The Queen of Zombie Hearts

by Gena Showalter

  Cole slipped inside the room and threw the lock, ensuring that no one would bust in on us. Relief plucked the claws right out of the unease, and I thrilled.

  He was here. He was okay.

  He was mine.

  His gaze landed on me, and I shivered, waiting for a vision...hoping for one.

  Since the day we'd met, we'd experienced a small glimpse of the future the first time our eyes locked on any given day. We'd seen ourselves making out, fighting zombies and even relaxing in a swing. Today, like almost every day since my stabbing, I experienced nothing but crushing disappointment.

  Why had the visions stopped?

  Deep down, I suspected one of us had built up some sort of emotional wall--and I knew it hadn't been me.

  I was too entranced by him.

  Always he threw off enough testosterone to draw the notice of every girl within a ten-mile radius. Though he was only seventeen years old, he seemed far older. He had major experience on the battlefield, had fought in the human/zombie war since he could walk. He had experience with girls, too. Maybe too much experience. He knew just what to say...how to touch...and we melted. I'd never met anyone like him. I doubted I ever would again.

  He wore all black, like a phantom of the night. Inky hair stuck out in spikes, with leaves and twigs intertwined in the strands. He hadn't bothered to clean his face, so his cheeks were streaked with black paint, dirt and blood.

  So. Danged. Hot.

  Violet eyes almost otherworldly in their purity shuttered, becoming unreadable, even as his lips compressed into a hard, anguished line. I knew him, and knew this was his let's-just-burn-the-world-to-the-ground-and-call-it-good face.

  "What are you doing out of bed, Ali?"

  I ignored the question as well as the harshness of his tone, understanding that both sprang from a place of deep concern for me. "What's wrong?" I asked. "What happened out there?"

  Silent, he disarmed, dropping daggers, guns, magazines of ammo and his personal favorite, a crossbow. He'd come to me first, I realized, not even bothering to stop at his house.

  "Were you bitten?" I asked. Suffering? Zombie bites left a burning toxin behind. Yes, we had an antidote, but the human body could take only so much before it broke down.

  "I saw Haun," he finally responded.

  Oh, no. "Cole, I'm so sorry." A while back, Haun had been killed by zombies. The fact that Cole had seen him again meant only one thing. Haun had risen from his grave as the enemy.

  "I suspected it would happen, but I wasn't ready for the reality of it." Cole's shirt was the next to go.

  The blade-sharp cut of his body always stole my breath, and now was no exception, regardless of the horror of our conversation. I drank him in--the delightfully wicked nipple ring, the sinewy chest and washboard abs covered with a plethora of tattoos. Every design, every word, meant something to him, from the names of the friends he'd lost in the war to the depiction of the grim reaper's scythe. Because that was what he was. A zombie killer.

  He was total bad boy--the dangerous guy monsters feared finding in their closets.

  And he was closing the distance between us. I buzzed with anticipation, expecting him to draw me into his arms. Instead, he bypassed me to fall onto the bed and cover his face with scabbed hands.

  "I ashed him tonight. Ended him forever."

  "I'm so sorry." I eased beside him and brushed my fingers over his thigh, offering what comfort I could. I knew he understood that he hadn't actually ashed Haun, or even the ghost of Haun. The creature he'd fought hadn't had Haun's memories or his personality. It had had his face and nothing more. His body had simply been a shell for unending hunger and malevolence.

  "You had to do it," I added. "If you'd let him go, he would have come back for you and our friends, and he would have done his best to destroy us."

  "I know, but that doesn't make it any easier." He released a shuddering sigh.

  I looked him over more intently. He had angry cuts on his arms, chest and stomach. Zombies were spirits, the source of life--or afterlife in their case--and had to be fought by other spirits. That was why, to engage, we had to force ours out of our bodies, like a hand being pulled out of glove. And yet, even though we left our bodies behind, frozen in place, the two were still connected. Whatever injury one received, the other received, as well.

  I padded to the bathroom, wet several washrags and grabbed a tube of antibiotic cream.

  "Tomorrow I start training again," I said as I tended him, distracting us both.

