“My horoscope told me to stay in bed today.”
Damian smiled. “I never put much stock in that sort of thing.”
She cocked a brow. “Oh yeah? I never put much stock in zombies.”
They were in a moment…of some sort. She studied his strong jaw, his lips at once masculine and sensual. Everything about him seemed a perfect specimen of virility. He held her gaze, as if searching the recesses of her muddled thoughts.
She broke eye contact, forcing her thoughts from the spell. “The government created super soldiers?”
* * * *
Damian’s gaze faltered, dropping to the floor. “It was a way to do more damage in attacks while putting fewer soldiers at risk. The program had the best intentions in the beginning.”
Laura watched him as one would watch a wolf, wary, but at the same time curious.
“You’re one of those super soldiers, right?”
His eyebrows lifted in surprise. “How did you know?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know, just something about you doesn’t seem…” Her voice trailed off.
“Normal,” he finished for her. “I’m a government killing machine, Laura, you can say it. There’s nothing normal left in me.”
She pulled her hand from his, burrowing it in her lap with the other. “I’m so tired.”
Damian had never gotten close to a victim, and he realized he never would again. In the hours to come he’d be forced to watch this determined woman slide downhill toward oblivion. He toyed with the idea of sparing her the agony now; he could make death quick, painless—the merciful thing to do.
“I need to get a message to my family. Say goodbye. I can’t leave them always wondering what happened to me.” Laura got to her feet, using his offered hand for balance.
What she could reveal would be limited, but he couldn’t deny the simple request. “Wait here.”
He searched through some drawers until he found paper and a pencil.
She took them. “I don’t know what to say. Hey, sorry I got bit by a rabid zombie. Had to die. Don’t forget to restock the napkins.” She wiped a hand over her brow. “Can you open a window and let some air in?”
Damian did what she asked. A cool gust of air, heavy with the scent of rain and wet pine, blew through the window, stirring up dust motes. She turned to him, looking like an apparition in the low lighting.
“Are you married? Kids?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No, my relationships never got that far. How about you?”
He shoved his hands inside his back pockets. “No.”
The songs of tree frogs filled the stretching silence, her focus on the window behind him. A desirable woman needed a man in her life, what a shame no one had claimed her. If he’d had an opportunity…
“I really need to use the bathroom,” she said, breaking into his thoughts.
Damian frowned. “The plumbing doesn’t work.”
“Regardless, I have to pee. You can let me do it outside or I can make a puddle here.”
Her frankness threw him and he hid a chuckle behind a cough.
“Fine, there’s a roll of paper towels in the kitchen. I don’t have toilet paper.”
“Of course you don’t, you’re a super soldier,” she said with a tight smile. She turned and marched toward the kitchen. He listened for the jiggle of the backdoor locks, ready to intervene in an escape attempt. She reappeared with the roll, striding toward the front door. He caught up to her.
“You can’t come with me.” Her slim eyebrows drew together.
He folded his arms over his chest. “You can’t go alone.”
“Where am I going to go, seriously? I’m in the middle of nowhere, and Mississippi has way too many poisonous snakes and alligators to go running off into the woods.”
“I’ll turn my back, but you’re not going outside alone,” he insisted.
She lifted her hands. “Whatever.”
He grabbed a lantern and they walked outside. The rain had eased to a drizzle. “Stay near the porch.”
She wandered to the edge of the lantern light, leveling an annoyed stare on him. “Well, aren’t you going to turn around?”
He blew out a breath, turning his back to her. A twig snapped and he whirled.
Laura had vanished.
“Son of a bitch.” He leapt off the porch in pursuit.
* * * *
Laura charged within the dense pine, praying she wouldn’t run into a rattlesnake or a copperhead. Or worse, an alligator. She had no idea which direction to the nearest house, so weaved blindly within the stand of trees, the Mississippi muck sucking her feet down and threatening to yank off her shoes. Weeds whipped around her legs, and unable to see, she kept her hands extended. Arms wrapped firmly around her waist, yanking her off her feet.
