Zombies were out tonight.
My friends were out there, too, fighting the creatures without me. I hated myself for falling asleep at such a critical time. What if a slayer needed my help? Called me?
Who was I kidding? No one would call, no matter how badly I was needed.
I stood and paced the room, cursing the injuries that kept me tucked inside. So I’d been sliced from hip to hip a few weeks ago. So what? My stitches had been removed and the flesh was already scarring.
Maybe I should just arm up and head out. I’d rather save someone I love and risk another life-threatening injury than do nothing and stay out of harm’s way. But...I didn’t know where the group had gone, and more than that, if I did manage to track them down, Cole would freak. He would be distracted.
Distraction killed.
Dang it. I would do as I’d been told and wait.
Minutes stretched into hours as I continued to pace, a sense of unease growing sharper with every second that passed. Would everyone come back alive? We’d lost two slayers in the past month alone. None of us were prepared to lose another.
The hinges on my door squeaked.
Cole slipped inside the room and threw the lock, ensuring that no one would bust in on us. Relief plucked the claws right out of the unease, and I thrilled.
He was here. He was okay.
He was mine.
His gaze landed on me, and I shivered, waiting for a vision...hoping for one.
Since the day we’d met, we’d experienced a small glimpse of the future the first time our eyes locked on any given day. We’d seen ourselves making out, fighting zombies and even relaxing in a swing. Today, like almost every day since my stabbing, I experienced nothing but crushing disappointment.
Why had the visions stopped?
Deep down, I suspected one of us had built up some sort of emotional wall—and I knew it hadn’t been me.
I was too entranced by him.
Always he threw off enough testosterone to draw the notice of every girl within a ten-mile radius. Though he was only seventeen years old, he seemed far older. He had major experience on the battlefield, had fought in the human/zombie war since he could walk. He had experience with girls, too. Maybe too much experience. He knew just what to say...how to touch...and we melted. I’d never met anyone like him. I doubted I ever would again.
He wore all black, like a phantom of the night. Inky hair stuck out in spikes, with leaves and twigs intertwined in the strands. He hadn’t bothered to clean his face, so his cheeks were streaked with black paint, dirt and blood.
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.