by Debra Dunbar
It was. Sometimes it was for the better, sometimes for the worse.
“I’m sorry. I know you don’t know me, but if there’s anything I can do, please let me know.”
Shelly patted her hand. “Honestly, right now I could just use a friend. Someone to go shopping with, or maybe just sit and watch a movie. My whole life for the last two years revolved around John, and then Jack. I need to do things to help me focus on the future, to help me figure out who I am and what I want to do with this new life I’ve been handed.”
Nyalla felt her heart twist inside her, because that was exactly what she too needed. It was odd that she and this woman appeared to be walking down the same path, brought to it by completely different circumstances.
“Me too. Amber goes back to school soon, and I really could use a friend.”
Shelly smiled, a hint of real happiness lurking around the edges of her eyes. “Then can I ask you my first girlfriend question? Gossip, so if you don’t feel comfortable sharing, that’s okay.”
Did she know Nyalla wasn’t from Finland? Could she somehow sense the girl’s gift as Aunt Marie had? Nyalla’s heart thudded as she nodded.
“Has Eric said anything at all to you about the investigation? Have they got any leads on who might have done this? Have they found John’s body yet?” Her voice hitched on the last question, her hands tightening into fists.
Those were questions she’d happily share information on. “They’re trying to find some kind of link between all of the disturbed graves. So far as I know, they haven’t found anything yet, but I’ll let you know if I hear more.”
Shelly nodded and reached out to take Nyalla’s hand. “I can’t imagine who would have done such a thing. John didn’t have any enemies — everyone loved him. He was one of those guys that got along with everyone, even ex–girlfriends.”
“I’m sure the police will find whoever did this.”
Shelly sighed, gently removing her hand from Nyalla’s to run through her dark hair. “It’s all so unreal. I keep feeling like any moment he’s going to walk through the door, that I’m going to wake up and find out this whole thing has been a bad dream. Every morning I roll over, expecting to see him there, or see the bed indented from where he was sleeping and smell the coffee he’s started in the kitchen. I wish this had never happened, that he had come out of that coma and was alive right now.”
Nyalla felt a chill creep over her. Was Shelly desperate enough to do such a thing, or pay someone else to do it for her? Would she care that the John at her side was a zombie? Perhaps an undead loved one was better than none at all.
13
I’m fine Wyatt, really I am. Stay in San Diego. Don’t cut your trip short on my behalf.”
Wyatt made a disbelieving noise over the phone that made Nyalla smile. It was as if her brother were right beside her. She could practically see his expression.
“Candy tells me differently. You were attacked in a cemetery?”
Drat. She’d hoped to keep that bit if information from him until he returned. At least he hadn’t found out about the Corvette in the bushes. “Boomer protected me. I’m fine — not even a scratch.”
“No more cemeteries. Once it gets dark, you need to stay inside, you hear me.”
Wow, her brother was bossy. Was this how all elder siblings treated their little sisters?
“Fine,” she lied. She was getting good at lying. Living with a demon did things to a person’s morals.
Wyatt sighed. “Okay, I get it. If you’re going to go prowling around, at least take one of my guns with you. Use the Beretta, and take an extra clip.”
She was a pretty decent shot, but pistols were heavier than she’d thought, and there was really no good place to hide them, especially with summer clothing. Nyalla doubted the locals would appreciate her prowling around a cemetery with a loaded gun in her hand. Still, that guy with the yellow eyes had been scary. Maybe he’d just run away if she waved the gun at him. Or if he was a zombie, she could just shoot him. Was it against the law to kill a zombie?
“All right, I’ll take the Beretta with me if I go out at night.”
“Good. And what’s this I hear about a date?”
Nyalla exhaled sharply. Wyatt was beginning to become what was commonly called a “pain in the butt”. “He’s a nice guy. He went to school with you and Amber and is a policeman. His name is Eric Pearce.”
“Oh.” Wyatt seemed mollified. “Yeah, he’s a good guy. He hasn’t. . . I mean, you haven’t… .”
