My anger is so sharp it feels like glass shards are riding a tide of acid inside my veins. "What, I'm your bodyguard, so I can't have a special friend?"
Ali jumps in. "No. You can't."
"Do yourself a favor and keep your opinions to yourself," I tell her.
Jason gapes at me. "You're the big guy's bodyguard?"
"Leave," Frosty tells him. "Now."
He scurries off.
"Rude," I say.
"No more so than you." Frosty leans toward me. "You owe me, remember. More than that, you agreed to do a job, so stop screwing around and actually do it."
"I thought you didn't need a bodyguard."
"Don't tell me you're dumb enough to believe everything I say."
We glare at each other--we glare and we don't look away. We're both panting, our tempers high, our minds fogged with alcohol and adrenaline. The tension thickens between us until I almost can't breathe through it. But I know I'm breathing, because I smell the musk of soap embedded in his skin.
I lean closer, until I see the flecks of gold sprinkled through the navy in his eyes. His lashes are longer and spikier than I realized, and if I didn't know him, I'd accuse him of wearing falsies.
He's so beautiful right now it hurts to look at him.
His lips part, drawing my gaze--holding it captive. They are full and soft and I wonder how they'll taste.
Taste?
What the hell is wrong with me?
"Come on, princess." Gavin stands, takes my hand and pulls me to my feet. "It's your lucky day. I'm going to be your special friend." He drags me downstairs to the dance floor, and despite the frantic pulse of music, he wraps me in his arms and moves slowly, purposely.
"I'm not sleeping with you," I tell him.
"Good to know. Now listen up, buttercup."
Ugh. "Before you turn on the charm to change my mind, you should know the answer will forever be no. You're not my type."
"You don't like perfection? That's okay. I don't like girls with bad taste. Now zip your lips. I'm not here to throw a party in your pants."
Oh. I peer up at him, my brow furrowed. "How are you going to be my special friend then?"
"By giving you a bit of advice."
Advice. Gross. "I'd rather let you throw that party."
"Too bad. My boy, Frosty, he's stubborn."
I snort. "That's not exactly a news flash."
But Gavin isn't done. "You're trying to squeeze good milk out of a rotten cow. I see that. I get it. But he's never going to drop Kat. Just ain't gonna happen. And if you try to win him away from her, you're going to end up hurt."
My mouth goes dry. "I'm not interested in him that way."
"You sure about that? You looked like you wanted to eat his face. Granted, he looked like he wanted to eat your face, too, but even if you managed to get him into bed with you, you wouldn't be able to keep him there."
A lump grows in my throat. "I don't want to talk about this."
"The truth isn't always easy or pretty, but it's the truth."
I don't know how to respond. Not that it matters. Ali and Cole come up beside us to dance. Or, more accurately, to dry-hump.
I'd be embarrassed for them, but my world is currently spinning off its axis. Faster and faster... My stomach threatens to rebel. Violently. I close my eyes and swallow a moan--and the burn of bile.
"I've got her, Gav." Frosty's voice, his warm breath suddenly tickling the locks of hair pressed against my dampened skin. "Let her go."
"Are you sure? I can--"
"Let. Her. Go." He wraps me in his arms, holding me against his side and leading me away from the dance floor. I stumble, but he keeps me upright. "Come on. Let's get you home."
Cool air hits me, and I'm glad. I hadn't realized how much I'd overheated. Unfortunately, it's too little too late. I wrench from Frosty and dive to the gravel-covered ground. When I land, half my dinner comes up in a rush.
"At least you didn't vomit on my Italian loafers," he mutters.
"That would have been...awesome," I splutter.
Strong hands hold back my hair as the other half of my dinner pulls the eject lever.
"I've been keeping track of your flaws, you know," he says.
"How kind of you." Bastard.
"This one, the inability to hold your liquor. It's actually kind of cute."
Double-dog bastard.
"You look so tough. You are tough. But get a couple shots of vodka in you and it's a total TKO."
A moment passes, or maybe an eternity. I finally stop heaving. He picks me up and carries me to Cole's Jeep, muttering softly, "What am I going to do with you?"
