The World Without End (Book 2): The Horde Without End

by Nazarea Andrews

  Heat crawls up my neck. I doubt I’ll ever forget the intense, brand-like pleasure that came from giving myself over to his touch.

  I do know I’ll never forget the intense humiliation that swept me afterward, when I couldn’t drag myself away from him. When his fingers were still buried in me, rubbing—

  He growls, and I flush, looking away. “So. Noon. The czars. You can fit that into your schedule, I assume?” My voice is just a little bit too hyper. He nods, slowly, and I force a smile. “Great.”

  I bolt past him, and I hear him sigh my name, but I can’t—I can’t look at him, not when I can still feel the ghost of his touch, not when I want it again, so bad I can taste it. Not when I know he only wants to keep me from Kendall.

  I fumble into the shower and turn the spray all the way to hot. Toss my robe and the bra and panties I slept in to the side and step into the water. It cascades over me, a wet embrace, and I lean my head back, letting the water soak my hair and pull it long and straight. Then I sag to the side, my head against the cool tiles, and try so hard to forget.

  I want to forget Kendall, and 1, with all its wonders that will make any Haven pale in comparison. I want to forget the Order, milling around the party two nights ago, with their curious eyes and too sweet smiles. I want to forget the meeting with the czars and the behavior of the Horde, the way they've gone from small groups to a mass we have no hope of fighting.

  Mostly, I want to forget the feel of Finn O'Malley whispering kisses over my skin, his body hot and heavy as it held me down, the barely restrained violence in his touch, the too strong grip of his hand on my hip. I groan, reaching between my legs, and the second I slip two fingers inside my pussy, my thumb rubbing my clit, I shatter. My legs give out, and I slide down the side of the tub and lie there, panting softly as the water swirls around me.

  So much for forgetting.

  Chapter 42. Panel of Czars

  When I emerge from the bedroom, Finn is waiting, and from the tightness of his jaw, he’s not happy about it.

  He never is. "Sorry," I say, blushing.

  His eyebrows shoot up, and he laughs. "Don't do that."

  "What?"

  "Act like shit’s changed. Nothing's changed, Nurrin."

  "How can you say that? You were there, last night—"

  "Nothing. Do you understand?" he demands fiercely, standing. He's tense, a step away from lashing out, and I take a deep breath, letting it out slowly. No. I don't understand. I never do, though.

  "Fine," I say, shrugging. "Nothing happened."

  He stares at me for a moment longer, as if assessing me, and I lift my chin, glaring at him. He nods and smirks. Some of the tension eases out of him. "Let's go, then."

  We stop for coffee on the way out of the Embassy, and I inhale the warm steam as I follow him out of the hotel. I'm more than aware of the dirty looks we're getting, and I glance sideways at Finn. "Where were you, yesterday? Did you get in a fight with an infect?"

  "Nurrin. You know that one infect hardly makes a fight."

  I snort, and a smile flashes for a second. Finn looks away, and startles me when he answers. "Went to the clubs. I needed to work out some anger, and it seemed a better idea than beating Kendall to a pulp."

  "Why do you hate him?" I ask, again. Finn gives me that blank stare I know so well, and I sigh, sipping my coffee. "He really isn't so bad, O'Malley. A bit arrogant, but I'm used to sharing the front seat with an ego the size a person."

  "He works too closely with the Order. He's the first president in our history to appoint the Order to his cabinet. Do you realize that half the czars we're talking to are Priests? I know you want me to tolerate him, and I'll try. Mostly to make you shut the fuck up. But he's dangerous and would happily see you dead. That means he will never have a big fan in me."

  "Does that still matter?" The question slips out before I can assess the wisdom of asking it, or the reasons.

  Finn's gaze darts to mine. "It is the only thing that matters."

  My heart twists, the idiotic thing.

  “Any word on the house?” I ask. Awkward change of subject, check. Finn’s shoulder’s shake, amused, and then he shrugs.

  “I’m going there after the meeting. The Embassy probably won’t tolerate me staying there for much longer.”

