With Reuel's formidable presence gone, I can breathe again. I don't have to be so careful how I move, how I speak, what expression I wear, who I touch—I'm not being paralyzed or threatened or chased. The relief nearly cracks me open, it's so sudden and overwhelming.
I didn't realize how deeply Reuel was affecting me, how much I was letting his behavior dictate my own. How much I'd become what he needed me to be in the moment, and not myself.
Just like with Heath.
But Atlan—Atlan never demands I be anything but myself. From the beginning, he insisted that I reject the title of slave. That I reclaim my pride, that I make my own choices. He laughs when I'm trying to be funny. He took care of me when I was sick—did all the most humble tasks of a nurse. Didn't even tell me about his reawakened libido, for fear I would think he was pressuring me for sex. He adores me. I can see it in his face even now, after everything—after the odd synergy he witnessed between me and Reuel.
Chandra and Sergeant Perez are talking urgently together, but Atlan is fixed in place, staring at me with eyes the color and depth of the ocean.
Waiting.
I break, and run to him.
13
Atlan
Finley clutches me like she's slipping off a cliff's edge and I'm her lifeline. Her fingers press into the bare flesh of my back, and she crushes herself against me as hard as she can. I close my arms around her, holding her tightly, spears of pain shooting through my splinted wrist. There's an itch at the back of my throat, a burning behind my eyes. Am I seriously going to cry again? I've been doing that way too much lately. It's getting damn ridiculous.
"Take it easy." It's Chandra's voice behind me. "His left wrist is broken."
Finley darts backward, horror painting her tearstained face. "What? How?"
I winced. "I tried to escape. Tore up my right hand pretty good too. All for nothing though. It was pretty stupid."
"So how'd you get loose?"
"Uh—" I hesitate. I can't tell her about Dr. Corbin, what she did to me. "Chandra. Yeah, she showed up just at the right time, else I'd have been a worse mess."
It's the truth, or a version of it, and Chandra doesn't contradict me, bless her. "You think he means it, Finley?" she says. "That they'll leave us alone tonight?"
"I—yes," Finley says. "I hope so. Reuel is—he's a mess, honestly. Unpredictable. I had a kind of breakthrough with him, but I don't know how long it will last. Corbin might be able to get into his head again. There's some kind of personal relationship between them."
"It's obviously not exclusive," Chandra snorts.
"No." Finley touches her neck with thin fingers. There are scratches along her collarbone and chest. I want to lick them, to heal them. For now, I collect her shaking fingers in my bandaged right hand and squeeze lightly. It's worth the pain.
"We have to abide by the chimera's terms for tonight," Sergeant Perez says. She has found a bit of string on a desk in the room and she's binding her hair into its usual knot. "We may not free anyone else until the negotiations tomorrow. This is a volatile situation, and I won't risk any more lives. So we'll get food from the kitchen, and then find somewhere to rest. We'll take turns on watch."
"I think I know how to get to the kitchen from here," offers Chandra. "But what about the big guy—Darius? What about him?"
"I don't want him anywhere near you or Finley tonight," I say. "Talk about unpredictable. His appetite has obviously changed since they—injected him."
"So we'll persuade him to go back into his cell, just for the night," says Sergeant Perez.
Chandra frowns. "Good luck with that. He's not likely to let himself be locked up again."
"We can try," I tell her. "Finley, stay back."
I move to the door and open it, looking down the hallway in one direction, then the other. Though the hall is littered with creature carcasses, there's no Darius to be seen. "He's not out here," I call back to the others. "Maybe he decided to follow Reuel. There's a weird alpha thing going on there. Did you notice?"
"I did," says Finley. "Darius seemed to be afraid of him, or subservient."
"Yeah." I frown, sweeping a hand over my jaw. My perfect scruff has grown a lot longer than I'd like—it's turning into a beard and it's damn itchy. I wonder if I can find a razor in this place.
Sergeant Perez nods. "Let's move out."
