Winter Igniting

by Rebecca Zanetti

  A ruckus sounded on the stairs, and Doc Penelope hurried into the room, already filling a syringe with a complex mixture of Vitamin B complex. Nobody knew exactly why or how, but the Bs helped new victims survive, and then also assisted survivors in staying sane. She reached the bed and injected the girl.

  Freda continued to struggle, kicking out her legs. The bedclothes fell to the floor, leaving her in only shorts and a tank top. Even so, sweat soaked through the material.

  Doc Penelope sat on the bed and felt the girl’s head. “Not good,” she murmured, looking over her slim shoulder at April. The doctor was petite with very dark eyes and long, black hair. Her features were Korean, and her skin tone darker than average. “Any idea when she was infected?”

  April shook her head and looked toward the doorway where Marcus Knight blocked the exit. Jax’s brother stood about six and a half feet tall with pure, raw muscle and a whole lot of anger. Or insanity. His eyes were more green than brown, and his features more hard-cut than chiseled. “Marcus? Let the girls by,” April murmured.

  He didn’t move.

  Doc Penelope sighed. “I’m fine here, Marcus. Please, let the girls in.”

  He instantly pivoted to the side.

  The girls carefully skirted Marcus and hustled inside, their eyes wide and trained on their thrashing friend.

  “I remember this part,” Julie said, wincing. Her face was incredibly pale against her long, red hair. “It’s awful.”

  “How did she get infected?” Doc Penelope asked, running her hands down Freda’s arms. “There are no bite marks.”

  The girls shrugged.

  Shit. This could be really bad. April patted down Freda’s leg. “We don’t have any cold water, do we?”

  “Maybe in the basement of headquarters,” Penelope said quietly. “We have water down there, and it’s semi-cool.” She looked at Marcus. “Would you please go and get rags and a bucket of the coldest water we have?”

  The man faltered.

  “Please, Marcus,” Penelope urged. “I’ll be fine.”

  He gave her a look and turned, his large footsteps eerily silent on the stairs down the way.

  April exhaled. “Is he getting any better?”

  “Yes,” Penelope said. “Believe it or not, he is.”

  April wanted to talk about anything but the ill girl in front of her. Another sick child. “I’ve watched him with you, but nobody has told me the story. I’ve meant to ask.” Penelope and Marcus had only been with Vanguard for a couple of weeks, and April hadn’t had much time to get to know either of them.

  Penelope took Freda’s wrist and silently counted. Then she shook her head. “I worked at the Bunker that Jax now controls, but I didn’t know what was happening in the underground labs. They were experimenting on Scorpius survivors, seeing what they could handle in terms of torture and such. Marcus was one of their subjects.”

  April’s stomach lurched. “You’re kidding.”

  “No. The Bunker scientists, at least the ones at that Bunker, were evil.” Penelope shuddered, her gaze on the now moaning girl. “I got called in to treat Marcus and saw what was happening. I promised I’d get him out.”

  “And you did?”

  Penelope nodded. “Yeah. When Jax took the facility, I was injured, but I went to help Marcus. He was bleeding, but I didn’t care. His blood hit my wound, and I contracted the Scorpius fever.”

  Whoa. So the doctor had risked her life to save Marcus. No wonder he was so dedicated to her. Even so, it was a lot. Obsession was often a side effect of surviving the bacteria, but Marcus seemed to take it to a whole new level.

  “I’ve heard he doesn’t remember life before Scorpius,” April said softly, moving over for the girls to sit on the bed, too.

  Penelope nodded. “Yeah. Whatever the doctors did to him messed with his memory. Sometimes I think he remembers his brother, but he’s just not ready to reach out, you know? We’ll see.”

  It had to be a lot of responsibility on Penelope, trying to keep Marcus sane.

  Suddenly, Marcus stood inside the room, a bucket of cold water in his hands. He wasn’t breathing heavily, but he must’ve run like crazy. He handed over some cold washcloths.

  “Thank you,” Penelope said, drawing another syringe out of her lab coat pocket. “I can give her morphine now. The B should be taking effect.” She quickly gave the girl the painkiller.

