Thunder Rolling
The Storm, Book 2
Ripley Proserpina
Rebecca Royce
Copyright © 2019 by Ripley Proserpina & Rebecca Royce
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover by Syneca Featherstone, Original Syn
Content Editing by Heather Long
Copy Editing by Jennifer Jones at Bookends Editing
Created with Vellum
Contents
Preface
1. Dante
2. Whitney
3. Carson
4. Isaiah
5. Whitney
6. Nick
7. Brandon
8. Whitney
9. Dante
10. Carson
11. Whitney
12. Whitney
13. John
14. Whitney
15. Dante
16. Nick
17. Carson
18. Dante
19. Whitney
20. Dante
21. Whitney
22. John
23. Whitney
24. Brandon
25. Whitney
26. Carson
27. Whitney
28. Nick
29. Dante
30. Whitney
31. Isaiah
32. John
33. Whitney
34. Carson
35. Dante
36. Isaiah
37. Whitney
38. Nick
39. Whitney
40. Dante
41. Isaiah
42. John
43. Nick
44. Brandon
45. Whitney
46. Whitney
Afterword
About Ripley Proserpian
About Rebecca Royce
Also by Ripley Proserpina
Also by Rebecca Royce
Preface
And I pray one prayer—I repeat it till my tongue stiffens—Catherine Earnshaw, may you not rest as long as I am living! You said I killed you—haunt me, then!... Be with me always—take any form—drive me mad! only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you!”
—Emily Bronte, Wuthering Heights
1
Dante
The star at the top of Mill Mountain had burned out long before, but the lightning streaking across the sky reflected in the glass bulbs. For just a moment, it was like old times, when the Mill Mountain Star above Roanoke, Virginia glowed in blue, red, and white.
Whitlee Lake—Whitney to everyone who wasn’t deaf in one ear and misheard her name the first time—rested her head against my chest, chin tilted toward the clouds and storm. I slid my arms around her waist, pulling her in tighter. She let out a sigh, relaxed for just a second, and then tensed. “There they are.”
I tried to push her behind me, but Whitlee was no wallflower. In the short weeks since she’d rolled like a storm into our lives, she’d emerged as our glue.
Our heart.
The reason we breathed.
Whitlee entwined her fingers with mine before she grabbed the baseball bat out of my hand. With a whoop that nearly stopped my newly beating heart, she ran at the Controlled.
Lightning lit up the sky again as I took off after her. Behind me, my best friends who had become family to me, hollered like banshees and followed. I’d long ago given up caring what I looked like, but I could only imagine the picture we made. A laugh burst out of me as I took out the first Controlled who lunged at me.
Whitlee moved like a whirling, red-haired tornado. If we hadn’t been surrounded by a horde of hundreds, I’d have liked to just watch her. The most decomposed and rotting she ended quickly. Those who looked like they could be saved, she took out at the legs.
“I don’t think this was a good idea,” Carson yelled. He shot the Controlled who’d grabbed his booted foot in the head before kicking it away.
“At least when we run away, it’ll be downhill!” Nick replied. He grabbed Whitlee, spun, and shoved her toward me. I quickly realized why. The Controlled running at her was big.
Actually, big was putting it mildly. He was bigger than me, and I was well over six feet and built like a linebacker. This one couldn’t have died too long ago. Most Controlled broke down quickly. We spent our undead lives roaming aimlessly, or used as cannon fodder, like these Controlled. But this guy was in good shape. His skin was unbroken and his clothes were dirty but intact.
And he was lasered in on my Whitlee. Not for the first time, a surge of gratitude moved through me at my friends’ quick thinking. The girl in my arms didn’t fight me when I pushed her back and ran at the Controlled Nick fought hand-to-hand.
Fast, I was not, but I had physics on my side, and I hit the Controlled with all of my weight. He went down hard, smashing into the ground. Limbs flailing, he tried to right himself.
“Where’s your weapon?” I growled at Nick as I backed away. The Controlled rolled and tried to push to his feet. One shove put him back on his stomach. Nearby, John, Isaiah and Brandon fought the surge of Controlled coming after us.
“My hands are deadly weapons,” Nick deadpanned.
“We need to run,” Whitlee said. “There are too many.”
She was right. They hadn’t stopped appearing. Wave after wave of Controlled stumbled out of the forest. It was like the entirety of Roanoke’s undead had been released in our direction.
“And they’re going to keep coming,” Carson said breathlessly as he wiped a streak of blood across his forehead.
“At least we know for sure that your brother is still alive and kicking.” Nick winked at Whitlee.
“Talk later,” John inserted himself into the discussion. “Run now.”
Nick shook his head. “I want a look at just how big this horde is. I’m going to get high and go see. Anyone with me?”
