by Morgan Fox
Tristan took hold of Lydia’s hand and weaved his fingers around hers. “We’ll be out of here soon,” he told her, and he hoped they were. He also hoped they’d know more about his condition and what they could do about it.
A short, plump woman appeared at the black front counter. Her eyes were eagle-like as she studied them. He forced himself not to laugh at the manner of her dress. She resembled a gypsy from a carnival circuit, draped in loose flowing rags in every color of the rainbow.
“May I help you,” she barked at Lydia, but then her gaze snapped in Tristan’s direction. Her eyes burned a trail over his face and body like she was trying to peel the flesh from his bones with the power of her eyes. He suddenly wished he wore more than a pair of Lydia’s father’s khaki slacks and blue collared dress shirt. It was the only outfit in her father’s closet that didn’t make him look like he was fifty.
“My name’s Tristan Davis. I think I came in here a few nights ago,” he started. “I believe I met someone with cobalt-blue eyes.” He narrowed his brow, waiting for some kind of reaction from the woman. She didn’t give any. “Do you have someone who works here with eyes that color?”
For a long moment the woman stared at him. Her eyes widened and then narrowed. Her nostrils flared out with each breath she took.
“I don’t remember you,” she finally said, her voice scraping against her throat from the excessive amount of smoking she most likely did.
“But does someone with eyes like he described work here?” Lydia calmly interjected.
Turning toward Lydia, the old woman softened her expression. “You’ve got a powerful aura around you, little lady. Has anyone ever told you that?”
Lydia straightened her spine and gave Tristan a quick glance and then returned to look at the old woman. “No,” she admitted.
The woman moved around the counter to take hold of Lydia’s free hand. A jolt of something warm shot into his hand, the one that was still clasped to Lydia’s. He felt her body quiver, but not from the chill in the room. It was something else.
Lydia gasped. “What was that?”
“I was about to ask you the same thing,” Tristan added, locking eyes with the old woman who was now smirking like she knew a secret.
Yellowish teeth gleamed at them as she told them, “That was power.”
Power? What the hell was she talking about?
Tristan’s gut twisted with unease. “Look, ma’am—”
“Call me Talia,” she told him and without permission, flipped over Lydia’s hand and ran her fingertip over the lines and creases in her palm. “What’s your name?”
Lydia cleared her throat. “I’m sorry, but I’m not here to discuss me.” She pulled her hand from Talia’s grasp. “I’m here for my friend. Do you know the person we’re inquiring about?”
Talia grinned crookedly. “Are you really not interested in learning all the fun facts I’ve discovered about you?”
As curious as Tristan was about discovering who the woman was with the intriguing eyes, he couldn’t deny his heightened curiosity to learn what sort of future Lydia had in store. Even if Talia was full of shit, he couldn’t ignore his interest. But something told him she was legit, especially after feeling that strange sensation charge into him from Lydia after Talia took hold of her hand.
Something is very off about this place…about everything around us.
“Please just tell me about the woman,” Lydia said, her hand tightening in his.
Talia frowned. “Very well,” she said, rounding the counter again. “Yes, the person you described is Esriel. She’s the owner of this establishment, but she’s not here today.”
“Esriel?” Lydia faced him. “Does that name ring a bell?”
No, damn it. It doesn’t.
He had hoped the name of the woman would spark some memory, point him in another direction to solve this dilemma. Disappointment oozed from every fiber of his being. He shook his head.
Lydia asked, “When does Esriel work again?”
“Tomorrow,” Talia replied. “I just cover the evenings and weekend shifts.”
“Thank you,” Lydia said, placing a twenty dollar bill on the counter. “I appreciate the time you took with us today.”
Lydia tugged on Tristan’s arm and moved as if to leave the shop.
“Wait,” Talia called out, practically chasing after them. “I didn’t earn this.” She waved the twenty in the air. “At least let me tell you what I saw in your hand.”