Her temper flared. “Do you really want to go there, Wyatt? Should I tell you all the details? Send you a video?”
“No! Just … I mean, be careful, okay?”
Nyalla frowned. Here she was trying to gain some confidence that she could make it on her own in this new life. It didn’t help that Wyatt seemed to have no confidence in her at all. She had a naughty urge to tell him she’d taken up something crazy like base jumping or pole dancing, but was half afraid he’d take her seriously and be home before nightfall. Her brother needed to stay in San Diego. This was good for her, figuring things out on her own, making new friends.
“I’m always careful, Wyatt.” Too careful, actually. And that needed to change.
Nyalla went to Wyatt’s and got the Beretta, a few clips and a box of bullets out of his gun safe, using the combination he’d given her. Sitting at the kitchen table loading bullets into the clips, she turned to Boomer.
“I guess you want me to go out tonight.”
The hound nodded, a look of relief on his face.
“So what do you think this is; a human collecting parts for their energy, or a zombie?”
Boomer tilted his head, his ears forward and eyes confused.
“Well, you’re no help at all.”
Zombie would be the best outcome, and not just from a personal safety perspective. Shelly had seemed genuinely distraught over the disappearance of her husband’s body. Nyalla was rethinking her earlier conclusions and shifting toward John’s mother as the most likely suspect. The woman hadn’t wanted to disconnect the life support; maybe she thought this would be a way to keep her son among the living. It would have been a neat and tidy conclusion to the mystery, but the other missing corpse didn’t fit. Why would she have needed it? Certainly she wouldn’t have wanted another zombie — this one an elderly lady dead for nearly a year?
Nyalla sighed, looking at the loaded clips before sliding one into the gun. Palero was a much scarier option, and she wouldn’t have an easy motive to neatly tie this all up by dawn. If she killed a crazy, yellow–eyed, evil mage in a cemetery at midnight, would the humans put her in jail? Would they execute her? Of course, all that depended on her being able to even hit the guy. Targets in the back field were one thing, shooting a running person while filled with fear was another. Zombie or Palero?
She smiled and reached over to pat Boomer. “Guess I’ll just have to find out tonight.”
The hardest part of the evening was getting rid of Eric so she and Boomer could sneak out. He’d taken her out to play miniature golf and clearly expected to come in as he walked her to her door. The man made leaving even more difficult by yanking her into his arms the moment the door was open.
“I’ve been wanting to do this all night,” he murmured against her lips.
She had too. They were both terrible at miniature golf, and she’d taken to cheating by nudging the ball along and not counting strokes. Eric had retaliated by blocking her ball with his feet, or trying to distract her. She’d been easily distracted. He looked good in his shorts and t–shirt, the muscles in his arms reminding her of how they felt circled around her waist. Everyone around them had faded away as she watched him, admiring his quick smile, thinking of how warm he was when he pressed himself along her body.
“Me too,” she said, cutting all conversation short as she merged her lips with his. Boomer and the mysterious grave robber could wait. She had a sexy man in her arms and wasn’t about to pass up this opportunity
.
Melting. Her body felt like it had the time she’d tossed down a shot of Sam’s vodka. Warmth poured through her, and her leg muscles trembled, barely holding her upright. The smell of him roared into her senses — spice from his body wash, and that heady aroma of warm skin. Eric’s tongue teased its way past her lips, stroking slowly against her own. Warmth turned into fire. Nyalla pressed against him, nudging one of her thighs in between his. Eric shifted, bending a knee slightly, settling her against his leg. She could feel him against her leg, through all the layers of clothing, and in response she slid her hips upward, glorying in the sensation of his leg between hers. Her hands skimmed across his hair, and she made a frustrated noise at her inability to grasp the short locks.
“Beard?” Nyalla murmured against his lips. He was clean shaven again tonight, and although his smooth skin felt wonderful against hers, she was curious.
His mouth moved lower to pull on her lower lip before skating across her jaw. “Tried. Cop. Can’t. Do my best on vacation, though.”
