Servicing the Undead
Isabelle Drake
While a stand-alone story, for maximum enjoyment we recommend reading Undone by the Undead first.
The city of Boston is hostage to a relentless blizzard, and the tabloid Hayden Thomas writes for warns readers of a new strain of zombie roaming the streets. Hayden already knows what these particular undead seek from the living—fierce, ritualistic sexual encounters.
Having sex with an ice-covered, smudgy-eyed woman in tattered fishnets and a barely there miniskirt is Hayden’s first mistake. His second is thinking he’s in control of what happens next. Mattie—one of the undead—forces Hayden to become her servant. And she wants more from him than just endless intercourse…
Servicing the Undead
Isabelle Drake
Dedication
For Susan Lemere. Once a buddy, now a friend.
Acknowledgements
William Hastings and James Anderson.
Chapter One
“Don’t make me wait.”
Hayden Thomas burst out of the Boston Public Library and charged face-first into the storm. Shit. Snowmaggeddeon—Boston’s worst snowstorm in a century. He’d almost forgotten it. But there it was, swirling and blowing in a fierce, icy blast that pretty much had the whole city at a standstill. The early December snow was heavy and deep, covering doorways and blocking windows. Smart people were at home, safely waiting for the city’s snowplows and salt trucks to take care of the mess in the streets and on the sidewalks. Hayden wasn’t smart like that. He was motivated. Or desperate. Why else would he have just spent hours digging through the library shelves for long-forgotten books about zombies while a blizzard raged outside?
A nasty blast of wind whipped past, filling his nose with giant flakes and blinding him. He slipped on his gloves to wipe his eyes and then hitched up his backpack and tightened the front strap. No way in hell was he losing his laptop to a gust of wind. No laptop, no job. No job, no money. Hayden could deal with unpaid bills, but he was Hayden Buchanan Thomas—wonder kid—he could not deal with being unemployed. Being a reporter for the Boston Weekly, Bob Keeler’s ridiculous tabloid, was causing him enough grief. Dodging questions at parties about what he was doing now that he was out of grad school and making up explanations to silence his Boston College cohorts was getting to be a full-time hassle.
After wrapping his itchy black wool scarf tightly around his neck, Hayden took the first careful step. Thick, wet snow sagged until his boot finally hit the concrete. Three slow, leaping strides later, he reached the landing of the low steps that led to Dartmouth Street, snow covered and silent. Moving one leg at a time, he made his way to the bottom, then continued in the direction of the Copley T Station at the corner of Dartmouth and Boylston. Once there, he paused, using his hand to shield his eyes. But there was nothing clearly visible on the horizon, only the blurry outlines of buildings obscured by endless snow. Not a single living person was out on the streets.
Once he got back to his borrowed apartment, he planned to stay put and wait the storm out too. Judging by the sexy insistence in his girlfriend’s voice when she informed him she was coming over, he was going to be at her mercy the whole time. Her semester at grad school had just ended and she was more than ready to keep him up all night. At first he’d been anxious about hooking up with a neighbor, but now he was really beginning to see the advantage to having Rachelle in the brownstone right next door. A hot flush washed over him, chasing away a sliver of the monstrous chill following him down the hushed street. He smiled beneath the scratchy wool. Letting her have her way with him was the least he could do, considering what she’d just seen posted on the internet. Especially considering she didn’t know the truth behind the pictures of him and the girl. He trudged ahead, blinking when his lashes got too coated to see. What exactly was the truth, anyway?
Damn if he knew.
He kept moving, closer to Rachelle and farther away from that unbelievable scene he’d just been part of in Bates Hall, the library’s famously traditional room. What he’d done there among those rows of green desk lamps was anything but traditional. Sex, video, and a lie more believable than the truth.
The drifts of dense, untouched snow made walking difficult, and the cold air was beginning to pierce his lungs, making each breath a whisper of pain, but he moved on, slowly, steadily. Determined and clinging to Rachelle’s demand—Be ready to fuck me senseless. He was ready. He just had to get there first.