Lydia audibly swallowed. “Look, if it’s anything bad, I don’t want to hear it, and if it’s bullshit, I don’t want to hear it. It’s best that we just leave.” Again she turned to exit, but Talia reached for her, placing her hand on Lydia’s shoulder.
“You’re special, Lydia Lockhart.”
Tristan froze. Lydia hadn’t said her full name. How the hell had Talia known her name?
“How do you know who I am?” Lydia stammered.
Talia smiled. “I know a lot about you. I know for one thing that you’ve found your heart’s desires…that you’re about to finish college and embark on a new adventure.” She turned to face Tristan. “I also know that you’ve been marked.”
“Marked? What does that mean?”
Talia’s smile vanished, her eyes glossy as if in a trance. “You’ve been marked for death.”
“That’s it,” Tristan snapped. “Let’s go, Lydia. This woman is a nut case.”
“Wait, it doesn’t have to be like this,” Talia cried as Tristan yanked Lydia out of the shop.
“I’m sorry, Lydia.”
“Sorry for what?” she asked calmly.
His chest tightened as he replayed Talia’s words. Marked for death. He didn’t want to be marked for death. “I didn’t want her to tell you something crazy or to scare you with a bullshit story.”
Lydia’s brow rose. “You think what she said was a lie?”
“Hell yes I do. There is no way anyone could know when someone is going to die.” He rolled his eyes. “That’s just ridiculous.”
Lydia smiled. “And making love to a zombie isn’t exactly ridiculous?”
Zombie?
“Shit,” he spat. “I keep forgetting that I’m supposedly dead.”
Spending time with Lydia felt normal. He felt normal, but he wasn’t, at least not yet.
Lydia giggled as they made their way back to her car. “Do you find it funny that she didn’t say anything about your aura?” She faced him, pressing her rear against the side of her car. “If you’re dead, then why didn’t she see something strange about you?”
Tristan scowled. What if she had seen something but didn’t want to say it? What if she did know what happened to him? The fact that a woman with cobalt eyes did own the shop was already enough for him to want to check it out again.
“Who said she didn’t?” he muttered, his thoughts racing as he wondered how he was going to approach Esriel.
“Then I guess we are about to go on a stakeout,” she said, looking more than excited.
He cupped her face in his hands. “Lydia, maybe you should go back home and wait for me there. I really don’t want you getting any more mixed up in this than you have already.”
“Are you serious?” she asked, her brows pinching tight at the bridge of her nose. “You would honestly want to do this on your own?”
“I don’t want you hurt.” It would destroy him if something happened to Lydia. He would never be able to forgive himself.
Lydia folded her arms over her chest. “So you do think I’m marked for death, too, then, huh?”
“I didn’t say that,” he said, caressing her shoulders.
She glared at him. “Then what’s the problem?”
Tristan loved the way the crease at her forehead deepened as she frowned. He also loved the way it felt to have her worry about his well-being. He hated that he hadn’t discovered just how good they felt together sooner. Maybe things would’ve been different for him if he’d been with her. His heart t
hudded hard against his ribs, reminding him that he wasn’t exactly dead, but then he really didn’t know what he was.
He kissed her. He couldn’t help himself. Her tightly pressed lips softened as he delved deeper. He slipped his tongue into the warmth of her mouth and tasted her. Her arms circled around his neck and pulled him close. She molded against his body. He couldn’t stop touching her. The need for more was overwhelming to every one of his senses. She stroked her hand over the length of his cock through his loose slacks, and he almost came.
“Oh, Lydia,” he groaned, gasping for breath. He rested his head on her brow. “I wish we had more time.” He hadn’t meant to say that aloud, but he had.
Her eyes widened. “What do you mean?”
He didn’t want to think of a world without her, but he had to be honest with himself. There was a chance he’d never find a cure for whatever was wrong with him, and coming out into the world as the walking dead wasn’t exactly an option for him either. Even though he was a popular, well-liked person, he craved a normal life. A life with Lydia, a house full of kids, and a home he could provide for them.