  I should ask why, but I don’t.

  “Am I going with you?” I ask softly.

  He pauses on the walkway, the coffee halfway to his lips. Cocks his head to one side as he stares at me.

  “You tell me, Nurrin. Are you?”

  I get the feeling that we aren’t talking about leaving the Embassy, and it pisses me off, a little, that he would doubt for a second that I’m committed to finding Collin. And anger is easy—it’s a natural state, when dealing with Finn.

  “You aren’t the only one who cares about Collin, O’Malley. You don’t have a patent on that—he’s my brother, remember?”

  His eyebrow goes up, that classic expression of disdain.

  “Don’t forget, Nurrin.”

  The office that serves as Kendall’s seat of power is a plain building. A few Walkers patrol outside, and there is a receptionist at the front who gives me a frosty look as I stride up with Finn. We’re both dressed down, something that maybe wasn’t the best choice considering we’re meeting with the leader of the United States.

  But dresses seem inappropriate after last night, and my leathers make me comfortable—less vulnerable. I need all of that I can get.

  “We have a meeting with President Stiles,” I say, and she wrinkles her nose.

  “You can have a seat in the waiting room. He’ll be back soon.”

  My mouth falls open, and I start to sputter something, but Finn catches my elbow, drawing me away from her and into the small waiting room. I shake him off and glare at the tiny, neatly appointed room. “Who the hell has a fucking waiting room?” I demand, pacing the little room.

  “Sit down. He wants to get a rise out of us—and you are playing directly into his hands.”

  I dart a glance at him and meet the cool gaze.

  How did I think, ever, that he was unemotional and detached? There is so much brewing in that familiar stare. He nods at the seat next to him, and I take his lead. Sit quietly, hiding behind a façade of composure.

  “Good girl,” he murmurs, and I almost preen under his soft approval.

  “Why is he making us wait?”

  “Because he can,” Finn says quietly. He leans back in his chair, his arm brushing mine. I should move away, but I don’t. I stay exactly the way I am. “Kenny is obsessed with having what others don’t. He always has been.”

  That isn’t fair.

  "It's been a long time, O'Malley," I say. "You've changed since you left 1. Isn't it possible that he has too?"

  He looks at me, his eyebrows raised slightly. "No. He hasn't. If he had, chasing you would not have been his first choice of action. He would have respected that you are with me."

  I blink. "I'm not. We aren't together, Finn. We're together for now because circumstances dictate it. But we're not—" I break off. I don't know what to say, don't know how to say this. How to put up the barriers between us that have always been there.

  "I hated you," I whisper. "It was easier, to hate you."

  He touches my hand with two fingers, gently. "I know, Nurrin. Keep hating me. If that's what you need, keep hating me."

  His touch is hot, like a brand, and I want to catch it in my own, wrap my fingers in his.

  Is hating him easier? Because this, the idea of being with him—it seems very easy, and impossible, all at the same time. And how is that even possible? I shiver and look away.

  "What happens next?"

  "We take whatever information he can give us, and we go find Collin."

  I roll my head to look at him. "That's not what I meant, and you know it."

  He sighs and rubs a hand through his hair. It's long enough now that some of it spikes up in the front. "Let's worry about Collin.
What comes after that will depend on how long we take to find him."

  It's the first time he's even hinted that we might not. I think we both have been avoiding that, but it’s inevitable that we'll have to deal with it.

  The longer it takes, the slimmer the chances of finding Collin alive becomes.

  "What do you think happened to Dustin?" I ask, my mouth dry.

  Finn shrugs. "He was infected before we left Hellspawn. We all knew it. I think we were hoping for the best, but it's hard to hope for that when infection is raging like it was. That Collin kept him alive long enough to get to 9 is a miracle. He wouldn't chance Dustin turning—he would have put him down before he could."

  I want to argue.

  "Why can't you ever say something that doesn't make sense," I grumble, slouching in my seat.

  He laughs a little, and my lips twitch. Footsteps sound down the hall, and we both straighten.