  Freda subsided into small and snuffling whimpers.

  Penelope dipped a rag into the water and pressed it to the girl’s head. “It’s better than nothing,” she said.

  April did the same with Freda’s legs and feet, trying to cool them. “Girls? She wasn’t bitten. So we have to figure out how she contracted the illness.” If bacteria were still living on surfaces after all this time and all the numerous cleanings, then they were in trouble. Without question. “Where has she been, and what has she been doing?”

  The girls exchanged a look.

  April’s instincts rose along with the hair on her arms while Doc Penelope busied herself with trying to cool Freda. “Girls? Nobody is in trouble, but this is a big deal. How did this happen?” April asked.

  Julie bit her lip. “I don’t know. Not really.”

  Okay. Tread lightly. “Give me your best guess,” April said softly. “It doesn’t matter how crazy. Was she somewhere she could’ve easily gotten infected?” Where would that be? The girl wasn’t a scout or a soldier. She remained and worked inside Vanguard. “Did she leave?”

  “No,” Molly said. “She hasn’t left.” She ran more water down Freda’s arms.

  April bit back impatience. They had all night—if Freda kept fighting. “Talk. Now.” She used her best mom voice.

  Julie broke first. “She’s been dating one of the Vanguard soldiers, and this was their first night together. You know, their first night. She came in late from curfew.”

  Nausea dropped into April’s stomach. “Scorpius lives in bodily fluids. She knows that. You all know that.” She shook her head. How had this happened? “Who the hell is this soldier?” The soldiers were all over eighteen, and this was a seventeen-year-old girl. “Give me his name.”

  “Monty Jones,” Molly whispered. “He’s only eighteen, and I don’t think he knew she hadn’t been infected. If she didn’t tell me, she probably didn’t tell him.”

  “They used a condom,” Julie snapped. “I know they did. I gave her a couple before she left this afternoon.”

  April’s head ached. The whole room spun. The girls were right. The boy probably hadn’t known that Freda wasn’t infected with the bacteria. Even so, if they used a condom, they should be all right.

  Julie winced. “She wanted to try giving a blowjob.”

  Oh, God. April hung her head. Kids should be allowed to have stupid moments without facing the fear of death. Even so, what had Freda been thinking?

  “I don’t know if she did,” Julie rushed out to say. “Just that she was thinking about it. Just doing that wouldn’t transfer the bacteria, would it?”

  Nobody knew exactly what transferred it besides fluid. It was still possible that Freda had touched a surface with the still-living spores on it. Or that the condom had broken, and since it was probably Freda’s first time, there might’ve been blood. Who the hell knew? “We have to find out if the bacteria still survives on surfaces,” April muttered.

  “We are. There’s definite intel at the newly discovered Bunker,” Penelope murmured. “I think Jax is planning to take it soon.”

  If that were possible. Those places were seriously protected. Right now, April had to get this kid through the night. That was all that mattered.

  Freda stiffened and cried out. Then she went limp.

  “No.” April grabbed her arms.

  Doc Penelope levered up on her knees and started CPR, calmly counting. Then she breathed into Freda’s mouth. For minutes. Then more minutes.

  Julie gave a low sob and put her arm around Molly.

  Tears pooled in April�
��s eyes. “Wake up, Freda. Right now. You wake up.” The room narrowed from the outside in.

  Penelope grew frantic, her movements stronger. The girl remained unresponsive beneath her hands. “Come on, Freda. Let’s go.”

  Julie and Molly started crying harder. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be.

  Finally, Marcus moved forward and touched Penelope on the shoulder. “Penny. Let her go,” he said, his voice a low rumble.

  Penelope’s head dropped, and she gave a low sob. “We have to examine her at the office. See if we can find the infection.” Her hair covered her face.

  Marcus lifted her away from the bed and then covered Freda with a blanket, picking her up against his chest in a surprisingly gentle move. He looked down at the girl, his expression stark. “I’ve got her,” he said quietly.

  April turned to see Jax Mercury and Lynne Harmony in the doorway. When had they arrived? Lynne was crying, and Jax looked like he wanted to murder somebody.

