Servant of the Undead© 2018 Isabelle Drake
All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
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Riverdale Avenue Books
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Cover by Scott Carpenter
Digital ISBN: 978-1-62601-446-6
Print ISBN: 978-1-62601-447-3
First Edition May 2018
Dedication
For Loyalty:
Wherever you are hiding, I will find you
Chapter One
“Do it.”
Hayden Thomas shifted on the wooden captain’s chair, trying without success to ease the stiffness in his spine. Whoever selected the chairs for the Boston Public Library obviously never sat in them. The damn things had no armrests and were crammed so close together Bates Hall looked like a cafeteria. Except for the green desk lamps and rows of bookcases lining the wood paneled walls of the vast, deserted room. Hayden leaned back, placing his palms on the small of his back as he stretched.
Fine, it did look like a library. And it was everything the city claimed it to be, historical, well cared for, and a fucking architectural gem. He just didn’t want to be there, digging through old books sane people shouldn’t care about. As if on cue his phone flashed. He picked it up and read the message. That article will be done tonight. Right? You’ll have something fresh. Right?
As if he had a choice. Tuesday by midnight, his weekly deadline.
Hayden tapped in his reply, yes and yes, then shoved the phone in his pocket. He wasn’t going to look at it again until he had what he needed. Something fresh. What the hell did that mean anyway? A paycheck. Control over his future. Little things like that. So he’d come to the library, to look through actual books. He’d scanned through several about werewolves, then set aside the ones on vampires when he found the ones he needed.
Coming to the library had been a good idea. Not only had he found fresher content than the guys only using the internet, but he’d also made a video clip of the interior with his webcam. He might be able to use that on the paper’s website as part of the series. A scholarly approach to give the piece an air of authority. Bob would love the irony of that.
“Lights in this section getting turned off early. ’Bout 20 minutes.”
The security guard had come up behind Hayden and was standing in the aisle between the rows of gleaming wood tables. He motioned toward the expansive windows that started at the top of the bookshelves and reached up about 15 feet to the domed ceiling. “Snowmaggeddon, man. Everybody’s leaving. You should too.”
Outside, snow whipped against the glass, so fierce and bright that even though the sun had gone down an hour ago, the white blast was still visible. The bloated flakes brushed against the glass, spun in circles, creating a delicate, menacing spiral. Shit. A storm. As if he didn’t have enough to deal with. He’d promised Rachelle, a girl he’d started seeing, that he’d be done with the article that night so they could “do something fun, something crazy” tomorrow. Hayden eyed the stack of books surrounding his laptop.
“Do you have a photocopy machine?” he asked, scanning the area behind the guy.
“Yeah.” The guard looked at the piles of books, his mouth twisting into a frown as his gaze skimmed over the titles. “Where’d you find those?”
“In the scary monster section, under Z for zombies.”
“Seriously, dude. I need to learn how to protect myself.” The man whipped a folded newspaper out of his back pocket and brandished it, showing the headline. “It’s all in here— Zombies Flooding Beantown Streets, Hungry for Human Flesh.” Hayden didn’t need to see it in print because he’d come up with it when Bob insisted they write some pieces connected to the comic convention beginning that upcoming weekend.
“You believe what you read in The Boston Weekly?”
“They wouldn’t print it if it wasn’t true.” The man folded the paper and tucked it back into his pocket. “Or could be true.”
No wonder Bob Keeler had enough money to live in Chestnut Hill.
“The copier?”
The man pointed to a hall tucked between two bookcases. “It’s down there. But like I said, you better get going.” He stepped away, then turned back, his gaze hopping from one book to the next before finally landing on Hayden’s face. “Snowmaggeddon. Zombies. Be careful. Article says to avoid isolated places and stay with others.”
“I get it,” Hayden assured him, using his firmest professor voice, the one he’d perfected while being a grad assistant at Boston College.
The guy gave Hayden the once over, doubt lining his face as he turned, the folded paper waving at Hayden as he marched off.
That teacher voice was handy, but according to Rachelle, he used it—and the attitude that came with it—too much. She complained about his work ethic and said they needed to have more ‘epic fun.’ How was he supposed to have any kind of fun when he had years of student loan payments coming his way and only a one page CV to deal with them?
He swung out of the chair, grabbed the three books he hadn’t gotten to yet, and headed for the hall. The photocopier, positioned under a rectangular window, hummed in the dimly lit space. He lifted the lid, set the book on the glass surface and started flipping through, scanning for the chapter he needed for his research. Research. Right. There was a euphemism. He jerked through the pages, black-eyed stares and ragged clothes flashed past. Good God. Zombies. Why did people waste their time with this sort of thing?
But Bob Keeler was convinced that because Rodney McKinnon, star of Zombie Rites, was coming to the comic convention, that if the paper featured anything having to do with zombies, especially something fresh, that he’d sell thousands of copies. The man was crazy. Sure, Boston was going to be overrun with comic book freaks. But those people were educated, right? They didn’t believe zombies were real. So why would they want to read about them?