An unnatural mixture of light came from buildings, the moon and the eerie brightness of the unrelenting storm. The historic Old South Church was behind him on his right, stoic and solid. The garish light of a 7-Eleven blinked up ahead on the left, red, green and promising twenty-four-hour access to Slurpees, cigarettes and bullshit junk food. Even in the blizzard the contrast was jarring.
On the back side of the Old South Church, an open window smacked against the stone exterior of the wide building. Dim light shone from within, but no human life was visible. Wind howled up Dartmouth Street, cold, biting bursts of snow-filled air, bitter like the ice of the Charles River about ten blocks away. The window snapped shut with a crack, then burst open again. Inside the church, the light dimmed, and the unrelenting gusts rushed in through the opening.
A shiver crept down Hayden’s stiffened spine, his back twitched. That scene at the library had started with an open window and swirls of fluffy, white snow. It seemed innocent enough—until the girl in the midnight-blue miniskirt and tattered fishnet tights climbed through, eyeing him from beneath a mass of brown-and-red hair. And then—
Hayden winced at the memory, forcing his gaze away from the church and his legs farther into Boston’s Back Bay. Of course there was nothing to see in that window—no girl with dark eyes, smudged with black eyeliner, and D-size breasts wrapped in strips of red wool. Crazy thing was, if he told someone he’d done some random girl at the library—right there on one of the sturdy oak tables, they’d probably be jealous. Or at least smack him a high five. Hell, the whole thing fit together like a fantasy from an old sci-fi pulp paperback. But now that he was away from the girl, he felt anything but fantastic. Whatever sexual spell she’d cast over him had faded, and he was reconsidering his state of mind.
And, he realized, reconsidering the girl.
Her physical strength.
Her power over him.
Unable to stop himself, he glanced back, searching through the whipping snow, scanning the wall of the church, tracing the points of the Gothic arches until he spotted the window. It was still open, still swinging slightly, and still empty.
Thank God.
Clutching the straps of his backpack, he trudged on, concentrating on maintaining a smooth, steady rhythm. The few blocks to Commonwealth Avenue went quickly, and once he spotted the rows of lighted trees lining the boulevard, the tension in his spine eased, and the lingering anxiety lifted. Even muted by the heavy snow, the tiny white holiday lights brightened the fierceness of the blizzard, making it almost postcard pretty, instead of what it actually was—a monster of a storm that had choked the life out of the entire city.
Hayden lifted his scarf to cover his mouth and pull in a warm breath. The air filled his chilled lungs. Relax. He had a hot girl waiting for him and, thanks to an accidental video of him tangled up with an edgy-looking girl at the library, a bonus check on the way. Life—or at least that night—was damn near perfect.
That was his last thought before spotting a familiar pair of heavy black boots peeking out from beside the snow-heaped bushes lining the front of his brownstone. He didn’t need to run his gaze up the long, lean legs covered in tattered fishnets and see that nearly pointless miniskirt to know it was her sitting on the steps. He didn’t
need to see because he felt.
Mattie. Her.
It.
The solid, booted feet swung in, disappearing. She’d be standing soon. Coming for him again. The air in Hayden’s lungs went cold and came out in a raw rush. Wind howled behind him, pushing him forward, propelling him. Same as when they’d been together in the library, her face was plain, her gaze scanning the area around them in quick sharp sweeps. But this time she wasn’t looking for just anyone. She was waiting for him.
“You thinking about paying those bills?” she asked, pointing to his backpack as she swung forward, her boots sliding easily into the deep drifts beside the bush. “It’s going to suck if they shut off your wireless.”
Hayden stiffened, breathing in the air around her. She isn’t right, that distant voice deep inside him shouted. And after years of ignoring that part of his mind that looked out for him and what he wanted, he was slowly starting to listen to it. He shoved his scarf below his chin. “It’s rude to go through other people’s shit.”