“No!” She kicked, but Damian held firm. “I’ll bite you.”
“Nice try, but you’re not contagious until the virus takes over.” He flung her over his shoulder caveman-style. She squealed in frustration, beating on his back, making as much fuss as possible while he carried her across the yard and through the front door of the stinking house. He deposited her on a loveseat, making a dust cloud billow up around her. She sneezed several times as years of disuse floated up her nostrils.
“This isn’t just about you, Laura. If you get loose, you’d have the ability to spread this virus, like the thing in the alley. You’d be killing a lot of people.”
“I feel fine,” she insisted. She stood, a wave of dizziness swamped her and her knees threatened to buckle. Damian’s hands closed around her shoulders, keeping her upright.
“Do you now?”
“I’m just tired.” She shrugged out of his grip. “And thirsty. Do you have any water around here?”
His eyebrows shot up. “You’re thirsty?”
“Yes, because I had a long night at work and it’s a hundred degrees in this damn house.” She pulled her sweaty shirt away from her torso to emphasize her point.
He nodded toward the corner of the room. “There are some bottles of water in the cooler.”
Laura wavered on her legs. “Can you grab me one?”
The plan worked. He walked over, reached inside, and grabbed one. When he turned she already had the barrel of his gun leveled at him. His hand shot to his waistband.
“Snagged it when you carried me back inside,” she stated.
He lifted his hands. “Laura—”
“No, I don’t want excuses, I want to go home.” She cursed her trembling good hand holding the gun.
“I can’t let you go home, not right now.”
She squared her chin. “I don’t see you have much choice.”
“This is what I see, Laura. Your injured hand is your dominant hand, judging by the way you keep trying to use it. I can tell by the way you’re gripping the Glock you don’t have experience with handguns, adding to an already inaccurate aim. I’ve been engineered to handle pain better than most, you could empty that clip into me and I’d still keep coming. So if it’s not a kill shot to the head or heart first try, I’ll be on you in one second flat.”
She swallowed, stubbornness forcing her to stand her ground. “And what if I’m really lucky tonight? I mean I got attacked by a random zombie, who’s to say I won’t get a good shot off?”
Damian lowered his hands. “Then what will you do? Take this virus back to your town and infect those you love? Of course you’ll already be dead by then, so why should it matter to you?”
Chills raced over her skin despite the feverish heat coursing in her veins, making her teeth chatter. Pity glowered in her captor’s expression, reflecting back her worsening illness. If she were going to die, she could at least try to take the bastard with her. Her finger twitched on the trigger.
She lowered the gun, she wasn’t a murderer.
Chapter 3
Laura finished a bottle of water before snatching out another from the cooler, her insides burning and throat parched. Distract
ed thoughts returned to the terrible creature behind Nana’s. Will I turn into it? She poked at her injury, the numbness spreading past her wrist.
If she did, how would her parents ever get over her disappearance? She couldn’t remember the last time she’d let them know how much they meant to her. Though they loved him, her pothead brother had never amounted to much, so she was their parenting success. If only she hadn’t extended restaurant hours, she would have been gone long before the zombie showed up in the alley. Home and curled up in bed, oblivious to Damian’s underworld.
Damian was responsible for this. She turned to the man who watched closely and her eyes narrowed. “How could you have let that thing get away from you? If I’m infected, it’s your fault.”
He remained immobile and closed his eyes. She guessed him a few years older than her, but he seemed an ancient man in the timeworn house. Since she’d held his gun on him he’d retreated as much as the room allowed, keeping to the farthest and most shadowed corner. For some reason she felt bad about it.
“I’m sorry, Laura.”
Ringing in her ears dulled the words. He didn’t sound sincere, not entirely. Maybe he didn’t care he’d fucked up royally. Maybe he didn’t care her life had been stolen away.
