Anxiety furrows his forehead. He doesn't want to leave me with Reuel any longer than he has to. "I'll be quick."
Several songs later, John staggers out of the room, panting, claiming he's going to get water for all three of us. I'm parched, so I don't protest—but his departure does leave me alone with Reuel. And of course, the next song up is a slow, sensual number with a low, throbbing beat.
Reuel slows his pace, rocking his hips in an obvious imitation of Atlan's moves. His legs are braced apart, and as his body rolls, I'm mesmerized by the cut of his glistening muscles. He's a perfect specimen of male beauty—if you ignore the antlers and the wings and the writhing jointed tail at his back—no, actually those things don't detract from his beauty at all. They're assets, proof of his power.
He circles me, that antlered head bowed a little, watching me with half-hooded eyes that gleam deep amber, like live coals. The music fades to a whispering thrum in my ears, and I can't move—I'm helpless prey, charmed by the predator, snared by those glowing eyes.
Then he's right in front of me, the heat of his body palpable to my sensitized skin. The curves of his pecs, the gleaming ridges of his abdomen, the slanted ridges of muscle running down to his groin—I can't help seeing it all—he's huge, dominating my field of vision, and there's really nowhere else to look.
Reuel's hands close over my wrists, and now I have his arms to contend with—massive and bulging with muscle. He's swaying with me, dancing so close to me that I'm breathing his heat, his scent. My brain is fogging over, probably from the exertion and dehydration, but I feel suddenly weak in the face of this hulking male—this monstrously beautiful nightmare of testosterone and power.
I need to get out of here, to breathe, to touch Atlan—the man I love, the man I want.
And then Reuel's tail slithers against my rear. A little gasp escapes me, and a ticklish sensation travels from the point of contact up the crease between my legs.
Reuel's perpetual smirk inches higher, and the color of his eyes deepens to red. He does another full-body roll with an obscene little jiggle of his groin for my benefit—and damn me, but I feel myself growing slick with desire, an infuriating reaction I can't control.
This isn't happening. I don't care how he touches me, or gyrates for me. This is just physical weakness and exhaustion and visual stimulation—not love. Once I would have been fooled. Once I was fooled—sex with Heath was pretty damn great. But good sex doesn't mean love. It doesn't replace genuine sweetness and care and soul-deep connection. Love is a flood of feeling, true down to my very bones; but it's also a choice—one that I'm making now.
I slip my wrists out of Reuel's hands, duck under his arm, and dart to the computer, where I turn off the music.
Fanning myself, I sink into the computer chair, a skinny thing with a threadbare cushion and lift hydraulics that must be completely shot because it's terribly low to the ground. Atlan's vinyl coat is tossed across the back of the chair. As I lean against it, it squeaks slightly, and I take comfort in that tiny, tangible reminder of his presence.
"Oh my gosh." I press my hand to my forehead. "I almost fainted. Where's John with that water?"
Reuel frowns. "He should be back by now. I'll check. You sit—rest."
When he leaves, I sigh with relief. He totally bought my excuse.
I glance over at the zombies, who have all collapsed into recumbent positions like mine. "Still with me, huh boys and girls? Listen, you should take a break. Stop imitating me. Okay?"
Mentally I press the command toward them, fumbling for a sense of the link I felt earlier, when I first connected to each of them.
I take another moment, trying to emotionally distance myself from them. And then I stand up.
They all rise too.
"Great." This is getting annoying.
"You all smell awful," I snap at the zombies. Is it weird that I'm getting used to the stench? I can still distinguish it—I know it's there. But after weeks of going to the killing fields with Atlan, and days of being in the Hordelands and the bunker, I'm starting to develop a higher tolerance for essence of zombie.
"At least I smell better now." Atlan leans in the doorway, his hair gleaming wet and his chest bare. Apparently he asked our hosts for a razor, like I did, because his jaw is now as clean-shaven as my body. The absence of his usual scruff makes him looking startlingly young. He's wearing dark pants that don't quite fit him; they hang dangerously low on his hips. Heaven help me—I don't think he's wearing any underwear.
"How long have you been standing there?"