What sort of life could I have now? Who would want a not-so-dead-but-not-quite-alive guy working for them?
Guilt consumed him. “Lydia, maybe we made a mistake.”
Lydia wanted to punch him right in the nuts. He was turning into a pity show, and she wasn’t willing to watch. He needed a swift kick in the pants to shake off the emotional garbage he was feeling.
She bunched the collar of his shirt up in her fists. “Now you listen to me, Tristan Davis. There is no way in hell this condition is permanent. You are not going to stay dead, and you are not going to give up on us. I waited my entire life for you, and don’t you think for one second that I’m going to let a little thing like necromancy come between us.”
“Lydia, I’m dead,” he said plainly. “I wouldn’t exactly call that a little thing.”
Her brows shot up into her hairline, and her pulse quickened. “Last I checked, dead men didn’t give living women orgasms either.” He arched a brow, and she giggled at the wicked gleam in his eyes. “Do you honestly think I could stay away from you now?” Her pulse pounded like a freight train in her ears. “Can you stay away from me?”
Her answer came in the form of a kiss, but it wasn’t just a kiss. It was a full-bodied “haul your ass up so your legs locked around his waist while he shoved his cock deep inside you” kiss. And had they been somewhere private, she was sure that was exactly what they’d be doing.
He pinned her against the car, his fingers digging into the flesh of her thighs. She was disappointed that she hadn’t worn a skirt, feeling him wedged between her legs, grinding his firmness against her only made her more frustrated. His greedy mouth drank her in. There was no possible way she was letting him go. She needed him too much. They had to find a way to save him.
To save both of us.
“Tristan,” she gasped. He pressed his lips to her throat, nibbling along the warming skin. Her pussy throbbed as desire built inside her. “Tonight…I need all of you, but when we have more privacy.”
He kissed a trail from her throat to her lips, softening the kiss. He eased back and nodded. “Okay, Lydia. You win.”
She smiled and shrugged. “I know.” She kissed him once more, settling her feet to the ground.
Then the shop doorbell jingled, and she watched as Talia closed up early. Her short legs moving quickly as she made her way up the sidewalk and out of sight.
“What do you suppose that was all about?” Tristan asked.
“I have no idea, but maybe we should check it out.” She waggled her eyebrows.
“You’ve watched one too many cop dramas, Ms. Lockhart.”
“Too bad we’re not packing a piece,” she said with a snicker.
“A piece?”
“Yah, you know, a gun.”
“That’s it, young lady. You need to stop watching television. It’s corrupting your brain,” Tristan said, smiling. “And I think you’re right. We should follow her.”
They hopped into Lydia’s car and slowly pulled out of the parking lot. She was glad they’d chosen to park on the far side of the shopping center.
“Maybe Talia didn’t notice us,” she said, eyeing the small green hybrid that pulled out from behind the shop.
“She sort of looked a little spooked,” Tristan noted.
She thought the same thing. “Maybe she does know something about what happened to you.”
He nodded.
Lydia’s pulse quickened at the idea of confronting the one person that might be able to shed some light on a few of their questions. “We need to speak to Esriel. She’s bound to have answers.”
“Yes, and maybe when I speak to her, you could stay in the car.”
Lydia’s head snapped to glare at him. “Are you trying to chase me away again?”
Tristan arched a brow. “Not exactly, but if she is somehow responsible for me being in this condition, maybe you shouldn’t be near her.”
Lydia shrugged. “Technically if she is responsible, then we could both be zombies and annihilate her with a little brain eating.”
He shook his head in disbelief at her words. “You are so warped.”
She giggled. She was determined to stay at his side, even if she sounded silly and insane. “Maybe I am…but only just a little.”
Talia’s car sped down the road. She turned down the street and Lydia followed, but not too close. She lingered back enough to be discreet. She didn’t want to be noticed. The green hybrid came to a stop in front of a small, rundown home.
