“What did he teach you?”
“Everything I know—how to shoot, how to fight. We would go out to the hills behind the town, in the daylight, of course, and he would show me how to survive in the wilderness. I shot my first rabbit at the age of six. And I cried all the way through cleaning it.
“But,” he continued, “that evening, our neighbor took that skinny carcass and made a stew out of it, and we sat around our kitchen table and ate it all. And Jeb was so proud.” Zeke chuckled, self-conscious, and shook his head. “That was home to me, crazy as it sounds. Not this endless wandering. Not a faceless city that we might never find.” He sighed heavily, glancing back toward the barn, and the burden on his face was almost overwhelming. “So, anyway,” he finished, shaking off his melancholy as he looked back to the woods, “that’s why I think the Archers have a good thing here. Rabids and walls and fire and everything.” He finally looked at me then, smirking and defiant. “So, go ahead—tell me I’m a sentimental idiot if you want, but that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.”
“You’re not,” I replied. “I think you’re too hard on yourself, and that Jeb shouldn’t expect you to keep everyone alive and safe and happy, but I don’t think you’re an idiot.”
He smiled, a real one this time, though his voice remained teasing. “So, what do you think I am?”
Naive, I thought at once. Naive, brave, selfless, incredible—and much too kind to survive this world. It’ll break you in the end, if you keep going like this. Good things never last.
I didn’t say any of these things, of course. I just shrugged and muttered, “It doesn’t matter what I think.”
Zeke’s voice was soft, almost a whisper. “It matters to me.”
I looked at him. His eyes were stormy blue in the moonlight, his hair a pale silver-blond. The cross glimmered against his chest, winking metallically as if in warning, but I couldn’t tear my eyes from his face. Slowly, he let go of the railing and leaned in, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from my cheek.
His fingers grazed my skin, and warmth shot through me like an electrical jolt. I heard his heart thudding in his chest, the pulse throbbing beneath his jaw. His scent was everywhere, overwhelming; heat and blood and life, and a distinct, earthy smell that was uniquely him. I imagined kissing him, trailing my lips down to his throat, a rush of hot blood flooding my mouth. I felt my fangs lengthen, even as I leaned in.
“Zeke!”
Ruth’s voice shattered the stillness, jerking us apart and bringing me to my senses. Horrified, I rose and stepped to the edge of the platform, facing the wind. What the hell was I doing, playing with fire like this? Biting the preacher’s son was an excellent way to get myself excommunicated and hunted down. Jeb was ruthless when it came to moving on, but I had the feeling he would make an exception for me. Even worse, Zeke would know what I was—and he would hate me for it.
And, a dark little corner of my mind whispered, what if you had bitten him and couldn’t stop? What if you had drawn every bit of light and warmth into yourself, and when you were done, nothing was left of him?
I shuddered and willed my fangs to retract, stifling the desire and the Hunger that came with it. I thought back to our almost kiss and had to wonder: would I have kissed him, or would I have leaned in those final inches to tear out his throat?
“Zeke!” Ruth called again, oblivious to the scene up top, “Miss Archer wants me to remind you that the fire outside the wall needs to be fed. The woodpile is back behind the water cistern. I can show you where it is if you want to come down.”
“I’ll go,” I said quickly as Zeke leaned over the railing to call back to Ruth. He stopped and gave me a puzzled look, but I turned away toward the ladder before he could say anything. If Ruth wanted alone time with Zeke, so be it. She could have her chance. Right now, I had to get away from him, before we both did something we’d regret.
“Allison,” Zeke said softly, stopping me. I glanced up at him from the ladder, and found him looking at me with a sad, confused expression. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I shouldn’t have…I thought…” He trailed off with a sigh, raked a hand through his hair. “Don’t go?” he pleaded, giving me a hopeful smile. “I’ll behave, I promise.”
But I can’t. I shook my head and climbed down, leaving my rifle up top against the rails. I felt Zeke’s eyes on me as I left, but I didn’t look at him.