Well that just sucked, but Nyalla’s disappointment faded as Eric’s mouth traced a line down her neck to lick right where it joined her collarbone. The hand that had been caressing her back eased around to the front.
“Oh, that’s … nice.”
A completely lame word to describe the sensation of his thumb across her hard nipple, and his teeth nipping at the curve of her neck. And what was with her voice, all light and breathless? Shuddering, she managed to get a decent grip on his short hair and yank his head away from her neck. Crushing her mouth against his, she rocked her hips along his thigh. Oh, sweet Goddess. Forget about whatever it was she was supposed to do with Boomer. All she could think about was Eric’s mouth, his hand on her breast, his thigh causing the most amazing friction between her legs.
Something cold and wet touched the back of her knee, and Nyalla shrieked, jerking away from Eric. It was like being splashed with ice water.
“What?” Eric sounded as if he’d just woken up.
Another, more insistent touch from that cold wet nose hit higher up on the back of Nyalla’s thigh. “Oh all right, cut it out.”
She turned around to see Boomer. The hound looked determined, car keys dangling from his mouth. Nyalla sighed and turned back to Eric, placing a hand on his chest. His heartbeat and the warmth from his skin came right through the thin fabric of his t–shirt. Nyalla hesitated, wishing she could skip out on tonight. A promise was a promise, and Boomer was depending on her.
“I’ve got some stuff to do tonight. Can I see you tomorrow?” Her voice was raw and hoarse, as if she’d been screaming for hours.
He regarded her for a moment, confusion and worry on his face. “Sure.”
Nyalla bit her lip. She couldn’t just turn him away like this, not after practically jumping him in her doorway. “Maybe you can come in for coffee? I really do have stuff to do, but half an hour wouldn’t hurt.”
Eric grinned, relief clear on his face. “I’d love coffee.”
Nyalla led him in, and they chatted as she busied herself with the coffee maker. Eric reached up to get two mugs off the hooks under the cabinets and hesitated.
“You have a gun?” he asked, picking up the box of bullets she’d stashed on the counter. Little did he know the loaded gun was in her purse by the door.
“Yes. I’m here alone with just Boomer, and we’re back from the main road. I wanted to be able to protect myself from robbers or groundhogs.” She was rambling, searching for good reasons a woman would have a gun. Eric was a policeman, and she suddenly worried. Was it illegal for her to have it? Would he take it away?
“I can see that.” He turned the box over in his hand then looked up at her. His eyes narrowed slightly in thought. “Nine mil. A pistol? Do you know how to use it?”
“Oh yes. It’s one of Wyatt’s. He taught me how to shoot when I first arrived and said I could use it.”
His face tightened again at the mention of Wyatt. “Be careful, okay? There are all kinds of accidents that can happen with guns.”
“I’m always careful,” she said, echoing her comment to Wyatt. Was she really? She’d come a long way from the girl hiding out in the house and ordering pizza delivery. Now she was tromping around cemeteries, trying to solve a paranormal mystery with a hellhound by her side. And she was making–out with great abandon, lusting for a man she’d met only a few days ago.
Eric reached out and pulled Nyalla into his arms. He stared down at her, his gaze intense as his gently touched her cheek.
“I don’t know how things are in Finland, but there are bad people here — people that will hurt you, do horrible things to you. I don’t want to scare you, but you seem so innocent and trusting.” Eric reached up another hand to cup her face. “Please be careful? More than careful?”
So many people worried over her — her brother Wyatt, Amber, Candy, Michelle, even Sam. It was nice to have someone worry over her that also lit up her body with such wonderful sensations. A stranger, yet he still cared. Nyalla’s eyes drifted from Eric’s green irises to the spot where that seductive dimple always appeared then down to his lips. Full, beautifully shaped, and with the power to take her breath away.
“Careful,” she promised, leaning in to claim those amazing lips with her own.
14
It was nearly dawn when Boomer directed her to yet another cemetery. Nyalla gripped her gun tight, following the hound as he paced back and forth, nose to the ground. Finally he took off, loping along the lines of graves before cutting left behind a mausoleum. He paused at the corner, waiting for Nyalla to catch up.