"Long enough." There's tension in his face as he steps into the room, and a rueful smile twists his lips. "I got back just as things were getting interesting between you and Reuel."
"Oh." The blush creeps into my face even though I desperately will it not to. "Did he see you when he left?"
"No. I went down the hall a bit to wait. To give you time in case you two had anything you wanted to do. And to be close by, in case he wanted something that you didn't."
"There's nothing I wanted to do with him." I snatch up Atlan's coat and stride over to him, shoving it into his right hand. "You know that."
Atlan bends close, his lips hot against my ear. "He turned you on with that display. Don't try to deny it, Trouble. I could smell you, getting more juicy and delicious by the second."
My face is an inferno, maybe of shame and maybe of anger at him for pointing it out. "It doesn't mean anything. You know that. It's a natural reaction, okay? If you played me a porn video or took me to a male strip club, I'd get aroused. That doesn't mean I would prefer the porn guys or stripper guys over you. Suppose Chandra walked in here and started prancing around naked, boobs jiggling, and those long legs—are you saying that wouldn't turn you on?"
I can tell by the glazed look of his eyes that he's picturing it, but the next second he swears and shakes his head. "Shame on you for putting that image in my head, Trouble. She's a friend."
"A hot friend."
"Doesn't mean I want to sleep with her. I want you."
"What if—what if you could have both of us?" I turn to face the concrete wall so I don't have to look at him directly, and I dig one of my fingernails into a chip in the rugged surface.
I'm not asking the question because I want Reuel. I guess part of me wonders how Atlan would feel about letting someone else in, becoming a triangle instead of a pair. The thought of him with anyone but me turns my stomach sick, but does he feel the same way? He's a vampire, after all, and vampires with active libidos are notoriously insatiable, usually preferring multiple lovers.
Am I enough?
Atlan tosses his coat aside. He shifts behind me and closes the distance between us, sandwiching my body between him and the wall. My breath skims the concrete, and I feel desperately, exquisitely alive. I can feel him everywhere—his naked chest brushing my bare shoulder blades, his hips pressing into the curves of my backside. His arms, lean and strong, encircle me, his beautiful male hands braced against the wall on either side. Desire tingles along every surface he touches, so much stronger and more powerful and more vital than anything Reuel could ever awaken in me.
He whispers in my ear again. "Is that what you want? Me—and Reuel? Both of us?" He takes my earlobe between his teeth, the tip of a fang teasing me with the tiniest hint of pain.
"God no," I breathe. "Just you. I only want you."
"That's a relief." His hands leave the wall, trailing up my waist, over the corset. My breasts feel swollen and tender, aching to be touched, and when he cups his warm hands over them through the stiff material, I moan a little.
Atlan kisses the spot just under my ear. His cheek brushes mine. "You had me worried there, Trouble. I'm not into the guy-on-guy thing."
"Some men like to watch other guys do stuff to their girls," I murmur, hardly knowing what I'm talking about, because his fingers have worked their way under the top edge of the corset, and his deft manipulation there is sending bolts of pleasure straight be
tween my legs.
"No judgment," he says. "But I'm not those guys. You and me—it's more than sex, Finley, and you know it. Hell, it's more than what most people call love. It's damn soulmate stuff."
He shifts his hips, and I can't help smiling as I feel the telltale hardness of him against my rear. I love being able to turn him on like this—and more than that, to inspire the kind of deep devotion he seems to have for me. I can still hardly believe it's real, that someone actually cares this passionately about me, and only me.
"It's hard for me to accept it," I whisper. "I don't understand why you love me."
"Trouble," he sighs. "How could I not?" He drops open-mouthed kisses along my neck and my bare shoulder. His sharp canines briefly scrape against my skin. "Stupid fangs—sorry."
"Don't apologize." I'm close to tears, overflowing with the depth of my feelings for him and the sense of his care for me. "You make me feel—cherished. And that is—I can't tell you how much that means to me. I love you, Atlan, I—" I press my forehead against the chilly concrete. I can hardly think while he's massaging my breasts like this. "Stop for a second, please. I need to tell you something, and I can't be coherent when you're doing that."
