by Lori Devoti
She pulled back her free fist and punched him in the eye. With one last curse, he grabbed that wrist, too, and held her pinned to the bed.
“I should have left you,” he muttered. But his body betrayed his words. His sex, fully exposed if she cared to look, hardened, and his heart rate sped.
Her eyes widened and her lips parted, surprised either by his presence or his words. He didn’t know which and didn’t for the moment care to find out. He lowered his mouth to hers and captured whatever questions had been about to escape.
Shock at realizing she lay trapped under the naked hunter quelled the adrenaline that had raced through Samantha, but once his lips touched hers it was back in full force.
His lips were soft but strong. His kiss patient but dominant, as if he could take his time because he knew she wouldn’t fight him. She knew he shouldn’t be kissing her, that she should fight him, but power and confidence emanated from him. Reminded her of those fantasies, the ones she had never really believed would come true, hadn’t even thought she wanted to come true.
Her fingers relaxed, curled so their tips brushed over the tops of his hands. He softened his hold, but didn’t release her.
It didn’t matter; she didn’t want to be released. It had been months since she had been this close to a man, a lifetime since she had felt this safe.
His lips moved from her mouth to her neck. The stubble on his chin was rough against her skin. He smelled of soap.
She arched her back and moaned. His tongue darted out, tasted her.
His teeth nibbled at her neck and she squirmed beneath him. His thigh moved between hers, and suddenly everything became very real. What she was doing became very real.
She jerked back, freeing her hands with one quick movement, and shoved them against his chest.
He rolled off of her without complaint, without comment or apology. He just landed on his feet and stared down at her, his gaze hooded and steady. His hair, long for a man, was still wet from the shower. It clung to his face. It reminded her of where they were and how little she knew of him. Or for that matter, how little he knew of her.
Feeling even more exposed than she was, she scrambled to a sitting position and pulled the bedcovers around her.
“Who are you?” he asked.
She studied a cigarette hole in the comforter. This wasn’t how she had planned this conversation, not after she’d almost… She’d never… One-night stands were not something she did. She took care of her health and body and was training to be a nurse. She knew all too well the dangers of unguarded sex in the modern world.
She felt a strange need to tell him that, but she swallowed the words. She didn’t owe him an explanation, and based on how he was staring at her, unemotional, almost detached, she doubted he’d even listen.
But his stance also made her reluctant to talk to him at all. He had just lain naked on her mostly undressed body, a body she had to guess he had undressed. He could at least look apologetic, embarrassed…something.
She lifted her chin and stared him down. “Caleb Locke?” At the flicker in his eyes, she inclined her head. “I’ve been looking for you.”
Damn, the woman put up a good act. The problem was, Caleb couldn’t tell which of her reactions was the act—the passion she’d exhibited seconds earlier or the toughness she was throwing at him now.
He angled his head and studied her a bit more, let her see that he was analyzing the truth behind her calm facade.
“You weren’t surprised by the zombies.” It was one of the things that had been gnawing at him. In the twenty years since he had discovered the existence of the monsters, he’d only encountered face-to-face a handful of other people who believed in them, even fewer who had actually seen or battled them.
Zombies didn’t tend to leave witnesses behind, or if they did, those witnesses didn’t stay human for long. A zombie’s bite was highly contagious. In fact, it turned everyone except those already infected with lycanthropy into the walking dead, too. That little fact was why Caleb had become a werewolf.
She grabbed a lock of her hair and twirled it around her finger—a telltale sign that she wasn’t as in control of her emotions as she wanted him to believe.
He pushed his advantage, taking a step closer. “How’d you learn about the zombies? Not from a hunter, that’s clear. Or if you did, he’s probably not around to teach you anymore.” Anyone who shot at zombies like she had, without knowing their Achilles’ heel, wound up dead or turned. Just like she would have if he hadn’t been around to save her.
Her gaze flicked to the side. She swallowed. Finally, her voice hard, but with vulnerability showing in her eyes, she said, “Would you mind giving me my clothes? I’m not used to having a business conversation in my underwear.”
Business. So that’s what this was. He suppressed a smile. If only all his business could start like this had. He looked at her again, planning to taunt her a bit more. Her hand was fully entangled in her hair now. She was nervous; beyond that, she was scared.
He twisted his lips to the side. It was easy to forget women, people, still had those emotions. He’d killed them off so long ago.
He turned and stalked to the bathroom. After pulling on his still wet pants, he tossed her her clothes and her coat. The coat was made of some kind of stain-resistant fabric that he had simply wiped down, but the rest of her outfit he’d had to actually wash.
The thin material of her top and leggings were almost dry, but still it took her a bit of time and maneuvering to get her body into them. He turned his back to her, but watched her in the bathroom mirror as she hopped in place and jerked at the cloth. Finally dressed, she walked to the door and grabbed ahold of the padlock. “And this.”
In her clothing, thin and damp as they were, she was more confident. He felt more comfortable dealing with this persona than the nervous kitten, but still, he didn’t take orders.
“And that?” he replied without moving.