I want to open my eyes, want to read his expression, but I don't have the strength. "I didn't mean to ruin your night. I'm sorry."
He sighs. "I only wish that was the crux of the problem."
His soft words are the last thing I remember until I wake up however long later, haunted by another dream of burning to death by crimson fire. Dynamis, only twisted and warped.
Where I am? I ease upright to look around. Queen-size bed. The sheets are Star Wars themed. There's a dresser with one drawer open, a white T-shirt hanging over the side, but there's no other furniture.
This is... I'm in Frosty's bedroom. His inner sanctum. He's always made me sleep on the couch. Where is he?
My stomach protests as I stand. At least my dizziness is gone. I search the apartment, but find no sign of my partner...roommate...whatever. He must have dropped me off and run for the hills, hoping to salvage what he could of the night. Does he care nothing for his own safety? Do I? I never should have had those shots. I lost focus in a hurry. I also lost my dignity.
Fun only lasts a little while. Consequences are a lifetime. I know this better than most, which makes me twice the idiot for tonight's behavior.
I stalk to the front window that overlooks the apartment's parking lot. The sun is a big ball of orange-gold fire as it rises in the horizon. Beautiful, but not quite high enough in the sky to chase the shadows from the lot. At least I can see that Frosty's truck is gone.
Asshole! My cell phone is still in my pocket because I'm still dressed in my club clothes. I text Frosty--where R U?--but he doesn't respond.
Desperate, I text Ali. The fox has left the henhouse. Any idea where he is?
Her reply comes only a moment later. U had vomit breath. We ALL jumped ship.
Me, my cheeks going up in flames: He's w/U?
Her: No. He's w/the boys. Apparently he needed something called "punch in the face therapy"
Me: Why? & does PITFT mean Cole & the boys R actually hitting him?
Her: Not sure. & YES!!!
Me: They R so lucky
Frustrated, I throw my phone across the room. Of course, I suffer instant regret. If I break it, I can't afford to buy another one. But as I turn to collect it, I glimpse a shadow creeping through the parking lot. Zombies? A Peeping Tom? Spy?
My heart is nothing but a war drum as I grab the .44 hidden in a hollowed-out book on the coffee table. I'm out the door and tracking the shadow a few seconds later.
This seems to be my MO lately. Going off alone, practically begging to be ambushed. But make a move, shadow. Try to take me down. I'll give worse than I get.
I circle the entire lot twice, but find no hint of foul play. No scent of rot. Still. I'm not reassured. Just before Anima captured and tortured River, I suspected I was being followed and watched, yet I could never find proof.
When I return to the apartment, a sense of foreboding accompanies me.
I'm ashamed of myself--because I'm not actually ashamed of myself.
Dude. I'm a mess. A tangle of confusion, disdain, self-loathing...and desire.
At the center of all this turmoil? Camilla. In the middle of an insult-fest, I got hard for her. I'd all but called her a low-down dirty quitter, but rather than slap me, she'd looked at me with those eyes. Those luminous golden eyes. Suddenly, all I could think about--all I cared about--was tha
t she was the embodiment of sex. A punk-rock Barbie with a jones for something rough and dirty.
I'd had a few too many shots, that was all. Vodka turns the most devoted guys into he-sluts.
But does it really matter? I'm not devoted to Kat anymore. She's certainly not devoted to me.
After the boys and I drop off the girls--Ali at slayer HQ and Camilla at my apartment--we pick up Bronx, Justin and River, who's still in town to help to train the new recruits. New recruits I've never met and haven't vetted to make sure they're legit.
Bad Frosty. Bad.
That shit changes now.
We return to Hearts and reclaim our booth in the VIP lounge. It's bright and early, which means it's after hours, all the patrons and employees gone...which means it's also self-serve.
"What's this I hear about Punch Frost in the Face?" River asks.
"Hit and forgive has always been a way of life for us," Cole explains. "But we turned Frosty down. We forgave him for his stupidity a long time ago, and he didn't even have to ask."
River glares at me.
"You got a problem?" I ask.
He runs his tongue over his teeth, but remains quiet.