He disengages his hands and cups my shoulders lightly.
"Before the Gorging, people used to say they would die for each other," I tell him. "Of course most of them never had to. I would die for you—but mostly, you make me want to live. You, needing me—it's beautiful, but I need you just as much."
He lifts my hair, twists it around his hand, and kisses the tender spot at the base of my neck, between my shoulders. Prickles of delight burst from that spot, traveling along my nerves. I revolve between his arms, pleased when the friction of my movement makes him tip back his head and moan, eyes drifting shut.
"Look at me, Atlan."
He tilts his head down again, opening those stunning blue eyes of his. They shine into mine, adoration and desire, heat and reverence.
"Kiss me," I tell him.
With a soft growl, he does—tender and soft at first, then more urgently. He keeps his left hand at his side now—I wonder if he overdid it a moment ago, fondling me. Worry flickers through my pleasure, and I pull back a little. "How's your wrist?"
"Annoying," he says. "But almost healed. Couple more days, and it should be back to normal. Don't worry about it. And my right hand is perfectly fine." He kisses me again, swirling his tongue against mine, sweet liquid fire kindling between us.
Something touches a tender spot between my legs, pressing through my shorts. A murmur of surprise escapes from my mouth into Atlan's, and he chuckles, rippling the fingers of his right hand over the inseam of the material. I push against the delicious pressure, wishing we dared undress right here, right now. But John and Reuel will return to the lab any minute. We can't risk it.
"You have to stop," I whisper, kissing him again, and again.
"Okay—" He chuckles as I kiss him once more, my hands pressed to his beautiful face. That jawline of his—god. One final kiss pressed to his soft mouth. "I'm not the one who's keeping this going," he says, with a sexy smirk that obviously means I need to kiss him again. I'm about to do it one more time when my eye catches movement over his shoulder.
"Oh no," I groan. "Oh, gross."
The zombies in the cage were kissing too. Kissing each other. Fangs and torn lips and decayed tongues—ugh.
"This is getting really weird," I tell Atlan. "I wish they'd stop mimicking me."
He laughs. "You sound like a kid whose little sibling won't stop playing copycat."
"Well, that's kind of how I feel." I cross my arms, and so do all six of the zombies—clumsily. All the dancing has definitely taken a toll on these guys. Strips of rotted flesh and scraps of deteriorated clothing litter the floor of the cage.
"I'm going to try something," I say. "Keep an eye on them."
I walk out of the room and down the hall a few paces. I do three jumping jacks, and then I re-enter and wave to the zombies. They mimic my wave perfectly—well, those that still have intact right hands.
"So the connection sticks around, even if I leave the room. Did they do anything while I was gone?"
"A couple of them tried to jump or something, but the rest just stood there." Atlan picks up his coat and shrugs it on. "Hello, old friend," he says fondly, caressing the lapel.
I crook an eyebrow at him.
"What?" He shrugs. "I have a connection to my stuff. Like my swords. Where the hell are they, anyway? Nobody had better be using them but me."
"No one cares to use your swords, vampire," says Reuel, sweeping into the room with John and Darius in tow. Reuel hands me a cup of water, and I drink, deeply and gratefully.
"Found a cow on somebody's farm," Darius says to Atlan. "Beef's in the kitchen."
Atlan eyes him suspiciously. "Why do I feel like it's not cooked?"
"Because it's not," snaps Darius. "What am I, your little wifey? You're a damn vampire. You drink blood. Man up and swallow your meat raw."
Atlan pulls a face. "Guess I'll hack off a chunk and microwave it."
"You're disgusting," Darius spits. "Ruining good meat."
"What about you? You just—brought back a cow and left the carcass in the kitchen?"
"I bled and gutted it first. Believe it or not, I grew up on a farm."
"No shit." Atlan looks genuinely surprised.
"Yeah, so?" Darius snorts at Atlan, then casts me a look that's both baleful and hungry. I instinctively shrink back a step, bumping into Reuel.
"You two go eat," Reuel says. "And then, Darius, take Atlan to his room. I'll be enjoying Finley's company for a while longer."