“Me,” Brandon, the member of our crew who had known Whitlee since childhood, said. “We’ll meet you guys back at the safe house. Split up. Don’t let them follow you.”
I grabbed Whitlee’s hand. I’d get her there safely or die trying. This was the world we lived in, the one I’d helped to create. I didn’t know what I’d done to earn the redemption Whitlee represented, but so help me, she’d be safe every day I was alive.
Even if I had to kill every Controlled who came at us. For her, I would.
2
Whitney
Taking care of a township of Infected but Uncontrolled men, some of whom had been under my brother’s thumb for years, was an exhausting undertaking. I didn’t want to dwell too much on how much of a stress reliever killing the Controlled could be for me. There was a time I’d been terrified to encounter them. But no longer.
I turned to look at the two guys who had returned with me to our current home, a set of buildings that used to be a wildlife center south of the Mill Mountain Star. If Carson or Dante had any idea about my lack of fear, they didn’t remark. I was fairly certain they had no clue. My six guys were very good at telling me what they thought I should do on a regular basis.
And they’d loudly remind me I needed a good dose of terror to get through the days.
I rubbed the back of my head. I wasn’t my father. I hadn’t been cut out to lead people, not large groups of them anyway. And if I had to hear one more complaint about water pressure, I might explode.
What I needed to learn to do was delegate. I just had no idea which tasks would be suited to specific people.
Carson took my hand,
squeezing my fingers. “You okay?”
Was I okay? No, my brother was out there, leading my father around with him, taking back the Infected person-by-person. He had Roanoke, what was left of it, and every day was a struggle to figure out how to clothe, feed, and manage people who had been sick for so long they just wanted someone to take care of them.
I was responsible for all of it, whether I should be or not. When they needed someone to help? They turned to me. I was the human who had told them where to go during the crisis. When they wanted someone to blame? Well, there I was, too. After all, it had been my brother who’d abused them, and my father who’d taken advantage of them.
There wasn’t a damned thing I could do about any of it. Except smile and fix what I could, when I could.
“Sure.” I smiled at Carson. My guys needed me to be okay. We were a circuit, a group, and if they suspected I wasn’t well—mentally or physically—they’d surround me in such a circle of protection I wouldn’t be able to breathe. “Just tired from the run. How are you?”
I loved them. So I lied. As disingenuous as that was.
Carson narrowed his eyes. Damn. The man used to be a lawyer, and maybe it was a characteristic of the profession, but he could tell when I was lying. “No, you’re not.”
“I’m not in as good shape as I should be. If we could get electricity here, I could use the treadmill I found in the old staff lounge. With enough training, I could run a marathon.” I smiled brightly, and he pulled me to a stop.
“You don’t have to fake it with me, Whit.”
But I did. All of us held on by a thread. I’d brought the guys back to life. Literal life. Heart beating. Breathing. Digestion. Sex. And let me tell you, being undead wasn’t easy. I saw the dark circles, and I heard the cries from the nightmares they tried to hide from me. Their bodies were healing, and they crashed into bed, exhausted, every night. I wasn’t going to push them harder than they pushed themselves.
I took Carson’s hand in mine and lifted it to my lips. Keeping my gaze on his, I kissed the back. “I promise I’m okay. My mind is racing. That’s all.”
Footsteps crunched through the forest behind me as our new Zero came into view. It was mid-summer, and many of the buildings were covered completely in leaves and vines. Every so often I got the urge to find some hedge clippers and snip away the overgrowth. But the next second, someone would need me to yell at, or solve a problem, and I’d forget all about it. It was probably a good thing. The greenery kept us hidden from the rest of the world.
“Am I the only one who cares if we leave a trail?” Dante muttered into my ear, and I hid a smile.
I guessed I wasn’t the only one feeling overwhelmed or like I was on my own. I spun on my heel and strode to the tall man.
My breath caught as the moonlight illuminated his face. Dante always said he wasn’t beautiful, but in the moonlight, he truly was. His hair was shaggy, and he’d pushed it back from his face. The scars and wounds he’d accumulated throughout his time as a Controlled had healed, leaving only tan smooth skin behind. The metal and neoprene he’d used to cover missing pieces had been discarded when his body had healed.
Since his heart started beating, he’d stopped hiding himself in trench coats and cargo pants. He wore a t-shirt and jeans with heavy work boots. His prosthetic arm was a dull gleam as he swept the path behind him.
“Show me how,” I said. I should have asked long before now.
Frustration was clear in his voice, suggesting he’d reached the end of his rope where hiding our trail was concerned. “No, Whitlee,” he said, using the nickname he’d given me when he was undead. Back then, his hearing had been damaged, and though he could hear clearly now, he continued to use the name. I loved it. “It’s not your job. You have enough to do.”