“Unlock the door,” she said.
He walked to the round table and leaned against it. Bolted to the floor, the piece didn’t shift with the pressure of his weight. “Who are you and why were you in that alley?” he asked.
Her jaw jutted out. He could see she was weighing whether to answer him or not. He waited. He had nowhere to go, not until some blogger or tabloid Web site posted a new “rumored zombie attack.” And even when they did, he didn’t expect to have to travel far. Wisconsin and western Michigan had been laden with zombie activity lately.
This last one, five hours north of Chicago, had been the farthest he’d gone in six months. Zombie attacks frequently happened in clusters, but this was the longest time he’d ever spent in one part of the country. And these clusters were bigger. Not one or two zombies, which was the norm. No, here he’d been seeing groups, just like he’d seen last night.
He glanced at the laptop he’d stashed under the bed. It was still there; his guest apparently hadn’t noticed it. Not that she would have learned anything from the computer. She wouldn’t even be able to log on. His password was a string of numbers, letters and symbols that only had meaning to him—his blood type and the date he was turned into a were.
She closed her eyes briefly, but he saw the resignation in the gesture. She’d decided to be straight with him.
“My name is Samantha Wagner. I wasn’t surprised by the zombies because I’ve seen them before. My best friend, Allison, is being held by them. I want you to help me rescue her.”
He kept his face void of expression. Zombies didn’t “hold” people. Zombies ate people or turned them into zombies. “Your friend was kidnapped by zombies?” His skepticism was real, but he guessed she didn’t realize the reason for it.
He knew he’d guessed right when she replied.
“Don’t play with me. You won’t convince me those things today weren’t real. I’m not crazy.” Her tone was harsh, but something in her face said she didn’t completely believe her own words.
She’d tol
d other people then, been shot down, counseled, maybe even received the suggestions of medication. He knew the routine; he’d been through it.
“Are you sure?” he asked. It wasn’t his job to reassure her. Besides, if she didn’t believe, if she thought herself crazy, she’d be easier to get rid of. He didn’t need a sidekick and he didn’t need a job. He had his own mission to fulfill, his own revenge to seek. And with the activity he’d seen lately, he suspected he was closer to doing so than he had ever been before.
She met his gaze. “I know I’ve seen zombies, if that’s what you mean.”
So something else made her doubt her sanity.
She glanced at the bed. He got it then. Lying with him, kissing him—that had been crazy. If he’d been in his wolf form, his fur would have ruffled, but he wasn’t and his human brain had a chance to smooth out his instinctive reaction. She was right. Kissing him was crazy. Getting mixed up with him in any way would be even crazier.
He pushed himself away from the table. “I can’t help you.” He pulled a key from his pocket and walked to the door. “This neighborhood is deserted. May make it scary, but also makes it safe. Walk to the first cross street. I’ll get a cab to pick you up.”
He would log on to the Internet as soon as she was gone, call her a cab and check the blogs.
It was time to get back to the hunt. If he was lucky there’d be another report already. With each confirmed sighting in the region, he narrowed down the possible source of these zombies a bit more.
He shoved the door open with one hand and turned toward the bed. She didn’t move.
He scowled. “Leave.”
She lowered her hand, leaving one side of her hair bunched a bit around her ear. It should have looked silly, but it didn’t; it looked endearing instead, like a child waking from a nap.
Caleb growled. He didn’t have the time or patience for this. “Leave now. I said it was safe out there. I can’t make any guarantees if you stay here.” He let just a shade of the anger and pain that he lived with every day shine from his eyes, and raised one side of his upper lip in a snarl. It was an expression that had sent more than one testosterone-filled pup scurrying away.
She shuddered and walked to the door. Confident he’d made his point, he bent to retrieve the laptop. The door banged closed. He sighed, deflating a bit. Being Caleb Locke the man was tiring enough without having to play up his zombie-hunter reality for an audience.
He was meant to be alone. Enjoyed being alone. Still, he glanced over his shoulder as if he could catch one last glimpse of her.
She stared back at him, her spine pressed against the door, and her arms crossed over her chest. The laptop slipped from his fingers.
“I told you, I need your help.” The fear was still apparent in her eyes, but her posture was pure determination. She didn’t mean to leave. Of course, it wasn’t really her choice. Stubborn, strong, whatever her traits, she would be no match for him. He wouldn’t even have to lay a hand on her. One simple shift, one little peek at his secret, and she’d go running.
The reminder of what he’d given up to destroy his family’s killers angered him. He pulled back his shoulders and lowered his head.
She held out one hand. “Don’t. Intimidation isn’t going to work. I’ve faced monsters I never dreamed existed. I’ve seen what they do to people. They have my friend. I’d do anything to save her. Anything.” She dropped her gaze as she whispered the last.
He clenched his jaw. Little did she know there were not only monsters out there, but one in here with her. If he shifted, she’d run. He had no doubt of that, but would she come back? Would she share what she’d seen with others? Would he be featured on the blogs he frequented for news of zombies? Zombie-hunter werewolf!