Hayden flipped to a chapter where the zombies looked like regular, living, people. No rotting flesh, no odd jerky movements. His skin prickled. What if you couldn’t tell a zombie from a normal human? He paused at a drawing made by an eyewitness, a so-called zombie tracker. Apparently, the witness spent an entire summer stalking a tribe believed to take part in hazing rituals that included a lot of sex. The drawing showed two men, bare-chested and wearing chaps. One had a rope tied around his waist leaning against a tree while the other man tied the opposite end of rope to the trunk, tying him up like a dog so he wouldn’t get away. Hayden lifted the book closer. They weren’t wearing anything under the chaps. And the tied-up guy had a huge boner.
He turned the page. More drawings. The guy tied to the tree held the ass of a woman and was pounding that boner into her. Apparently, the witness had in mind to document the entire ritual. There were five more drawings, each one showing the man fucking a different woman while others watched. And all the women looked very satisfied. And willing.
Hayden’s cock stiffened.
Okay, so they’re people into group sex, but where was the proof they were zombies? Proof that zombies are real. He snickered. That would be fresh, so that’s what he needed. What he didn’t need was the distraction of a rock-hard dick. He reached down and shifted the zipper on his khakis.
The last page in the section outlined the zombie tracker’s theory of that particular tribe’s sexuality. Those zombies could remain “alive” by either eating human flesh or through frequent sex. The sex method worked because the live human passed out afterward, giving the zombie an opportunity to escape. Sometimes humans were taken as sexual servants, kept like pets and used for sustenance. The sexual hazing rituals were designed to encourage survival skills and teach tools to acquire and use humans.
Overhead, a window squeaked open. Gusts of snow flew in. Fingers scratched at the sill, clawing at the wood trim. A full hand appeared, covered with a black fingerless glove. The other hand appeared. Then a forearm, wrapped in red wool, an elbow, bare skin peaking out between the strips of red. A mass of tangled hair, a mix of brown and red, popped through the opening. One of the hands reached over, swiping the hair away. Two brown eyes, rimmed with smudgy make-up peered down.
“Give me a hand?” she said, her voice rough, probably from climbing up the side of the building. One of her hands started to slide, and she used her elbow to brace herself in the frame. “Please?” Snow and wind blew in, slickening the sill and her elbow started to slide. “Hurry.”
Hayden glanced down the hall, but he was surrounded by dim silence. That security guard was probably combing the stacks, looking for anyone else desperate enough to be at the library in the middle of a snowstorm. Or, more likely, trying to find the scary monster section. The coast was clear, so he pulled a chair over and stepped on to the seat.
He reached up. “Give me your hand.”
Clouds of snow blew in, blinding Hayden, but he reached up, grabbing for the girl. His hands connected with something wet and cold, an arm maybe, and he curled his fingers around icy flesh.
“I think I have you,” he said, trying to look up but getting a face full of snow.
“Pull me in.”
Hayden yanked until he heard a yelp.
“Okay, stop. I can climb down from here.”
“You sure?” he asked, still holding on.
“Yes. Get out of the way.”
Hayden squared himself. “I’m not sure I care for your tone.”
The girl’s voice came again, the hesitation completely gone. “Get out of the way or I’m going to land on you.”
“Suit yourself,” Hayden said, stepping off the chair.
Between gusts of wind and snow, a body appeared. Somehow she’d managed to turn herself around in the window, spinning so her legs, covered in tattered black fishnets, came down first. Booted feet landed on top of the copier. A tiny, midnight blue skirt barely covered her ass. Her torso was wrapped in some kind of red sweater that left parts of her skin exposed. Once she was fully out of the window and standing on the copier, she reached up on tiptoe, closed the window and turned around.
Hayden looked up her skirt and caught a glimpse of skin. The fishnets were real stockings. That meant her thighs were bare. What if she wasn’t wearing panties? Her pussy would be—
“Do you always have such an attitude when someone asks for help?” She put her hands on her hips, her long fingers flashing white in the fingerless gloves, and looked down at him. Her arched back made her breasts look huge.
Instead of waiting for an answer, she dropped down to sit on the copier, then hopped down to the floor. Correction. Her breasts were huge. Tumblr worthy, for sure.
Shit. His hard dick had conjured her up.
She lifted her hands to smack snow from her hair, her breasts shaking from the movement. Maybe the sweater would give way on its own? A scent drifted through the air and settled in the back of his mouth, on his teeth—bitter, like the smell of blood.
“You’re not very friendly. Is there anyone else here?” she asked, running her hands across her arms and legs, spreading snow onto the floor and flicking some on to him.
Obviously he hadn’t conjured her up, because if he had she wouldn’t be looking for anyone else besides him, and she sure as hell wouldn’t be using that tone. And that smell—he wouldn’t have added that, couldn’t have imagined a scent so insidious, one that filled his mouth, making him salivate and gage at the same time.