  Lynne reached for her to hug. “Go on. We’ve got the girls.”

  April nodded. She couldn’t talk right now. Everything was too fresh and too painful. And there was an entire bottle of bourbon with her name on in it her apartment. She turned and walked blindly down the stairs.

  16

  My sense of control has never been shaken on the job. It won’t be this time either. No matter how sweet and soft April Snyder is.

  —Damon Winter, Journal

  Damon tried to sit still as Greyson finished digging into his wound with a needle in the Mercenary headquarter house. He sat at the table in what used to be the kitchen, his shirt off and his shoulder on fire. Now, both shoulders had wounds, damn it. “You are the worst at this,” he muttered, reaching for another shot of Jack Daniels and taking it quickly.

  “You told me not to get the doctor,” Grey reminded him, finishing with a bandage.

  Maureen sat on another chair, watching her hands in her lap instead of the minor surgery. “Are you guys done yet?”

  “Yes,” Greyson said. “He’s good as new. You can look and probably won’t puke now.”

  Moe looked up, her blue eyes sparkling. “You have matching bandages. How symmetrical.”

  Damon grinned. The spunky food expert was one of his favorite people in the world. The fact that she made Greyson Storm actually smile and laugh once in a while was just a bonus. “It is important to match.”

  Moe pushed her dark hair away from her face. “What’s up with you and April?”

  “We’re just working together,” Damon said, taking another shot of Jack to dull the pain. “After tonight, I realized that trying for anything else is crazy.” He paused. “Though not for you two. I mean, you’re fine.”

  Grey snorted. “Smooth. Very smooth.”

  Well, they were having a baby, so they had no choice but to be fine. Damon poured both himself and Greyson another shot of booze. “My job is always going to be kicking down the door, and as we just found out, Rippers are going to be waiting. At some point, I’m getting the bacteria.” And if his family’s survival rate of zero were any indication, he wouldn’t survive. He couldn’t do that to April, even if she were game. Which she probably wasn’t. “So, this is what it is.”

  Maureen rolled her eyes. “You’re kind of a moron.”

  Grey lifted his glass. “To morons.”

  “I’ll drink to that.” Damon tipped back another shot. The pain was finally numbing in his body, and his head was getting a bit cloudy. Shit, it was hot in the old house. “When is summer over?”

  “We’re mid-July, buddy,” Greyson said.

  Damon shook his head and tried to concentrate. “We should have a meeting about resources. We have to be getting down there, considering we didn’t arrive with very much.” They’d only been able to save a small amount of supplies before the fires took everything. It had been fairly decent of Jax Mercury to let them in the Vanguard gates.

  “That’s on the agenda,” Greyson said, pouring more shots. He winked at Maureen and then turned back to Damon. “The pain any better?”

  It was a hell of a lot better, actually. “Yeah.” Damon took the final drink and stood, not needing a bigger hint. The two definitely wanted to be alone. Maybe he’d go and check on April—just to make sure her day went all right. And since he no longer felt any pain, maybe it’d be a good time to fight about the smack to her ass earlier. Just in case she kicked him in the balls. “See you guys later.”

  They were already making kissing noises by the time he cleared the front door.

  The night was unbearably hot, and he missed the beach. The sound of the ocean had become almost necessary to sleep, and the cool breeze off the Pacific at night hadn’t hurt. He nodded to patrolling soldiers and kept walking, thinking about the fight at the house.

  A Ripper had nearly bitten him. Should he tell April about that or not?

  He reached her apartment and saw a light on in the kitchen. Since it was well after midnight, he’d expected darkness. He moved to the door and knocked lightly.

  She opened it, dressed in tiny shorts and a tank top.

  His body flared wide-awake and alive a second before he caught her expression. “What happened?” he moved toward her, and she met him halfway, her face against his chest.

  “Lost a teenage girl,” she said, her voice muffled and her tears wetting his skin. “Scorpius.”

  He closed his eyes and let the hurt settle in his gut. “Ah, baby. I’m so sorry.” He ran a hand through her long hair, surprised again by its softness. “Was she bitten while scouting?”