Lydia frowned. “Surely this can’t be Esriel’s home,” she mumbled. “Wouldn’t you think she had enough money to live in a better neighborhood?”
Lydia reached up and hit the button to lock the doors on her car. The strange feeling that had crept into her at the store was present again. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end, and the muscles in her body filled with nervous tension.
The single-dwelling dilapidated home was in need of a fresh coat of paint. Its grayish walls looked more like dirt stained than painted, and the yard was thick with weeds. An old beat-up pick-up truck sat in the driveway in front of Talia’s hybrid.
Tristan’s brow furrowed. “I think I recognize that truck,” he said, studying it. “I’ve seen it at school.”
Lydia’s mouth felt like she’d eaten a bucket of cotton. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, I think it belongs to a girl I’ve seen on campus.”
She arched a brow and glared at him. He put his hands up to block her verbal assault. “No, I didn’t sleep with her. I swear.”
Lydia scowled. Her feminine instincts kicked into overdrive. “Maybe that’s the problem,” she muttered jokingly.
“That’s not funny.”
She shrugged.
Talia’s fat fist rapped on the front door. She glanced around as if she was terrified someone was coming up behind her. The front door opened with a violent swoosh, startling her. Talia stepped back, twisting her hands in front of her.
Lydia’s eyes swelled at the sight of the raven-haired woman who answered the door. Her eyes were so blue she could see them from several hundred feet away. The moment she saw her standing there, Lydia knew exactly who she was.
Esriel!
“Those cannot be natural,” Lydia said, twisting to look at Tristan. His jaw was slackened.
“That’s her,” he muttered. “I’d recognize her anywhere.” He swallowed hard. “That woman killed me.”
Tristan’s breath left his body faster than he inhaled it. Numb all over, the tingling of fear ripped through him. He watched as his mind’s eye replayed the events of the night that had been his last.
Esriel had forced him into a chair at the back room of her shop, strapping him down. He remembered how hard he struggled against the invisible restraints that bound him. Her voice pounded in his brain, echoing with her words of hate and death. She was on a murderous
rampage and her sights had been set on him.
“What do you want?” he cried, fear slapping him in the face like a cold splash of water.
Her wild eyes flashed red. “I want you to pay for what you did,” Esriel said, her voice cold and menacing. Her heartless gaze ate him up, devouring him like acid.
He shook. “I don’t know what I did.” The energy in the room made his gut churn. Bile exploded in his throat.
His chair scraped across the floor of its own accord, stopping just before a table filled with items he didn’t recognize. An old golden chalice, several vials of liquid, and a large black book that lay open to a page he couldn’t decipher. The words on the page were not in English.
Latin? No, it couldn’t be Latin. I’ve never seen symbols like that before.
“Please, tell me what I did? Why are you doing this to me?” Panic swelled inside him, his heart racing with a force that had the breath tearing from his lungs.
“You know what you did,” Esriel snapped.
“No,” he stammered. “No, I truly don’t, but whatever I did, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”
“You didn’t mean it?” She scowled, her long, black nails clicking on the top of the table she loomed over. “You didn’t mean to rape and beat my daughter?”
Tristan’s eyes rounded. “Wait! You’ve got the wrong guy. I never touched your daughter.” He thrashed around in the chair, pulling and tugging at ropes he couldn’t even see. “I don’t even know her.”
“Maybe you’d remember if you were beating her into unconsciousness so you could finally fuck her.” The blood-chilling scream had the hair on his body standing on end.
“I swear. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He didn’t know what she was going to do to him, but he knew if he survived whatever it was, he planned to rip Tim’s head off for sending him here. Why had he done that to him? Did he know what Esriel was going to do to him? Was he part of this?
Tim, what kind of trouble have you gotten me into?
“I didn’t hurt your daughter,” Tristan said.