She set her hands on her hips and arched her back, forcing her incredible breasts into his line of vision. “How else was I going to figure out where to find you?”
“Why did you need to find me at all?” he asked, trying to circle her, to get away from her and the wrongness that was now seeping into the night.
She moved with him, gliding, matching his movement as though she anticipated each step.
“Is it about the pictures? The ones posted on the Weekly’s site?” he asked, thinking about the near-porn still shots of the two of them he’d accidently emailed to Bob—who’d uploaded them onto the Boston Weekly site within minutes. Asshole that he was. He’d do anything to sell a few more newspapers.
She kept moving with him, her brown eyes taking on the green sheen he’d thought he’d imagined in the library. “Yeah, it was the pictures,” she murmured, “but not how you think.” She tucked her fingers under of the strips of wet wool circling her torso and tugged. Bare white skin peeked between the wraps as she shimmied to adjust them. Not that her changes did any good. The full curves of her breasts and the tight peaks of her nipples were still totally obvious. Then again, maybe that was her point.
Hayden ground his teeth, but couldn’t pull his gaze away from her glistening, exposed body. Tiny icicles clung to the tangles of her hair and flakes of snow dotted her thighs, bare above the edge of the tights. He cleared his throat, trying to keep his mind from acknowledging the blood flowing to his cock. “The guy I work for thinks they’re a great tie-in to the zombie stuff—my piece, the comic convention and the opening of Zombie Rites. And all that stuff about zombies—”
“Roaming the streets?” she cut in, grinning as she dropped her hand to smack snow off her limp skirt. Once she got the clumps off, she ran her fingers across the hem, inching it up her bare thighs.
Holy fuck, he was starting to remember what it felt like to be inside her. Driving into her tight core, pounding until he couldn’t think straight.
Hayden glanced at the apartment. Rachelle was not peering out the window, watching for him. Thank God. He shifted back. Most girls would probably get pretty pissed at a guy who took a video of himself grinding his dick into her, but this girl seemed anything but pissed. Hayden found himself watching the flicker of her stubby black fingernails as she inched up the hem of her skirt. He knew she wasn’t wearing panties. Five inches was all it would take and her bare pussy—
He took a sharp step forward, ready to shove her out of the way if necessary. She grabbed his arm and jerked him close enough for her nipples to brush against him.
“My girlfriend is waiting for me,” he said, pointing to the third story of the brownstone.
Mattie tossed back her mass of hair, exposing a small black device tucked into her ear. “I know. ‘Don’t make me wait.’ Isn’t that what she said?” A cruel smile tugged on the corner of her full mouth as she took in his expression. “You don’t understand yet, do you? Let me explain. You belong to me now. Until I’m done with you, that is.” She forced one of her legs between his thighs and lifted until her knee pressed into his solid cock. “I’m liking you more and more, so we may be together a while.”
Hayden jerked his arms free and reached for her pale throat. The skin beneath his palms was wet, slick, smooth. And cold, lifeless.
“Go up there and fuck your girlfriend,” she said, then shoved him away and moved toward the wall of the row house. She propped her booted foot on the cornerstone and lifted herself. She slithered up; her hands clutching the frost-covered bricks, then paused about ten feet from the ground. “And make it hot. Because I’ll be watching.” And with that, she crept up to the third-floor window and nestled under the eave.
* * * * *
Still feeling the soul-stealing gaze of Mattie’s cold, hungry eyes, Hayden jogged up the snow-covered steps. After kicking the heavy, white heap away from the door, he pulled it open and stumbled inside. A gust of icy air and cloud of flakes followed him in, blasting his face and sending a chill down his neck. Once the door was closed tight, he paused, looking through the beveled glass, searching through the blizzard-filled night. Of course she wasn’t there where he could see her.
She was hovering above the window, waiting.
A new type of shiver worked its way down his spine. A fierce tremor that he didn’t know but understood.
Do it.