Concern flares in Atlan's eyes. "Keep your hands to yourself tonight, chimera, or I'll bite them off tomorrow."
"I would simply grow them back," says Reuel, with a sardonic smile. "But don't worry, vampire, I'll respect Finley's wishes. Whatever she wants, I'll give her." His hands close over my shoulders, the points of the talons denting my skin.
Atlan's fangs lengthen, and his eyes burn like blue starfire.
"What if Atlan needs blood?" I ask quickly, to derail any further confrontation.
"You can give him some in the morning," says Reuel. "He won't die overnight. Now come. I want to show you my room."
He guides me past Atlan, out into the corridor. I don't have time for more than a quick glance at my vampire warrior before I'm ushered away into the dark bowels of the bunker.
20
Atlan
I'm sick, deep in my gut, at the thought of Finley spending the evening with that monster.
Plus I'm starving. Kinda literally. There's a ravenous dark hole inside me—my muscles, my very bones crying for nourishment, for protein, for meat.
When Darius leads me into the kitchen and sweeps his hand toward the raw hunks of cow on the table—god help me, I salivate immediately.
He laughs, a chilling rattle. "I knew you'd want to dig in. You're not so far removed from monster yourself."
Swallowing hard, I approach the table. The meat smells good. Fresh, and rich. "There's not much blood. You said you bled it?"
He shrugs. "I sucked most of its blood out. That's how I killed it. You should have seen it, man—it was like a damn bronco ride. Me on the cow's back, my teeth in her neck, and her going crazy, trying to buck me off. Priceless. If I'd posted that online in the old days, I'd have become insta-famous." He stamps one of his scaly three-toed feet. "These things are good for digging into some bitch-ass cow flank and hanging on. And these aren't too bad either." He flexes the dark claws sticking out of his fingertips.
"You drank cow blood." Horror thrums along my nerves. "You actually sucked it into your veins? Darius, you know we can't use animal blood." The researchers experimented with feeding a couple vampires animal blood, back when we first turned. Both of the vamps died within an hour. Only human blood is compatible with our circulatory systems. We can use human blood of any type, although blood that matches o
ur original blood type assimilates more easily. That, or universal donor blood—O negative blood, like Finley's.
But animal blood means agony, paroxysms, and death.
Darius rips out a chunk of raw beef with his sharklike teeth. "I'm still alive, ain't I?"
"Yes, but—"
"Look," he says through a mouthful of flesh. "I don't understand it either. I'm guessing that the injection they gave me changed my blood needs too. I'm part beast, part human, part vamp. I can take blood from anything. Or anyone." Interest flickers in his eyes, and his gaze drops to my neck. "You got Finley's blood in you? I hear it's the best."
"Don't even think about it," I growl. "Not from me, or from her. You hear me?"
"Sure, brother." He throws a sour twist into the word. "Now get over here, and let's share the kill."
Inching closer, I try to fight the instinct rising inside me—the drive to sink my teeth into the raw red haunch before me.
I should cook it first.
I'm not an animal.
I'm—
I'm—
I'm hungry.
With a raw groan I seize the cow's haunch and sink my teeth in, ripping a chunk free. It's strangely, deeply satisfying to tear into the meat. And it doesn't taste as bad raw as I thought it might. It's a damn sight better than ripping out zombie throats. When I had to kill zombies with my bare hands and teeth, to save Finley, I nearly puked my guts out several times. The taste of that rotting, oozing filth was indescribable. This—this is clean and fresh. My stomach welcomes it. I practically inhale the entire haunch and strip the bone clean.
My hands are coated in bloody slime, and from the stiff feeling around my lips, my mouth isn't much better. When I look up, Darius is grinning, picking his blood-stained teeth.
"Enjoying yourself?" he asks.
"Thanks for the food." I step to the sink, lather my hands and forearms, and scrub my mouth too. There's no towel—not unusual for the apocalypse—in fact, I'm surprised they still have soap after two years down here. I guess a bunch of scientists and lab techs would have laid in a hefty supply of soap, though. "What about your blood bag, Bob? Has he had anything to eat?"
Captured by the Chimera Zombie-Master Page 14