  It hits me that whatever else is between us, we're in this together. We're partners. And maybe it's not the partnership I would have chosen, but it's the one that keeps me safe, and he’s the one who won't give up on my brother.

  "President Stiles will see you now," the receptionist says, her expression borderline hostile. I flash her a smile as I stand, and stalk out of the room. Finn is watching my ass—I can feel his gaze on me—but I don't particularly care in this moment.

  Kendall is in a large room, sitting at the head of a table. There are four Gray-robed Priests, one Priestess, and two men in suits sitting with him. The familiar fear of the Order simmers in my veins, but I keep moving.

  Half the battle is pretending until it's real.

  Kendall is wearing a suit, his hair combed back, a file open in front of him. Right now, he looks like a president. It's a little disarming how much.

  "Oh good. So glad you were both able to make it this morning. Sit down." He barely looks at me as we enter, as Finn nudges me forward, toward a seat. I move by instinct rather than actual intent.

  He puts himself between me and the priests. Even if these aren't particularly interested in finding new Firsts to sacrifice, they are the Order. Finn doesn't trust the Order any more than I do.

  Kendall makes a final note then fixes his brown eyes on us. "What do you know about the Horde's behavior pattern?"

  I lean back, letting Finn have the floor. He understands the science of it better than I do, which probably stems from being the son of the world's premier scientist.

  But the science isn't making an impression on Kendall. His gaze is uninterested and wandering—he doesn't care what Finn has to say.

  "You aren't listening," I interrupt, "which means this is a waste of time. And I'm sorry—maybe you’re okay with wasting people's time, because you’re the president and you think that's okay. But I'm looking for someone, and every second you waste ignoring the warnings we don't have time to give is another second I've wasted not looking for him, and is another second closer to losing him." I cock my head. "You lost a sibling to the infects. You should understand my worry."

  Kendall's gaze is cool. "We have all lost someone, Nurrin. You're being willfully ignorant if you think otherwise."

  "And you’re being stubborn and childish if you ignore O'Malley's warnings just because of a childhood grudge," I say softly. There is a sharp intake of breath down the table, and O'Malley whistles at my side. I didn't mean to say that. I wasn't thinking.

  Kendall fixes me with a icy stare and says, almost absently, "Everyone get out. I'd like a moment with Nurrin."

  Finn laughs, an ugly noise, and Kendall's eyes flash. "Go," I murmur, quietly enough that only he hears me. The others are already leaving. I think a few are actually eager to go. "Talk to the czars. Make them listen."

  "Remember what I said, Nurrin. He's dangerous."

  I force a smile, and Finn heaves a sigh. Then he follows the science czars from the room, and I'm alone with Kendall.

  Chapter 43. Empty Warnings

  Some of the coldness drops away when we're alone, and I relax a little. "What the hell are you doing, Nurrin?" he asks quietly.

  "I could ask you that," I shoot back. "You're playing games, and I don't have time for that, nor the inclination. My brother will die if we waste time, and we gave some that we don't have to tell you what the Horde is doing. And you don't care. Why?"

  "Because the Horde isn't my problem. Finding a cure—that has to be our goal."

  "A cure isn't feasible. You heard O'Malley—the virus is too volatile and unstable. There's no way you can get ahead of it long enough to create a cure."

  "Finn doesn't know what he's talking about."

  I laugh. "Even you know that's not true, Kendall. If anyone is qualified to talk about ERI, it's him."

  "Because his mother created the plague? Do you think that's actually something we should value him for? The entire family is cursed. From his uncle Keifer right down to Finn O'Malley."

  It's dirty—and Finn will probably kill me for it—but it's finnformation, and that is too rare to pass up.

  "Tell me what you mean," I demand.

  "What will you give me? Why should I?"

  "Because it's the right thing to do, Kendall. Not because you'll get anything."

  A smile twitches the corners of his lips, and I sigh. "Dinner. Tonight."