We exit the room, with Chandra in the lead, Perez next, and then Finley. I bring up the rear, my head whisking to one side or the other with every hint of noise. The bunker is silent except for the faint hum of air from the ducts. The air is rank with the smell of chimera, with chemicals and underground sourness. I hate it. It's worse than the stench of death in the Killing Fields. That, I'm used to. This smell is cloying, creeping into my nostrils and coiling in my brain. I crave the open air of Deathcastle's courtyard, the breezy path along the river in Blue City, the clean smell of my own room, tinged with Finley's delightful scent.
Her fragrance is a faint thread in the air, floating back to me as she walks ahead. Her scent is overlaid, blurred, and smeared by the smell of Reuel. He's all over her, animal and man and lust. He wanted her. Still does.
And from the look they exchanged, there's something else between them, something deeper. He doesn't just want a breeding session—he wants her. Because who the hell wouldn't? She's smart, charming, funny—and she has this blend of self-preserving cowardice and stupid sacrificial bravery. It's like nothing I've ever seen. And she cares, deeply, unequivocally, about nearly everyone she meets. Her heart is enormous. She's my dearest friend, but more than that—she's a part of me I never knew I was missing. Or maybe I'm a lost part of her. We are each other.
That makes no damn sense. I think I'm falling asleep while walking. I stood in that neck-noose for so many long hours without food, and then I had to fight—
A yawn cracks my jaws wide, a deep yawn that I can't quite stifle. Finley turns, eyeing me. "You're exhausted. And starving."
"I must be. You are starting to look pretty damn tasty," I tell her, smirking.
A light flush colors her cheeks, and her smile is delight and relief. She falls back a couple steps to walk beside me.
"I'm not into him," she says.
Thank god.
"I know," I lie.
"Yeah, but—in case you weren't sure. I didn't like him kissing me, or touching me. Any of it. But he's—he was a neglected kid, brought up by parents who were also researchers—they dealt with edgy science stuff, questionably legal. He didn't have friends. And I think he could have benefited from a therapist, early on. He has trouble relating to people, understanding them—he's not empathetic at all."
"No kidding."
"Yeah, and apparently I'm a little too empathetic. That's how I can control the zombies whose brains he has wiped."
"So you said during our little negotiating sesh. But I still don't understand how that works. Can anyone do it, or just you?"
"That's one thing Reuel wants to test. I'm guessing there are plenty of humans who could do the same thing I can."
I look at her sideways. "Don't be too sure. A surprising number of human beings lack empathy nowadays. Maybe they had it once, and it all got squished down under the selfishness."
"Well, whatever happens tomorrow, I'm glad Reuel has agreed to let us all get some rest tonight." She slips her arm through mine, above the elbow. "This doesn't hurt, does it?"
"No."
"Good."
"Reuel isn't a machine," I muse. "I'm sure he needs rest too. You know, this would probably be the perfect time to find him and kill him."
Finley draws back, fixing me with a shocked, accusing stare. "You wouldn't. You have more honor than that."
"Do I? Damn it." I grin at her, and she rolls her eyes—but she smiles, too.
In the bunker's kitchen we find canned goods and make a decent meal. Then, after a quick stop in the dorm wing for blankets and pillows, Sergeant Perez leads us on a long hunt for suitable sleeping quarters for
the night—somewhere with space for all of us, where we can barricade ourselves in but have room to fight if we need to. She finally settles on an unused lab that's half storage and has a couple of closets. There's small bathroom, too—a toilet and a sink, probably so the lab workers wouldn't have to trek halfway across the bunker to relieve themselves. Still no shower, but when it's my turn in the bathroom, I give myself a top-to-toe sink bath because I feel damn disgusting. It's tough, with my injured hands, but I manage to get mostly clean. When I stumble out of the bathroom, I'm shaking with exhaustion. Sergeant Perez and Finley don't look much better, so Chandra volunteers to take first watch.
We've broken the lock on the lab door so we can't be locked in, and we've walled off the entrance with desks and tables and supply racks. Perez takes a heavy beaker and a knife she found with her by way of weapons, and she collapses under a blanket in the smaller closet, pushing the door almost shut. Finley and I go into the larger second closet with our pillows and blankets, leaving the door open a crack for a little light.