  He glared up at me through lashes so thick and black he looked as if he wore eyeliner. "Tomorrow's Halloween. All of us have the day and night off. And by the way, I'm taking you to a costume party at the club. I'm thinking we'll stick with the whole battered and bruised theme and go as a naughty nurse and even naughtier patient."

  My first outing in weeks would be a date with Cole. Yes, please. "I think you'll make a very sexy naughty nurse."

  "I know," he said without missing a beat. "Just wait till you see my dress. Slutty doesn't even begin to describe. And you will, of course, require a sponge bath."

  Don't laugh. "Promises, promises." I tsked, then tried to continue more seriously. "But I never mentioned hunting." Too many people would be out, and some would be dressed as zombies. At first glance, we might not be able to tell the real deal from the fake. "I only mentioned training. You are working out tomorrow morning, aren't you?" He always did.

  He ignored my question, saying, "You're not ready."

  "No, you're not ready for me to be ready, but it's happening whether you like it or not."

  He scowled at me, dark and dangerous. "Is that so?"

  "Yes." Not many people stood up to Cole Holland. Everyone at our school considered him a full-blown predator, more animal than human. Feral. Dangerous.

  They weren't wrong.

  Cole wouldn't hesitate to tear into someone--anyone--for the slightest offense. Except me. I could do what I wanted, say what I wanted, and he was charmed. Even when he was scowling. And it was strange, definitely something I wasn't used to--having power over someone else--but I'd be lying if I claimed not to like it.

  "Two problems with your plan," he said. "One, you don't have a key to the gym. And two, there's a good chance your instructor will suddenly become unreachable."

  Since he was my instructor, I took his words as the gentle threat they were and sighed.

  When I'd first joined his group, he'd thrown me into the thick of battle without hesitation. I think he'd trusted his ability to protect me from any kind of threat more than he'd trusted my skills.

  Then I'd proved myself and he'd backed off.

  Then he'd accidentally stabbed me.

  Yep. Him. He'd aimed for the zombie snarling and biting at him; I'd stepped in to help, and, with a single touch, ashed the only thing shielding my body from his strike. Cole had yet to forgive himself.

  Maybe that was why he'd built a wall.

  Maybe he needed a reminder of just how wily I could be.

  "Cole," I said huskily, and his eyelids lowered to half-mast.

  "Yes, Ali."

  "This." A slow smile spread as I circled my hands around his ankles--and jerked. He slid off the bed and thumped to the floor.

  "What the hell?"

  I leaped on top of him, pinning his shoulders with my knees. The action caused the scar on my stomach to throb, but I masked my wince with another smile. "What are you going to do now, Mr. Holland?"

  He watched me intently, amusement darkening his irises. "I think I'll just enjoy the view." He gripped me by the waist, squeezed just enough to make sure he had my full attention. "From this angle, I can see your--"

  Choking back a laugh, I took a swing at him.

  "Shorts," he finished, catching my hand just before impact. I wasn't given the chance to tug free. He rolled me over, stretched my arms over my head and held me down.

  Tricky slayer.

  "What are you going to do now, Miss Bell?"

 
; Stay just like this and enjoy? I could smell the pine and soap of his scent. Could hear the rasp of our breath intermingling. Could feel the heat and hardness of his body pressing against me.

  "What would you like me to do?" I met his gaze, and the air around us thickened, charged with electricity.

  Would he touch me?

  I wanted him to touch me.

  "You're not ready for what I'd like you to do." He searched my face as he reached between us, his actions belying his words...please, please...until he slowly pushed the hem of my tee over my navel, revealing every inch of damaged flesh.

  He looked me over, and my stomach quivered. Heck, all of me quivered. He crawled down, down, and kissed one edge of the wound, then the other, and a moan left me.

  Please. More.

  But a moment passed, then another, and he merely returned to his former position, driving me crazy with his nearness but never doing anything to relieve the tension spiraling inside me.

  "One more week of rest," he said, his jaw clenched as if he'd had to force the words to leave his mouth. "Doctor's orders."

  I shook my head. "I'll ask Bronx and Frosty to train me."