“Sorry?” she sputtered. “I’m going to die and all you can say is you’re sorry? I can’t even go home to my family. I have to be here with a complete stranger in my last hours on earth.”
He remained quiet, adding to her rising ire.
“Will my family ever know what happened to me, or will you just dump my body in a shallow grave somewhere like a dog you hit on the road?” Tears pricked her eyes. She tried to swallow around the painful lump lodged in her throat, before brushing away the wetness on her cheeks. She sat down on the floor, giving in to the tide of despair. “I can’t die, not tonight.”
He crossed the room and fell to his knees, pulling her onto his lap, rocking her like a small child—an unexpected comfort from the imposing man. She buried her face in his shirt, letting reality sink in.
“I hate the bastards responsible for this virus,” he said against her hair. “I mean that, Laura. What they’ve done is inexcusable, regardless of the reason.”
Her crying became less desperate, choking sobs finally subsiding to frail whimpers, which did nothing for the pounding headache. Her skull felt ready to explode.
“How did you get this scar?” His finger lightly brushed along her cheek.
“A stray dog attacked me a year ago. He bit my leg and scratched my face.” She shuddered at the memory, up until tonight it’d been her most terrifying.
Damian frowned. “Were you hurt badly?”
“A few stitches. The worst part was the rabies shots I had to have afterward.” She gave a mirthless laugh. “Who knew a rabid human would do me in instead?”
She should push away from him; sitting in his lap felt a bit too comfortable. But his closeness eased the jagged head pain, soothing the fear clawing her insides to shreds. He searched her eyes and a fire lit low within, simmering with his gaze, a distraction she hadn’t anticipated. Her breath hitched.
“Did it hurt?” she asked.
His gaze dropped to her mouth. “Did what hurt?”
She licked her lips. “What they did to you.”
“At first, but you adjust to the changes. Your body has a way of adapting.”
Another question hung on her lips, and it took several tries to force it out. “Is it going to hurt when the virus takes over?”
* * * *
Laura’s probing gaze stirred up a mess and Damian couldn’t be sure the reasons behind what followed. His lips claimed hers, desperate to spare her the sickness to come, anger mixing with the arousal rising in his blood. Laura moaned and he swallowed the sound, his tongue tangling with hers, letting her sweet taste rob him of thought.
He’d avoided any kind of intimacy for much too long, and his cock throbbed. Her arms slid around his neck in invitation while she pressed against him. He dug his fingers within her silky curtain of hair. Her clothing would be little hindrance, and he could have her naked and spread out on the floor within seconds.
“Damian,” she whispered against his lips. Her eyes remained closed, her face taking on the sallow look of sickness, her form growing limp in his arms. A hard kick in the gut, and one he deserved. He released her.
“I don’t feel well.” She shifted out of his lap onto the dusty linoleum floor, folding her arms over her bent knees, resting her forehead on them.
He immediately missed the closeness. Sweat poured down his back from the too thick air even with the storm cooled breeze blowing through the window. Two days had passed since he’d slept and it wore him down. He could go another two days before he crashed, and probably would after he had to shoot Laura in the head.
Bile rose in the back of his throat, and he forced down the bitter taste. He would hit the road hard and bury his conscience in the work. Do his best to forget the spirited blonde next to him, though he knew it’d never work; her blood would always be on his hands. He’d been doomed the moment he’d seen her in the alleyway and lowered his gun. She’d haunt him until the day he died, and maybe he deserved it for his involvement.
He wanted out of the room, needed to be on his Harley finding his next target. Hell, he wanted to be a hundred miles away from the house and Laura. He looked over at her, seated near his side, her head lifted, staring off into space. She seemed lost in thought, or perhaps the fever made it look that way. He knew the symptoms—chills, high fevers, hallucinations, and then seizures before the virus destroyed the last of what made her human.