We lie side by side, me with my broken wrist and torn hand propped across my chest. Finley presses herself against my shoulder, but she's asleep almost instantly, and I drift off soon after.
I wake hours later to Sergeant Perez whispering my name. "Your turn to watch," she says.
Wrapping my blanket around my shoulders, I scoot away from Finley's warmth and motion for Perez to take my pillow. She collapses gratefully, her eyes drifting shut.
Edging around the partially closed door, I emerge into the half-lit laboratory. The pile of furniture against the door is still intact, and nothing has disturbed either of the air duct vents. After a quick trip to the bathroom, I sit down against the wall, on top of the blanket, and unwrap my right hand.
It's still kind of a mess, but it's starting to heal. I lick the ripped flesh and skin a few times to soothe the lingering pain. Yeah, I'm literally licking my wounds like a damn dog.
Something scrapes and shifts, and my head snaps up. But it's only Finley, slipping out of the closet with an apologetic smile my way. My eyes linger on her back, her waist, the curves of her hips as she disappears into the bathroom.
When she comes out, she doesn't go back to the closet. Instead, she sits down next to me. Of course she's still wearing just the bra, and the curves of her breasts are way too distracting.
"How'd you lose your shirt?" I ask.
"The little hunters have acid blood," she says. "I had your coat on for a while, but it got left behind in one of the rooms. We can look for it tomorrow."
"We'll need to find you a shirt, too."
"What about you?" She jogs my elbow. "You've been running around shirtless yourself. It's like you're trying to turn me on."
"Me? What about you, with those—" I nod to her breasts.
"What, these?" She tucks her thumbs into the bra cups and pulls them down a little, so I get a glimpse of her nipples.
My breath catches, and I glance around the lab furtively. "You little exhibitionist. First the thing in my cell, and now this?"
"It's not like anyone is going to see. I mean—they could, I guess—and maybe that turns me on." She blushes. "Is that weird?"
"Hey, I'm not gonna judge your kinks. I got turned on right after a bunch of zombies ran over my back."
She stifles a laugh. "True."
"So let me see if I got this straight. You like being pushed against walls and kissed. You like it a little rough sometimes. And now and then, if we do stuff where someone might see, you think that's hot."
"That pretty much sums it up," she says. "Although right now, I'd much rather be snuggled up in your bed, or mine, back at Deathcastle. Just us, quietly together, and safe."
She doesn't look at me when she says it. I can tell by her bowed head and hunched shoulders that she's afraid. That she wants comfort more than sleep.
"Hey." I tip up her chin with my bruised fingers. "I love you. I'm going to take care of you. No one will separate us again."
"You can't promise that."
"I think I just did."
"But you can't guarantee it."
I sigh. "It's the sentiment, Trouble. I'm trying to make you feel better."
A slow, wicked smile curves her lips, and she looks up at me from under thick brown lashes. "I know exactly how you can make me feel better."
I was already starting to get aroused, and that look of hers makes me hard instantly. I swallow, my heart rate skipping into a new pace.
Finley rises, unclasping her bra and slipping it off.
My breath comes shallow, my skin heating.
She takes off her pants next, then her underwear. She hasn't shaved in a few days, and a triangle of blond hair covers the space between her legs. She runs a hand over her thigh and winces. "My legs might be a little—prickly."
"I don't care." My voice is a lot huskier than I intended. I rise slowly, setting my fingers to my belt—but the pain flickering through my hands makes me pause.
"I'll do it," she says quickly. She has my pants off in a hot minute, and when she sweeps her thin fingers along my dick, I think I might die from the pleasure of it, and from the agony of wanting her.
But I told myself the next time we did this, it would be all about her. Damn these stupid wounded hands of mine! At least I have my mouth, and my tongue.
"I can't touch you like I want to," I tell her.
"It's okay," she says. "I'm pretty skilled at touching myself. Sit, boy."