  His eyes narrowed to tiny slits. "They'll say no. I'll make sure of it."

  "At first, maybe." Definitely. Everyone always followed Cole's rules. Even other alpha males recognized a bigger, badder predator. "However, I have a secret weapon."

  He arched a brow. "And what's that?"

  "Sure you want to know?" I asked, rubbing my knees along his hips.

  "Yes. Tell me." His tone had gone low, gruff.

  My knees slid higher, higher still, and he went utterly motionless, waiting to see what I would do next. I had two options. Try to seduce him into making out with me--the way he's looking at me...I might actually succeed this time--or prove I wasn't out for the count.

  Sometimes I hated my priorities.

  I planted my feet against his shoulders and pushed with all my might. He propelled backward, catching himself on his knees.

  "With you? Distraction," I purred.

  Laughing, he stayed where he was and lifted my leg to place a soft kiss on my ankle. "I must be seriously disturbed, because I like when you rough me up."

  Heat spilled into my cheeks. "You make me sound like some kind of he-woman."

  He laughed again, and oh, it was a beautiful sound. Lately, he'd been so somber. "I also like when you blush."

  "Yes, well, I'll bug Frosty and Bronx until they say yes." Apparently my inquisitive personality was not charming to everyone. Go figure. "They'll be so irritated by their lack of fortitude, they'll throw me around like I'm a meat bag."

  "So? You'll get a boo-boo I'll have to kiss and make better. Problem, meet solution."

  I swallowed a laugh of my own and had to concentrate to adopt a stern expression. "I'll let you kiss me better--if the boo-boo is on my butt."

  "Hmm. Kinky. This is a plan I can get behind... It's a very nice behind."

  Tease! "Cole," I said with a pout. "You can't flirt with me like this and then do nothing about it."

  "Oh, I'll do something about it." The gruff, wanting tone was back. His gaze locked on my mouth, heating with awareness. "Once you've been cleared."

  So, seven more days of Cole's china-doll treatment? Don't whimper. "Mr. Ankh would have cleared me already if not for you and your protests." I sat up and shifted my fingers through the silk of his hair. "I'm better now. I swear!"

  "No, you're finally on the road to better. But if you start training, that could slow your progress. Besides, you're mine, Ali-gator, and you're precious to me. I want you better. I need you better. And okay, yeah, I don't like the thought of my friends putting their hands on you."

  Ali-gator? Really? I think I would have preferred something like, I don't know, cuddlecakes. Anything was better than a comparison to an overgrown lizard, right?

  And had he just called me his?

  See? Melting...

  "Bronx is secretly into Reeve and Frosty is bat-crap crazy for Kat. They wouldn't try anything." And really, before Cole, no boy had ever tried anything with me. I had no idea what made me so irresistible to him.

  "Don't care," he said, leaning forward to nuzzle my neck. "I will put my boys in the hospital if they come near you. I don't share my toys."

  I had to swallow a snort. "If anyone else called me their toy, internal organs would spill."

  "Agreed. Like I said, you're mine. And, Ali, I'd love to be called your anything, especially your toy. I reeeally want you to play with me."

  Okay, I did snort. Hello, mixed signals. "I'd really like you to prove that, Cole Holland."

  His response? A groan.

  I sighed. There was nothing mixed about that, was there? "Back to the pimp hand you're planning to throw around." I had no doubt he could put people in the hospital--he had before--but his friends? Never. I opened my mouth to tell him so, only to gasp. He'd just bitten the cord of my shoulder, and the most delicious lance of pleasure had shot through me. "Cole."

  "Sorry. Couldn't help myself. Had to do a little proving."

  "Don't stop," I breathed. "Not this time."

  "Ali," he said with another groan. "You're killing me." He stood with me in his arms and gently laid me on the bed. He stretched out next to me but didn't pull me into his side.

  I swallowed a shriek of frustration. I wasn't sure if he was punishing himself for what he'd done to me or if he really was afraid he would break me. All I knew was that I missed the feel and taste of him.

  I rolled toward him and rested my head on his shoulder. His skin was warm and surprisingly soft as I traced a circle around the piercing in his nipple. Bad Ali.