“Well, it’s not your job either.” I stroked a hand down his arm. “Show me.”
“Maybe tomorrow. I think bed now.” He nodded at Carson who nodded back. My guys often communicated about me without words.
It should have been annoying. But I knew they usually did it when they were planning something loving. Or if they wanted me to have something I’d probably throw a fit about, because I thought I didn’t need it.
I side-eyed Dante. “What are you doing?”
“Putting you to bed.” He hauled me over his shoulder and up the stairs into the office we’d staked out as a bedroom. I squealed. For all his size, Dante was gentle with me. He rarely carried me around like he was doing, and as he placed me down on the makeshift bed, a surge of heat moved through me. My mouth went dry. Carson remained in the living room, and their non-verbal communication suddenly made sense to me.
I was getting alone time with Dante. And we hadn’t had any opportunities for that yet.
We even slept in groups, which I’d grown to love. How had I ever rested without at least two of them with me? Only when one of them wanted to be intimate did the others scatter. Sex was still a one-on-one thing. Maybe someday it would change, but for now it was just me and whoever I was lucky enough to be alone with.
Dante visibly swallowed. “You can say no. I know that I’m not…”
I held up my hand. “However you were going to finish that sentence—don’t. It’ll just make me mad. You’re beautiful, and you’re mine.”
He let out a sigh. “Whitlee, you steal my breath. Every minute I spent Controlled was worth it to be here with you now.”
I held out my hand. “You brought me in here, Dante. Don’t overthink it. I promise to tell you if there is ever anything I don’t want.” I might have kept the bullshit from them, but I’d never hide how much I wanted them. “Come here. Be with me.”
Shoulders heaving with breath, Dante studied me, slowly shaking his head. “Is this happening?”
I giggled, not a sound I usually made, but for a smart man, a genius, Dante could be dense. “You brought me to the bed.” I fell backward onto the mattress and splayed like a starfish. “Don’t you remember?”
The old mattress dipped as he knelt next to me. I rolled a little, his weight depressing the mattress at his knee. I had to catch myself and giggled again.
He leaned over me. “I remember.” His face was so close to mine. His skin was paler near his hairline, probably because his hair fell into his face and blocked the sun.
I reached to touch it now, to trail my thumb over the strip of skin, and his eyes closed. It was warm, like it had absorbed the heat of the summer day, and held onto it even into the evening. Wondering if his lips were as warm, I lifted until I could press mine against them.
Dante let out a sound—a small, deep groan—and shifted. His body touched mine, but he held his weight off of me.
I didn’t want that.
Part of what I loved about Dante was his size. His broad shoulders had held the weight of responsibility for all the guys. He’d kept their bodies functioning when they could have decomposed into nothingness.
He kept himself, and the others, alive until I could get to them.
Dante licked my lower lip, flicking gently, and I opened for him. I could feel him being careful.
The weight.
The pressure.
He didn’t want to overwhelm me. Part of me wondered if what he was trying to do was keep himself from being overwhelmed.
“What’s it like?” I asked, drawing back a little. “Feeling so much after feeling nothing?”
“I don’t think I can explain it,” he said, staring at me. He touched my face, running his fingers along my cheekbones and down my nose and over my lips. “Electricity under my fingers.” He leaned down again and kissed me, only for a second, and I let out a breath. “Summer on my skin.”
“I think about how lucky I am every day.” I pulled him over me and wrapped my arms around him. Nothing else mattered except this. The day-to-day worries, the anxiety of my brother continually pushing, pushing at us until we would have to leave our home or stand and fight. What mattered was this. Dante’s beating heart against mine.
His breath on my face. His fingers in my hair.
He buried his face against my neck and kissed me. It started innocently enough. A lingering press against my pulse, but it turned into something else. Something hot and fast.
Rolling against me, he showed me how much he wanted me. I opened my legs, holding onto him with every ounce of strength I had. I chased the retreat of his hips, holding my core against his. I needed the friction.
I ran my hands onto his shirt, tugging on it. I wanted his skin. He nodded once, before he furrowed his brow. This kind of intimacy was going to be hard on him. I’d known that ahead of time. Whatever we needed to do to get there, we would. I loved him. I wanted to love him completely.
I needed to know him like this.
He threw his shirt to the side. Dante was built like stone. Every bit of his visible body seemed sculpted. He was huge but not fat. The guys stayed as they’d been at their death and Dante had clearly not ever been overweight, even though he’d spent most of his life in one kind of a lab or another.
He kissed me, so softly. “Whitlee.”
I laid a kiss on his chest, finding one nipple and then the other. He must have liked that because he sucked in an audible breath. I had almost no experience with sex, having done this exactly twice, but I was getting the impression he had just about as much history with the act as me.
Thunder Rolling Page 1