Whatever. I turn to Gavin. "Jaclyn is a good girl. So why haven't you committed to her yet?" When he--a single guy--put his arm around Camilla, when he danced with her, I'd wanted to get in his grille and rage. A reaction I still can't explain. I'm not into her in a romantic way.
But here's the shocker. I think I'm starting to like her in other ways. The way she fights. Her wit. Her determination. The way she charges forward, never trying to sidestep a difficult issue or pretend it doesn't exist. The sadness she always carries and can't hide--it makes a guy want to do whatever proves necessary just to make her smile.
Hell, maybe I've even gotten a little possessive of her, seeing her as my own personal shadow.
"Dude," Gavin says. "Are we gossiping like junior high girls now?"
"Yes," Bronx says.
"Too bad. Me and Jaclyn, we aren't up for conversation."
Justin punches him in the shoulder.
Gavin frowns at him. "What the hell was that for?"
"Anytime my sister's name is mentioned, I get the urge to hurt you."
Gavin rolls his eyes. "Fine. You want the deets, you get the deets. She's pretending she isn't interested in me right now."
"Maybe she isn't interested," Justin quips. "Ever think about that?"
"You've seen my face, right?" Gavin proudly pats his own cheeks. "Everyone's interested. Including you guys. Don't try to deny it. Anyway. She'll commit to me if and when I decide I'm ready to settle down."
"Dude," I say, mimicking him, "I hope some guy comes along, sweeps her off her feet, and she leaves you in the dust."
A muscle jumps beneath his eye, but his tone is casual as he says, "You actually want her to suffer? Cruel, Frosty. Cruel. By the way, I've changed my mind about punch therapy." He leans over the table to jab his fist into my mouth.
The impact hurts like hell and sends my head whipping to the side. I smile at him, knowing there's blood on my teeth.
"What about you?" I nudge Cole before wiping my mouth. "You and Ali engaged yet?"
"Not officially. I'm still trying to plan the proposal."
"Something to melt her panties off, I'm guessing."
"I suggest a banner in the sky that reads Slay the Undead with Me Forever," River says.
Cole flips him off. "Even without the ring, she's mine. I'm smart enough to take myself out of the game before the other team steals my balls and goes home."
Gavin draws back his fist. "You wanting a little sesh with the doctor, too?"
"Bring it," Cole says with relish.
"Um, sh-should I come back later?" a small female voice asks. "Miss Ankh called and asked me to take care of you guys while you're here, but I can go. Do you want me to go?"
A waitress after hours. Sweet.
"Are we restricted to drinks or can you work a little magic in the kitchen?" River asks.
"M-magic," she stammers.
"Then we want you to stay."
We place our orders and she rushes off.
Since hitting puberty, I've noticed that slayers always get one of two reactions from the opposite sex. We scare them, or we turn them on. I scared Kat for years. That's why she turned me down again and again before finally saying yes. And even after we were together, when she trusted me with her life, she still had trouble accepting who and what I was.
Girls like Ali and Camilla are rare. They see us for what we are--violent when the situation calls for it, willing to cross any line to do what needs doing--and yet they stand by our sides anyway. Hell, they help us cross those lines.
My teeth gnash when I realize I've lumped Camilla into the same category as Ali. It's Love and Jaclyn who are like Ali, not Camilla.
I like her better now, yes, but I still don't trust her.
"What's the deal with your sister?" I ask River, and hate myself for going there. Do I back away from the subject? Hell, no.
He raises his chin the way Camilla raises hers, and for the first time, I notice how closely they resemble each other. Same pale hair with dark brows. Same golden eyes. Same flawless bronzed skin decorated with a multitude of black-and-white tattoos. Only, he doesn't make the fly of my jeans strain, so I can kind of tolerate him.
"I don't have a sister, remember?"
Right. The whole "disown her for betraying the crew" thing.
"And what do you mean, what's the deal with her?" he snaps. "Why do you even care?"
"Ali had a vision." Cole leans back, drapes his arms on the edge of the booth. "Her first on her own. In it, Camilla stops some woman from shooting Frosty, saving his life."
"It's why they've been hanging out. A lot," Gavin offers helpfully.