  Smart Ali. His heart kicked into a faster rhythm, delighting me.

  Disappointed Ali. He remained just as he was, here but set apart from me.

  "When you're better," he finally said.

  His ability to resist me was so not flattering.

  "I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if I caused you any more harm," he added, and I lost my ire.

  His concern for me was beyond flattering.

  "Look, I have to help you guys in some way, King Cole." The moment the nickname left my lips, I knew I'd made a mistake. He'd embrace that one a little too tightly. "Doing nothing is destroying me."

  He pushed out a heavy breath. "All right. Okay. You can come to the gym tomorrow morning. We'll see how you handle things."

  I kissed his jaw, the shadow-beard he sported tickling my lips. "I think it's cute that you thought I was asking for permission."

  "Thank you, Cole," he grumbled. He cupped the back of my neck, tilting my head. My gaze met his. "I just want to take care of you."

  "You will...just as long as you keep your swords to yourself."

  His eyes darkened. "That's not funny."

  "What? Too soon? My near-death experience and your part in it aren't something we can joke about yet?"

  "Probably not ever."

  I nipped playfully at his chin. "Okay." Taking mercy on him, I changed the subject. "Will you finally tell me what's been going on these past few weeks?" Boss's orders. Business wasn't to be discussed. "As you can see, if it's bad news, I can take it."

  "Yeah. All right," he replied, his relief obvious. "To start, Kat and Frosty broke up again."

  I made a mental note to contact her first thing in the morning.

  "Also, Justin's sister is missing."

  Justin Silverstone used to be a slayer. Then his twin sister, Jaclyn, had convinced him to switch sides and join Anima Industries; the Hazmats, we called them. They wanted to preserve the zombies for testing and studying and planned to one day use them as weapons, uncaring about the innocent lives that were lost along the way.

  "She probably ran off, afraid we'd come after her," I said. She and her crew had helped bomb my grandparents' home. I owed her.

  Cole nodded. "Then there's my search. We need more slayers. I know there are kids out there as confused as you used to be, unsure why
they see monsters no one else can see, and they have no idea what to do about it."

  "Any possibles?"

  "Not yet. But two slayers from Georgia came to help us out until we've rebuilt our team."

  For a while, I'd thought the zombie problem existed only in my home state of Alabama. I'd since learned differently. There were zombies all over the world. Slayers, too.

  "You should have shared this info long before now. You are such a pain, Coleslaw," I said. Better, but that nickname wasn't the winner, either.

  "I know, but I'm your pain."

  And just like that, my irritation drained away. How did he do it?

  "Does Mr. Ankh know you're here?" Since my grandfather had died and my grandparents' house had been torched, Nana and I had moved in with Mr. Ankh and his daughter, Reeve.

  Mr. Ankh--Dr. Ankh to everyone outside his circle of trust--knew about the zombies and did all the medical work on the slayers. Reeve had no idea what was going on, and we were supposed to keep her in the dark. Or else. Her father wanted her to have as normal a life as possible.

  What was normal, exactly?

  "I gave Ankh's security the finger," Cole said with a twinge of pride. "He would feel the need to tell your grandmother, and I don't want to be kicked out and have to sneak back in. I just want to be with you."

  "So you're planning to stay here all night and hold me, Coley Guacamole?" Ugh. I shouldn't have gone there. That one reeked.

  He barked out a laugh. "I liked King Cole better."

  "That's not actually a surprise."

  "It just fits me so well."

  "I'm sure you think so." I gave a gentle tug on his nipple ring.

  "I doubt I'm the only one. And yes, I'm staying." He curled his fingers over mine, pried my grip loose and brought my knuckles to his mouth for a kiss. A second later, there was a flash of panic in his eyes. One I didn't understand and must have misread. Because he said, "Just so you know, you can call me anything you want--just as long as you always call me."

  Copyright (c) 2013 by Gena Showalter

  ISBN-13: 9781460330449

  The Queen of Zombie Hearts

  Copyright (c) 2014 by Gena Showalter

  All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.