It was only a matter of hours…
* * * *
I love all of you. Don’t worry about me. I’m fine and in a better place.
Laura stared at the note hastily scribbled with her good hand, before balling it up. She tossed it on the floor next to her wadded up pages of the notebook, nothing she wrote good enough. Her arm had gone completely numb, hanging uselessly at her side. Damian sat nearby, leaning against the wall, his arms balanced on his bent knees, his attention lost in some daydream. Tension marred his perfect features.
Am I really going to die? She’d already run the gamut of emotions only to end right back at disbelief. Her throat dry, she’d managed to down two more bottles of water. A third sat nearby, but when she’d taken the first drink her stomach had rebelled, making her choke. Damian had paled, giving her the look one gives a corpse in a coffin while he’d thumped her on the back.
“You’ll have muscle spasms in your throat from the rabies virus. Though it’s modified, it’ll carry many of the same symptoms,” he’d explained.
Rabies? Was the goddamn government crazy, who’d mess with such a deadly virus? She hurled the pad of paper across the room.
“What’s wrong?” Damian asked.
“What’s wrong? That’s a stupid question, don’t you think?” She shot him a look daring him to say more.
His nostrils flared, a muscle in his jaw worked. “Four more hours. We have to prepare.”
She went cold. “Prepare?”
“The progression will snowball from here.” His voice dead, he continued to stare at some unseen view.
He’d kissed her with such passion, now he spoke without emotion. How could someone do such a turnabout? The lousy bastard. Rage, white hot in intensity, shot through her, her head swimming with it.
“Maybe you’re just stupid, Damian. Stupid for allowing a zombie thing to attack me. I wouldn’t be dying if it wasn’t for you. You deserve this, not me.” Her fists balled at the injustice of it all. “You should die for this.”
She sucked in wheezing breaths, unable to fill her lungs, and fell back on her butt. Her eyes widened, searching a darkened corner of the room, a distorted face appearing from the shadows. It grinned with broken, yellowed teeth, its eyes glowing in the dimness.
She gagged over raw terror.
“Oh my God, I saw something over there.”
She scrambled backward. “Damian, one of those things is in here.”
* * * *
Damian glanced around the sparsely furnished room. Other than a few flies and mosquitoes buzzing around them they were alone.
He closed his eyes, the weight of guilt pressing down making it difficult to speak. “We’re alone, Laura. Nobody else is in here.”
The night wore on, and fits of anger mingled with her confusion. Several times he’d had to prevent her from dashing out the door. He paced the confines of the living room, waiting for the last of the madness to run its course. Laura lay on the floor, lashing out toward some unseen attacker, before her breathing became rapid, labored pants. White foam bubbled from her mouth.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, turning away. He’d become disillusioned with the system he’d given his life to shortly after discovering they’d screwed up royally in creating the virus. In a lab he’d watched a man succumb to it, changing into a soulless corpse. It’d been horrific the first time he’d witnessed it. Afterward Headquarters had assigned him to track down an infected woman outside of the facility. It was his duty as a super soldier to clean up their mistakes. Now he wanted nothing more than to see the lab destroyed, something he should’ve done in the first place. He should’ve listened to Doug and Max, two of the doctors from the early days of the project. Their warnings had come to pass, but he’d been a stubborn, misinformed jackass.
Curled in the fetal position, Laura looked like a sick child, fragile and broken. His throat constricted, even though it was ridiculous to have feelings for someone you didn’t know. He was military, Army Infantry, for Christ’s sake, he knew how to pull a trigger without regret.
Laura rolled onto her back, staring toward the ceiling with glassy eyes. Despite the tremulous hold she had on life, she was already dead.
He existed as a government killing machine—an automaton they’d designed. Nothing more. He’d given his humanity away to the project. He wasn’t much better than the corpses he hunted.
“I’m so sorry this happened to you, baby. You were right, I deserved this, not you.”
Project Terminal: Legacy Page 2