Whatever she wanted, he would do. If only to keep her away until he could get control, decide what to do next. Hell, he needed more than control—he needed to find a way to get rid of her.
Breathing in a lungful of warm air, he headed up the stairs, each step filling him deeper with a new dread—bringing Rachelle into whatever it was he had with Mattie. He would make it all right, manage the situation. As long as Rachelle didn’t come in contact with Mattie, he could keep his girlfriend out of it. Whatever it was that he’d gotten himself into.
The landing of the third floor was smaller than the other two because there was only one apartment on that floor. Rachelle was waiting for him there, standing next to the open door with her back against the wall. She was wrapped in a long brown fur coat, the smug expression on her face confirming that she expected nothing less than scorching-hot, mind-blowing sex.
Tapping one bright-pink nail on the plush collar, she asked, “Remember this?” She smiled and swayed lightly as she held the coat tightly against herself.
Hayden let out a thick breath and eased his shoulders back. His book bag bumped his thigh, a reminder of what was at stake. “Yep.” He eyed the coat, a mass of fur that probably cost a year’s tuition. “You had it on the first night we met.”
She nodded, stroking the fur with two fingers. “I still feel a bit bad for ditching that other guy.”
Her words were a lie and they both knew it. Rachelle rarely felt bad about anything she did.
“He was in over his head,” Hayden replied with a shrug, remembering the way the poor guy kept glancing at the door every time Rachelle touched his arm. “He knew it, though,” Hayden continued, but even as the words fell from his lips he was suddenly reconsidering the other man’s response to Rachelle. Maybe the guy had been looking for a way out because he’d sensed Rachelle was the type of woman to pull a man down the wrong path.
Why hadn’t Hayden considered that before?
“Stop looking like that,” Rachelle said. “It’s too late to worry about him now.” She ran her fingertips down his damp sleeve. The collar of the heavy coat fell forward, revealing very expensive-looking, intricate black lace lingerie shoving her breasts upward into his line of view. The gentle swells were impressive, but not in the dangerously sexy way Mattie’s tits demanded attention.
A fat drop of melted snow ran down the side of his face, trickling its way to his neck. Rachelle was right. It was too late. Too late for her. For him. He clenched his jaw, fighting a roll of anger.
Feeling the threat lingering outside, he grabbed both of Rachelle’s wrists and lifted her arms abov
e her head. He leaned into her and used his weight to press her to the wall. “I don’t want to think about that anymore.”
Her bright-blue eyes gleamed. “Are you going to apologize for keeping secrets and not telling me you had such a naughty side?”
What kind of girl gets so turned-on by her boyfriend screwing around with another woman? Maybe he didn’t know Rachelle as well as he thought. Maybe he didn’t really know her at all.
Hayden ran his mouth down her throat and then straightened, taking his time to gaze across the black lace covering her breasts. Still holding her to the wall, he angled back and checked out the matching garter belt and panties. Sheer stockings covered her legs. “I don’t feel very sorry,” he said. It was mostly true.
She ran her tongue between her lips then bit her lip. It was a coy move he’d seen before, but this time he understood it was anything but.
“How do you feel?” she asked.
“Ready to fuck you senseless. As requested.”
“What are you waiting for?”
Hayden dropped her arms and shoved her through the open door.
Chapter Two
“I’ll be watching.”
Hayden didn’t wait for Rachelle to catch her balance. Instead, he pushed her again, shoving her through the living room, down the hall and onto his bed. She fell in a heap and then rolled onto her back, grinning, the gleam of her perfect teeth reminding him of her privileged upbringing. He tamped down on his resentment and focused on the straight, clear expression in her eyes, the keen intelligence that snared him that first night at the art opening when she’d ditched the other guy for him. He moved his gaze across the solid muscles of her arms and legs, a reminder of her long athletic career. She was a lot of things many women would never be.
Still on his feet, he could stop now and risk not giving the creature outside what she wanted.
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