River drums his fingers against the table and glares at me. "How will she stop the shooter? What happens to her afterward? What, exactly, does Gavin mean by hanging out? And how do you know the vision will come true? The ones Ali's had with other people have been proven. But one on her own? No. The fact that it came to her in a different way must mean it, too, is different. Perhaps even changeable."
I kick myself for not asking those very questions. In my defense, I'd been too wrapped up in hate for Camilla and my love for Kat to care. "Cole. Answer the man."
"You're right," Cole says. "It is different. For the first time, Ali saw two versions of the same vision. In the first, without Camilla, Frosty dies. In the second, with Camilla, Frosty lives. As for how it goes down, all I know is exactly what I told you. A woman aims a gun at Frosty and Camilla stops her from shooting him. How? I don't know. Ali says Camilla and the woman have zero contact." He flicks me a "sorry, man" smile. "Now, if you want the down-and-dirty about Frosty and Camilla hanging out, you have my stamp of approval to interrogate Frosty."
"Nothing's happened," I offer without being pressed. Because it's true. "And don't worry. Nothing will." Perhaps I sound a little less confident now--River returns to glaring.
The waitress arrives with our food, the scent of different spices wafting around the table. I lose interest in conversation. Everyone does. We devour our hamburgers like the savages we are.
Afterward, we talk a little longer before deciding to call it quits and head home.
"Stay in touch," Cole says as I climb behind the wheel of my truck. The shots of vodka have long since worn off; I'm good to go. "I mean it."
"I'll come see you tomorrow. Tour the new place."
"Good. You don't, and I'll hunt you down." He reaches in to grind his knuckles into my scalp then strides to his Jeep.
I'm strangely excited to see Camilla, and I make the drive faster than I should. I just want to check on her, to assure myself she's okay. Because I'm a nice guy. Probably the nicest ever.
Once there, I slow my roll and quietly step inside, not wanting to wake her if she's sleeping. I know how little sleep she actually gets. When I close the door, hinges squeak
. Damn it.
A shadow moves from the corner and the next thing I know, I'm being tackled to the floor. The lights are off, but I would recognize Camilla's scent anywhere--roses, pecans and the musk of my shampoo--as she pins me to the floor.
"It's me," I tell her, going lax.
"I know." She swings at me, nailing me in my already sore jaw. "You want punch therapy, well, get ready. There's more where that came from."
She got the drop on me. She freaking got the drop on me.
I grab hold of her waist and flip her to her back, our lower bodies unwittingly rubbing together. Gritting my teeth, I maneuver to my knees. Our gazes lock...and it isn't long before the tension I experienced at the club returns, thickening the air.
Pale hair spills around her shoulders. Her lips are parted, as if begging for a kiss. My kiss.
"Get off me," she says without any heat.
Or stay right where I am...
No. Hell, no. I jump to my feet, looking anywhere but her direction. "You're better, I see. That's good. That's real good. Now let's get some sleep."
"Sleep? It's almost noon."
"Thanks for the update." I stride into my room. For once, I don't bother with the lock.
I snooze the rest of the day. A mistake. By the time night arrives, I'm wide-awake. I stare at the ceiling until the butt crack of dawn, finally rising to shower and dress. My plan for the day? Avoid Camilla. We could use some time apart. But she's stretched out in front of the door, drenched in sweat and tossing and turning. There are scratches all over her arms.
I close the distance--or try to. The little witch set a trip wire in my path. Not seeing it until too late, I pitch forward, land with a thud and a curse.
She jolts upright with a .22 extended and cocked.
"Careful," I say. "It's just me."
"I know that...now." She's panting as she lowers the weapon. "What are you doing?"
"Leaving." I stand slowly, not wanting to spook her further.
"Just let me--"
"No. I'm leaving. You're staying." I pick her up by the waist, not exactly hating the way she fits my grip, and carry her to the couch, where I unceremoniously dump her. "I mean it. Stay here. You're in no condition to be out and about."
I stalk outside without another word. The sun is rising, the sky gradually brightening with vivid streaks of pink and purple I can't bring myself to hate today.
Like Camilla so rudely pointed out, I'm alive. Why not act like it? Why not enjoy what time I have left?
A Mad Zombie Party Page 11