Stunned and charmed, I sink back into my spot against the wall. She stands before me, her legs spread a little, and slips her fingers between her thighs, stroking and swirling. I've never seen anything so hot in my life.
After a moment I rise to my knees, brushing her fingers aside and replacing them with my tongue. The scent, the taste of her is honey and flowers and heat, each fresh inhalation a throb of pleasure in my gut.
Finley grips my shoulders, her head thrown back, gasping softly with every stroke of my tongue. She's so wet now, dripping with need. I kiss her mound softly, and she pushes me down, pressing me to lie at my full length on the floor. Cold concrete at my back, and my skin burning with desire.
Slowly she crawls over me, her breasts swinging full and warm over my stomach, then my chest. She kisses me, soft lips on mine—tingling and tantalizing, with little swipes of her tongue between my lips, and I groan.
"Shh." She puts her fingers over my mouth. "They'll hear us."
"God, Finley." My voice is a cracked whisper. "Please—please."
"Do you want to come in?" she murmurs. "Is that what you want?"
When I first met her, when she arched and moaned against the wall while I drank from her thigh, I caught a glimpse of the passion she was capable of. But I had no idea how wild and wicked she could be. It's all I can do not to grab her hips and ram myself inside her. I don't though—partly because of the pain that would shoot through my hands, and also because I'm giving her complete control right now. I got my turn being the dominant one, back in the room we shared right before Reuel captured me. Now it's her turn, and I love it.
"Yes," I breathe into her mouth. "Please let me in."
She slides down on me so fast I gasp and writhe underneath her. For a second my pleasure is twisted into pain—a flash of Clarice Corbin preparing to mount me, just like this. But I blink the vision away and focus on Finley, my Finley, flushed and panting, her eyes closed and her features taut with mounting pleasure. She moves on me, one hand delicately tending the area between her legs—and then she abandons that and moves faster, up and down. I'm burning, surging, my mind a blank except for the slick heat of her and my own swelling need, the tightening pressure drawing me closer, closer, closer—
Finley smothers a cry, biting her wrist, and clenches around me, pulsating—and I'm gone, exploding in the most violent orgasm of my life. I can't see, or breathe, or hear. I must have yelled, because Finley slams her palm across my mouth. She snatches my blanket and yanks it over me and herself. I
hear her whisper loudly to someone, "It's nothing. We're fine."
A voice swears—Chandra maybe?—a door closes, and then Finley collapses on top of me, giggling quietly.
I'm still dazed and weak after the pleasure that just rocketed through me. No wonder Charon was so horny all the time. Most vampires may not have a sex drive, but for those that do, sex feels way better than when we were human. I'd heard rumors like that, but I didn't believe them. Didn't want to hear about it, because my own libido was dead, or so I thought at the time. Turns out, it was only dormant, waiting for one magnificent woman.
"Atlan." She snaps her fingers in front of my face. "You still alive?"
"Oh god," I mutter. "Barely."
"Is it really that good for you? Like, have-to-scream, nearly-passing-out good?"
"Hell yes."
"Wow." She sounds a little jealous.
I frown. "Wasn't it good for you?"
"Amazing. But your reaction—damn."
"When this is all over, I promise I'll make you come as many times as you want, until your legs turn to jelly."
She grins. "I'll hold you to that promise."
"Who was that, anyway? Who saw us?"
"Chandra." Finley wrinkles her nose, her expression half embarrassment and half delight.
"I figured."
She slides under the blanket next to me, then winces. "This floor is freezing."
"At least it's polished, not rough."
"Yeah." She smoothes her hand over my chest and stomach. She seems to like doing that, caressing my skin, feeling my muscles. I love that it pleases her.
"Atlan," she says softly. "Do you think we'll ever get to have sex at home?"
"You mean back at Deathcastle?" I know what she's really asking. Will we get out of this alive? Will we both make it back safely? Because even if by some miracle we strike a deal with Reuel and he lets us go home, there's still the Hordelands to cross. And that didn't go so well the first time. "Sure we will," I tell her, with a confidence I don't feel.
Captured by the Chimera Zombie-Master Page 9