes my hand. “You need medical attention.”
“So do—” But he’s already walking away. “You,” I declare lamely.
Justin whisks us to the mansion, where the recruits help us into the former ballroom on the bottom floor, which has been transformed into a makeshift hospital. One of the recruits is in medical school, another in nursing school, and Weber barks orders at them. We’re examined one at a time, those in the worst condition first.
Once Gavin and Ali are doctored, Weber focuses on me. I’m bandaged up and deemed “on the mend,” but I’m unable to catch my breath until Frosty walks through the door.
He scans the room and stops on me. My heart skips a beat as he closes the distance. Though I’m in pain—I refused painkillers, not wanting to be weakened or fall asleep—I stand and motion to the gurney.
He sits without a word of complaint.
“Where’s River?”
“Once we had the bodies loaded, he took off.”
“Serves you right. Now don’t you dare move,” I say. “I mean it.”
“Trust me. I’m not going anywhere.”
I gather the cleaning supplies I think I’ll need. I’m as gentle as possible as I wash the blood from his face. He must have had a shirt stored in his truck because he’s wearing a new one.
“Any injuries I can’t see?” For some reason, the question makes me blush. I never blush.
“I have a few under my shirt.” He doesn’t move, just sits there, his gaze glued to me and so intense it’s as if he’s seeing past flesh and bone.
I gulp. “What are you waiting for? Take it off.”
“If you insist.” He grips the shirt by the collar and tugs the material over his head.
Is my tongue hanging out? Am I drooling?
Cord after cord of strength greets me. And his tattoos! Mercy. I beg for mercy. In the center of his breastbone, there’s a human heart pierced on the bottom by numerous daggers. On the handle of each is a name. Boots. Ducky. Ankh. Trina. Haun. Cruz. Willow. Roses grow from the top of the heart, the stems twisting and twining all the way to his shoulders, where the buds are in bloom. A curtain of mist floats between the thorny foliage, and in the midst of it is the name Kitten.