A Mad Zombie Party - Showalter Gena (книги без регистрации TXT) 📗

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?

I slide into my truck an-n-nd she jumps in from the other side. I grip the wheel as she buckles up.

“Camilla—”

“Save your breath.” She digs inside the backpack she brought with her, soon withdrawing a toothbrush, small bottle of water and tube of toothpaste. When she realizes I’m staring at her, she harrumphs. “My go bag. Just so you know, I’m ready for anything, anytime.”

Wonderful. “You need a break from me. I need a break from you.”

“Too bad,” she says. “Better you need a break and live than get a break and die.”

I try again. “Camilla—”

“Besides,” she interjects, “I have a problem, and you’re the only one I can talk to, so whether or not you decide to help me, pretend to listen.” She peers out the window, as if waiting for my rejection.

I put the key in the ignition, gun the engine. “If you’re about to ask me for special friend advice—”

“Hardly. It’s not like I’ve been sneaking out to hook up with a side slice.”

“Good to know.” I relax into my seat, only then realizing how tense I’d grown, and ease the truck forward.

“And just so you know, I’ve never gone to bed with someone thinking it’s a onetime bang, or that the benefits package comes with zero benefits. That’s just how things turned out.”

“So...you want me to tell you how to score a guy long-term?”

“Yes. No. I want to discuss my nightmares.”

Okay. That I can handle. “Go on.”

She releases a pent-up breath. “Every night, I dream of bloodred flames. Flames I’m calling thanatos.”

Doesn’t sound so bad. I don’t mention that I’ve actually seen the flames. “First dynamis, a Greek word for power, and now thanatos, a Greek word for death. Someone in this car is a geek at heart. Hint—it’s not me.”

“You know the meaning of the words. You’re a geek.”

“I know the meaning of the words because I play video games, which means I get a pass. I bet you actually studied Greek.”

“I was a straight A student and proud of it. Or I would have been, if I’d gone to class.”

“Both a nerd and a sexy rebel. The girl next door meets the biker babe.”

“Did you just call me...sexy?”

I purse my lips. “Tell me more about the nightmares.”

“Well, the flames...they kind of kill me.”

She dies? “Kind of?” I snarl.

“Definitely.”

Nightmares aren’t visions, I remind myself, or even premonitions. “You should have told me the first time it happened.”

“Why? So you could cheer about it?”

I deserve that. “When did the nightmares start?”

“The night I was darted.”

“So the toxin is probably the cause. Has the antidote helped at all?”

“Not really.”

At least she is fine otherwise. “Maybe we need to hit you with a stronger dose.” I reach over to press the latch on my glove box. The lid pops open, revealing a stash of syringes Reeve delivered the day after my breakfast date with Raina. Just in case. “Use two. Also, we’ll have Reeve do some kind of sleep study on you.” So far the blood tests haven’t provided any new answers.

“Okay. Thanks.” Camilla stabs the needles into her thigh, one after the other, and again, she doesn’t flinch or gasp. As if the pain is insignificant or she’s totally numb to it. Maybe she is.

What has this girl endured over the years?

We lapse into silence as I drive to a nearby coffee shop, where I set up my laptop to do some schoolwork. While I draft my thoughts about The Tragedy of Macbeth—lust for power will kill you every time, yo—I ignore Camilla. Or pretend to. At one point, I order a coffee, and she requests a glass of water. When I order a sandwich, she asks the waitress about the cheapest thing on the menu—a mini sugar cookie. That isn’t a nutritious breakfast. Whatever. It’s also not my problem.

Camilla suddenly reaches out and grabs my arm, shaking me. “Let’s go. Now.”

“I’m not done.”

“I don’t care.” She swipes up the laptop, saves my work and shuts it down. “Please, Frosty.”

Please? From Camilla Marks? I reclaim my property, intending to offer a scathing remark, but panic bathes her features, stopping me. I’ve never seen her like this.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“I want to go.” She tugs on my hand, only to release me as if I somehow burned her. She steps away from me, muttering, “I’ll be outside.”

“Well, well.” A male voice, somewhat familiar, rises above the quiet chatter throughout the shop. “The traitor has emerged from hiding at last.”

Three members of River’s crew approach us. I’ve spoken to each guy at some point, but only really know the one in the middle. Chance. Or Knuckle Scars, as Ali calls him. He’s been sniffing around Mackenzie Love.

I stand and bump knuckles with him.

He looks from me to Camilla then back again. “What’s up?”

“Nothing much. You?”

“Same.”

Camilla adjusts her bag on her shoulder before stuffing her hands in her pockets. “Fingers crossed we never again run into each other, Frosty—that’s your name, right?” She attempts to march out of the store.

The guy on Chance’s right steps into her path. “Where do you think you’re going? Back to Anima?”

I swallow a retort, wondering how she’ll handle the situation.

“Anima has been destroyed.” She raises her chin. “The same fate you’ll suffer if you don’t move out of my way.”

He crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m quaking in my boots, princess.”