Of course he would. The hunter would become the hunted. If he shifted in front of her, revealed what he was, he would have to kill her or accept being stalked forever.
Apparently, seeing acceptance in his hesitation, she walked to the other side of the room. There she turned and looked around for a place to sit, he realized. The room had no chairs. The bed and the table were the only flat surfaces, and he was next to both.
Looking uncomfortable, she pressed both of her palms flat against the wall behind her and leaned back so her hands were tucked in the small of her back.
“Will you at least listen to me? It won’t cost you anything to do that, will it?” she asked.
It wouldn’t and since he’d decided he wasn’t going to scare her out of his room, listening to her and then rejecting her proposal was probably the fastest way to be rid of her.
He sat on the bed and opened his laptop. He might as well log on and get updated on any new sightings while she talked.
“Two months ago, my best friend and roommate, Allison Samuels, got a job offer in Texas. We’ve known each other since middle school.” Her voice wavered, but Caleb didn’t look up. After a second, she continued, “Allison graduated last fall. I’m supposed to graduate in May, not that…” Her lips formed a line. She seemed to be sorting something out, something she apparently didn’t want to say out loud.
Not really interested in whatever internal demons she was fighting, Caleb powered up the laptop and logged on to the Internet. He went directly to his RSS feed.
While he was scrolling down the list of blogs, his visitor, Samantha, got over her moment of uncertainty and continued. “Allison got a job at a lab. It was a huge break—most labs require a lot more experience and training than she had.
“She didn’t tell me much about it, she couldn’t. She had to sign all kinds of privacy agreements. They were doing research—top-secret stuff—and Allison was excited. She said it could change everything we thought we knew about life and death.”
Caleb looked up. Life and death. A chill passed over his body.
Samantha’s gaze was on him. Her eyes looked pale in this light, almost silvery like her coat. There were circles under them, too. “She called daily. At first she was the same old Allison, excited by what she was doing, amazed at the things she had seen. Then a week went by with no calls, no e-mails, no updates on Twitter or Facebook. Nothing. I didn’t have an address. I didn’t know what to do. All I knew was that the lab was in Texas.”
“Texas is a big state,” he replied, more to let her know he was listening than to add to the conversation.
She nodded. “And I’ve never been there.”
“What about her family? They have an address? Someone had to know where she went.”
Samantha shook her head. “Allison grew up in foster care. She had no one, no one but me. When we met, she was at her fifth home in four years. By high school her foster brother was beating on her, working up to other things. I convinced her she didn’t have to put up with it and got her to a shelter. She was almost eighteen. We worked it so she didn’t have to go back after that, didn’t have to go anywhere. We moved in together and have been together ever since.
“I’m all she has. She needs me.” The words were low, an admittance of sorts.
Caleb set the computer onto the mattress beside him. “She moved away without giving you an address. Maybe you thought she needed you more than she did. Maybe she wanted to make it on her own for a while.”
Her head snapped up. “No. It wasn’t like that. She didn’t give me an address because the job included room and board. She was living at the lab. If she’d revealed her location, she would have lost her job.”
“Still…” he began.
“I did hear from her, though, one last time.” She picked up her coat from where he’d dropped it on the bed earlier and fussed with the lining. Realizing there was some kind of hidden pocket there, he waited. In a few seconds she pulled out a folded piece of paper. “Here.” She held out the note and tilted her head toward his laptop.
The paper was stained and worn, making it obvious it had been folded and unfolded numerous times, left on a table where someone had been eating and drinking, too.
Caleb ignored a
ll that and read the one line of type—a Web address to one of the upload-your-own-video sites. Feeling unnaturally uneasy he plugged the address into his browser.
Chapter 4
S amantha waited as Caleb entered the Web address into his computer. She’d watched the video over and over, had the damned thing memorized. Each time panic rose in her throat, each time she cursed herself for not being there to help her friend and each time she felt more and more like a failure.
But once the images started moving, she couldn’t stop herself from stepping close and watching the thing one more time.
The video opened on a close-up of Allison’s face. The jostling picture made it apparent Samantha’s friend had set up the recording. After a few seconds, there was a noise behind her. She stepped back, turned and said something about looking for a file she couldn’t find. A man stood in front of her, but he was backlit, making it impossible to make out his face. You could, however, from his silhouette, tell he was wearing a lab coat.
“I heard you tried to contact your friend,” he said.
Allison’s hand, held at her side, moved, making a signal only she and Samantha understood. It was their distress signal. They’d devised the simple tapping of thumb and two fingers together when Allison had lived at her last foster home so Samantha would know if Allison was in trouble, even when she didn’t feel like she could say the words.
Seeing it now, Samantha’s stomach clenched. She curled her fingers into her palms, stopping herself from reaching for the screen. The video was old…had happened a month ago…at least.
In the video Allison replied. She knew that, but she had to remind herself every time.
“I wouldn’t do that. You told me to stop.”
“I did.” The man moved closer. One arm was behind his back. “I’d hoped you’d respect the need for secrecy.”