She felt like a woman torn in two. This was what she needed to do, what she’d promised to do, yet it had been so hard to kick Eric out of the house. Coffee had turned into so much more, and she’d found herself naked on the couch, her hands exploring every inch of him as their passion drove every other thought from her mind. That half an hour had come and gone. She had ignored Boomer, with his insistent demands, to concentrate instead on Eric’s fingers expertly caressing her most sensitive places. And wow. Sex was so much more than she’d ever imagined. All that moaning and screaming she’d seen on the “special” channels hadn’t come close to the reality of it. The planet had halted in its orbit. She’d exploded out of the confines of her body. All she wanted was to do it again. And again, and again.
So here she was, enduring the hellhound’s reproachful looks and feeling guilty for making Eric leave when he clearly wanted to spend the night wrapped around her body. She’d wanted it too. An image of the pair of them, entwined naked among the covers and pillows of her bed crossed her mind, and she sucked in a deep breath. Time to put that all out of her head. She was in a cemetery, looking for an evil mage or a zombie. This was no time to be dreaming of pleasures of the flesh.
She nearly ran into Boomer who blocked her with his body, stopping her from turning around the corner of the mausoleum. The hellhound peered around the edge. Nyalla did the same and stifled a gasp.
When she’d seen the man last time, he’d had been covered in dirt, his clothes torn. He looked worse now. The tattered suit had become ragged strips of cloth covering a gaunt frame. His skin had a greyish tint visible even in the faint moonlight. His hands as he raked the loose dirt from the grave were thin with elongated nails at the ends. There was an oddly shaped pile beside him. Pausing from his efforts, the man reached out a hand to the pile and picked up something long. It was an arm.
The man bit down on it, ripping a chunk from the arm. Nyalla couldn’t tear her eyes away as he ate, stripping all the flesh before crunching down on the bone itself. He ate another limb from the pile beside him then turned to keep digging.
Nyalla pulled back and slid to the ground, her back against the stone mausoleum wall. Zombies weren’t supposed to eat or drink, and she doubted that any black magic practitioner would be consuming the corpses he dug up. Cannibalism was horrific enough, but these bodies were raw and not exactly fresh. What was this thing?<
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She looked around the edge of the building and saw the creature had dug far enough down into the grave that he had needed to climb in. Sprays of dirt flew over the edge, and within moments Nyalla heard a splintering sound. A body flew up from the grave to land with a thud beside it. A hand reached up over the edge, and with an inhuman bound, the creature leapt from the hole.
Nyalla put a hand to her mouth and stared as the monster easily ripped the clothing from the corpse and began to tear it apart, stacking extremities in a growing pile beside the grave. He tore into the torso, pulling out long sections of insides and cramming them into his mouth. In spite of all her efforts to remain silent, Nyalla retched.
The creature’s head came up, its yellow eyes locking onto hers. Boomer snarled, his fur brushing Nyalla’s leg as he moved to stand in front of her. She raised a shaky gun, trying to aim between the yellow eyes and praying that whatever this thing was, it would die like the zombies in Wyatt’s video games. But instead of rushing her like she expected, the creature tilted his head and stood. It looked like an emaciated human, oddly familiar as it observed her.
“Don’t come near me or I’ll shoot,” she commanded, her voice high and wobbly. Boomer pressed against her reassuringly, his shoulder muscles strong against her thigh.
“What is that you’re holding, little girl,” the creature rasped. It frowned, as if accessing some old, forgotten memories. “Ah, a gun. I’ve never seen one before.”
According to Aunt Marie, zombies didn’t eat, and they sure as heck didn’t talk. “Who … what are you?”
The creature swept a hand before him, bowing low. Nyalla could see the ridges of his vertebrae as the tattered cloth fell away from his back. “My dear, you may address me as John Mayfield.”
No! There was no way this monster before her eating corpses was the handsome man from the wedding photo on Shelly’s coffee table.