  He nods. "Keifer was arrested twenty years earlier—when Sylvia was in her freshman year of college. They’d know for years he was a violent person. According to the files, he was prone to depression and fits of rage. When Sylvia left home, he snapped. Mass shooting at a mall in Scotland. Ten injured, three killed. He was arrested right after. And Sylvia, brilliant mind that she was, immediately went to work on a drug that could suppress the violence. Except, that's not all it did. You know what happened—she created ERI, and our government got their hands on it. That was through Griffin O’Malley. He was friends with my dad. The drug was perfect for the military, wasn't it? It was great—until it wasn't."

  That's usually the way it works.

  It all started with him. The brother of the scientist, the uncle. It really was the story of a family, love that was just too little, too late.

  No wonder he was so distant from the rest of the world—everyone who had ever been close to him had done something completely unforgiveable.

  "Just because his family did horrible things, doesn't mean he's wrong," I say. "And those horrible things weren’t done with this in mind."

  "Do you think that matters?" Kendall demands furiously. "They unleashed a fucking apocalypse, but because that wasn't the intention, it's okay? Do you have any idea how wrong you are?"

  "Do you? Sylvia created something for a brother she loved, who did something horrible. She took that violence from him. If ERI had been left there, would we be living in this world? Or would it have died, and died again, with Keifer Cragen? But it didn't because Griffin was friends with a general in the Untied States, a war hero who heard about this amazing drug, and thought about how it could benefit his own soldiers. That wasn't something Sylvia pushed on us. Taking it to Stanlos—that wasn't something Sylvia came up with."

  Rage colors his cheeks, and I murmur the last bit. "Sylvia didn't order those bombs dropped on Atlanta."

  Because that's the simple truth of it. Finn's family can be blamed for a lot. But the Buchman family played their own part in the end of the world, and not all of their choices were good ones.

  "It's very easy to judge someone when you aren't in their shoes, and you don't have to make the choices they do."

  I tilt my head to the side, studying him. "Yes. It is."

  Kendall flushes and looks away. "What does he think is so fucking important?"

  "The Horde is growing. They aren't traveling in packs of ten anymore. They're moving in herds of hundreds. And ten—a few Walker's can put down ten infects without much effort. But when a Horde four or five thousand strong hits a Haven’s walls? They can't fight that—and that's when it's a small horde. If they continue to move like that—
in a horde that just grows with each death—the Havens will fall. Every single one of them will fall. Even this one."

  He shakes his head. "We haven't had a breech in over three years. 1 is unassailable."

  I stare at him, and I wonder if he has any idea how incredibly arrogant and naive he sounds.

  "We thought that the dead rising was impossible. But they did. If you sit behind these walls, content to believe that they will always protect you, they will fall. And you will die. And even if you don't, you'll be the leader of a country of the dead—because you're doing nothing to protect your people. Seven havens have already fallen."

  "It's not unusual to lose a Haven occasionally."

  "It wasn't unusual, when the Havens were first being built. But now? Losing seven? That's unheard of, and you know it. Don't bury your head in the sand on this one. If you do, they'll remember your name, just like they remember Keifer and Sylvia and Emilie."

  That's harsh—maybe it's too harsh—but it's out. I turn away, stalking to the door.

  "I'll send my man to escort you to the white house at eight." I freeze and twist to stare at him. There's a thin smile on his lips, and he shrugs. "A minor disagreement doesn't mean I don't want to see you, Nurrin."

  I almost point out that this isn't a minor disagreement. But I don't—I nod once then go to Finn. "Let's get the hell outta here," I mutter to him. I feel his surprise, the way he starts to turn, to look at Kendall. "No. Just. Let's go."

  "What happened?" he asks softly. A Priest is eyeing us, and Finn gives the man a tight smile, steering me toward the exit.

  "Always with the fucking questions, O'Malley," I parrot back at him, mocking.

  It startles a laugh out of him, and I smirk. It helps, hearing him laugh.

  Chapter 44. The House on the Edge of the Wall

  Finn’s house is something of a shock. Because it’s not a house. It’s a turret, on the southeastern corner of the Wall. I stare at it, squinting against the sun still bright in the sky. “I don’t get it,” I say finally.