  “No.” April shook her head and leaned back enough to see his face. “We think it was sex. Probably. Doc Penelope has the girl back at the trauma center.”

  Sex? Ah, man. “The kids know better,” he muttered. “No condom?”

  “We don’t know yet,” she said, wiping her cheek with one hand. “Jax went to talk to the boy.”

  Damon winced. That talk would be terrible. He focused on the pretty brunette in his arms. “I’m sorry.”

  She swallowed. “Me, too.”

  He wiped the rest of her tears away and gave her a gentle kiss on her pert nose. She stilled. He kissed her cheeks, offering comfort. Man, her skin was soft and cool. For some reason, he was still burning up from the fight earlier. Damn adrenaline.

  She made a sound, one of acceptance, and planted her hands on his upper chest.

  Whoa. His body burned hotter, and her scent of woman and sweet roses sank beneath his skin. The alcohol in his bloodstream spurred him to act. No. Definitely no. Slow down. This was for comfort only. His cock perked right up. Bastard. This was not a time for sex.

  She stretched up on her toes and pressed her mouth to his. She tasted like sweetness and bourbon.

  He stopped breathing. A Ripper could come through the door, and he probably wouldn’t move. Tension cascaded down his arms, tightening each muscle. The need to grab her and deepen the kiss nearly killed him.

  But this was for comfort.

  When he regained control, he caressed her back, trying to offer reassurance. His hand dipped in, and he spanned her entire lower back. “It’s okay,” he whispered.

  She bit his bottom lip.

  He sucked in air. His dick shot to full awareness against her softness. “What are you doing?”

  She looked up, her eyes a deep midnight hue with pain and need. “Kissing you. This night, Damon. Let’s feel something good.”

  Jesus. Saying no was going to destroy him. But she was hurting, and he was buzzed, and the adrenaline heating him wouldn’t calm. “Not a good idea.” Yet he couldn’t push her away.

  “One kiss.” Her gaze, stark and unguarded, dropped to his mouth. “One real kiss.”

  His head was moving down before his brain had even registered what was happening.

  Finally, he kissed her. Maybe it was because of the soft way she’d asked. Or perhaps it was from the adrenaline cutting him. Or maybe it was because of the lust he was tired of hiding from her.<
br />
  Finally, the iron grip on his control snapped. He took her mouth hard, finally tasting those full lips. His tongue thrust inside, and the taste of her—the real taste of woman and bourbon—nearly drove him to his knees.

  When Damon’s mouth finally took hers, the entire world settled. Finally. The desire in his kiss, the promise of more took her out of the pain to just feel something good. To escape reality and delve into passion.

  His tongue stroked inside her mouth, and his hand pressed against her lower back. So much strength and power in one small move. She lifted up on her toes, kissing him back with everything she had. The need between them exploded with an electricity she hadn’t imagined.

  He backed her up, and her butt hit the edge of the table. She didn’t care. Closer. She needed to get closer to him. Her abdomen cushioned the impossibly hard ridge of his penis, and at the thought, she gave up any pretense of doubt.

  She wanted this. And she wanted him. If just to get away from the world for a while. Just to feel.

  He grasped the hem of her tank top, his long fingers brushing against the bare skin of her abdomen. Her stomach rippled, and heat exploded through her nerves. “Please, Damon,” she murmured against his lips before he kissed her harder, making speech impossible.

  His body shuddered, and the fight within him played out against her skin.

  She slid her hands beneath his shirt and moaned at the feeling of ripped muscle. How was he even possible? She traced the ridges of his abdomen and frantically caressed up to the hard planes of his chest. Really hard.

  “Wait.” He tore his mouth away. “How much have you had to drink?” The words sounded strained.

  “Not much,” she lied. He tasted like whiskey, too. Who the hell cared? “I want this.” Which was the absolute truth. Then she tugged, and he had to drop his head to let her yank off his shirt. Twin bandages covered both his shoulders.

  A bullet hole scar marred his right pec. She traced it and then looked closer. Smaller scars, many old, showed in various places on his dark skin. Her cop had led a dangerous life. She leaned in and kissed the healed bullet wound.