“It’s a bit snowy out there.” He swallowed, clearing his throat. “I think the flurries might be keeping people at home.” If she noticed his sarcasm, she didn’t respond. She didn’t seem to notice his rude staring, either, so he kept on. If she wasn’t going to bother being polite he wasn’t either.
Her nipples were peaked tight, rubbing against the red fabric. The scent faded. Either that or he stopped caring. “Aren’t you cold?” he asked, staring at the red material wrapped around her torso. It wasn’t really a sweater; it looked more like a strip of fabric spun around her like a giant ace bandage.
She finally got the last of the snow off, but her clothes were soaked and clinging. Even so, she wasn’t shivering. Didn’t even look cold. Or concerned about the oddness of climbing in through a library window in the middle of a storm. Hayden backed up and she came closer, then brushed past him and marched halfway down the hall, her skirt brushing against her thighs. Hayden started wondering about panties again. She definitely seemed like the kind of girl who would go without. When she reached the end of the hall, she looked from side to side, then strutted back, coming straight for him.
“You’re right about the storm, and it’s empty on the streets, too. That’s why I came in here,” she said, her voice switching to an awkward sweetness when she continued. “You are the only person around.”
“There’s a security guard.”
Her lip curled. “Doesn’t sound like a good idea. Not the kind of man I’m looking for.” She moved forward, swaying so that the hem of her skirt came up, showing the tops of her stockings.
Obviously, this girl was trouble with a capital T, and Hayden had spent his whole life avoiding trouble, playing it safe and getting things done. He backed up, reaching for the stack of books he’d left on top of the copier. Never mind the copies. He tucked the books under his arm and marched back the way he’d come. He didn’t even take one last look at her gorgeous round breasts, pouty lips, or fishnet-covered legs. No need, really. He wouldn’t be forgetting any of the details any time soon.
“Wait!” she called after him, and he heard the thud of her boots as she took off.
The even rhythm followed him all the way to the table where he’d left his things. He set the books down and started putting his papers into folders. She came up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist.
“Um, hi?” she said, her smudgy eyes taking on a desperate sheen. “My name’s Mattie, by the way.”
Hayden reached over, trying to X out of the update email he’d been writing to Bob Keeler so he could shut down his computer. Her hands slid down from his waist, over his ass, and around thighs, the light pressure easily heating him up even through the thick material of his pants. Trying to ignore her and his lust, he jabbed at the keyboard, hitting whatever he could reach. He had to get the hell out of there before he started acting on the fantasies flickering in the back of his mind. This girl was going to get him into trouble, somehow. He just knew it. “I really have to get going.”
“But, you—I—” Mattie rolled herself around him, hopped onto the table, and wrapped her legs around him. She reached behind to brace herself with her hands but slipped back when her palm landed on one of the books. She looked back, stayed still for a few seconds, slid the books around, running her hands over the titles. “You’re reading about zombies?”
Hayden cleared his throat. “It’s research.”
“What did you find out?” she asked, flipping open the book with the pictures.
He reached around and pushed the book closed. “Nothing.”
She opened another, thumbed through the pages. “What were you looking for?”
“Anything. Nothing. Whatever I can find.”
She spun around and shimmied, her breasts bouncing. “I can help. What do you need?”
“Thanks, but I don’t thin
k you can help. Unless you have proof that zombies are real. Like some pictures, you know. They’re combing the streets, looking for flesh. Haven’t you heard?”
She grinned up at him, her eyes shining with unmistakable lust. Was it for the zombies or him? “Sounds scary,” she said, lifting her eyebrows.
“Scary is right. If I don’t get something fresh about zombies my editor probably won’t give me any more special assignments.”
She didn’t say anything, just sat there rocking her shoulders, staring at him with her smudgy eyes, licking her pouty lips and looking exactly like a Barbie doll gone bad.
Why was he talking with her anyway?
Hayden tried to free himself from her thighs, but she was stronger than she looked. A lot stronger. He reached down to pry her legs off, but the rows of table lights went off, and he was blinded. His eyes began to adjust, making use of the light from the street lamps coming through the windows. It was flickering from the snow, so it was still difficult to see clearly. He fought her legs again, pulling in a deep breath as he did. That scent settled across his tongue, spread to his teeth, making his mouth open.
Hayden gave up trying to break free from her legs and reached for her chin, tipping her face up to try and reason with her. “I think this section is closing, so—” When their gaze connected, his words fell away. Her eyes flickered in the darkness, glowing green.
She blinked, but the gleam came back as soon as her gaze found his again. It wasn’t the snow casting the light in her eyes. It was something inside her. Something that explained why she was climbing around in the night, not wearing a coat, not cold. Hayden slid his palm across her neck to settle on her throat. There had to be a pulse.
Of course.
He was being totally ridiculous.
Just to be sure, he slid his hand down lower, stopping over her heart. The thick straps were in the way, so he tucked his fingers under them, stopping when he felt the swell of her breast. Before he could feel her heartbeat, she laid her hand across his and guided it lower, brushing his palm across her nipple. The peak tightened and she sighed softly, the sound a cross between a moan and whimper.
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