Hungry for Your Love: An Anthology of Zombie Romance (21 page)

Not even when I begged her to on my parents’ porch, when I asked her to just lie and say she'd wait for me. I looked again at her.

Her body was in worse shape than mine, but I had only burst out the back of my skull, not shattered my whole body. She saw me hesitate, and both corners of her mouth rose. Despite the scars, her smile was still the same.

She held her hand out to me, to help me up from the pit. "I'll wait for you this time, John."

I looked at the boy, and looked at her. My lungs tried to take a deep breath. It just seemed the thing to do. I turned to face her, took her hand, and prepared to be hungry for quite some time.

195

I saw the stitching around her wrist fail a moment too late. I held her hand in both of mine, the guard a soft cushion for my undead pratfall. I looked back up at her at the top of the pit; she looked down at me. I held her severed hand up, and she wriggled it in mine, and there was nothing left to do but laugh.

That was three months ago. Now we travel through the Midwest. She has packed the gown into a bag on her shoulder. She changes clothes whenever she can find a fresh supply. She prefers to wear sundresses in the city, but changes into sweats when we're between towns. I left my tux in a trash can somewhere outside Toledo. Instead I wear a hoodie and jeans, and rotate T-shirts from bands that were popular before we rose. I got a hat to keep the wind out of my skull. Our companions follow our example. They wear newer clothes snatched from abandoned strip malls or thrift stores.

It gives us an advantage. The clothes are often enough to avoid trouble with the locals. They are used to looking for shambling folks wearing the latest in undertaker fashion, not folks in regular clothes. Maybe they think we're just homeless drunks. We don't stop to ask.

We raid factory farms. I never liked the things, even when alive. But they're good for us now. Chickens, pigs, other livestock, all caged into an amazing density of brains per square feet. It's a deep delight to wade into a mass of beakless, terrified chickens. As our feet squish through their waste, we break their necks and crunch their skulls in our mouths. Chickens as methadone, I guess.

Sometimes it's not enough. Bob stayed clean for nearly a month. He had taken to wearing tweed jackets, lecturing us on the hidden beauty of
The Grapes of Wrath
like the professor he used to be. We found Bob crunching through a little girl's skull. He sat on 196

the remains of her dollhouse, eyes glazed over, shoveling the grey stuff into his mouth. I had to put him down when he tried to eat Maria.

Despite the occasional relapse, we keep trying to convert others to our cause.

Sometimes they're people we knew. Recognition helps us then, but often they're perfect strangers. Humor breaks through the slow mental fog of the undead. We have a routine down. "Need a helping hand?" I yell, and toss Maria's hand to them. Every time we get another one clean, her eyes shine—a little bit with the preservative we spray on each other, but also with the memory. Maybe my eyes shine too.

The addiction is still there. The monkey—like us—never dies. We cope with that as best we can. Maria takes my hand when I get the shakes. I press the remains of my lips against hers when she keens into the night. We make do.

Tonight, it's another chicken farm. The farmer's family is holed up in the basement, their tempting brains safely out of reach. Our family shambles into the pens to feast on avian brains. Maria is beside me. We look into each other's eyes, chickens clucking in panic around us, and smiles crinkle our stiff flesh. I can't be away from her any more. I need her. If we're apart, I feel the hurt deep inside of me. Her hand slides into mine and gives it a squeeze. I know she feels the same way.

I know we've really only traded one kind of hunger for another.

And that is enough for us.

197

Zombified

by Isabel Roman

Yum
.

There was no other word for it. Mr. Tall, Delicious, and Doctor-fied had just introduced himself as her co-inheritor of a no-doubt ramshackle former plantation on Martinique. At least this trip wouldn’t be as boring as Rebecca Davis originally imagined six months ago when her lawyer called her with the news.

Through some convoluted distant family connection, she and the gorgeous man before her were now on their way to the Caribbean. It was Rebecca’s first real vacation in two years, and she’d originally been annoyed she had to share it with a stranger.

Now, with Griffin Stoddard,
Doctor
Griffin Stoddard, standing before her, she changed her mind.

Visions of the two of them in a very private hotel room overlooking a picturesque vista rather than traipsing to wherever the mansion was located entered her thoughts.

Yum, indeed.

“A pleasure to meet you in the flesh, Dr. Stoddard.” Rebecca smiled. Her smile felt a little like the cat who ate, or was about to eat, the canary. She didn’t care.

Too many pleasurable things to count flashed through her mind in the time between spotting the handsome doctor and now. How many, she wondered, could they accomplish before leaving Martinique? And did they really need to see the old mansion?

“Griffin, please,” he said.

His hand was large and warm against hers, firm as he shook it. He looked slightly old-fashioned with his blond hair and bright blue eyes. She half expected him to kiss the back of her 198

hand.

He didn’t. She found herself slightly disappointed with that. Still, Rebecca’s palm tingled long after he released her hand. They stood before their gate at Baltimore/Washington International Airport, the bright fall sunlight angling across the floor as other travelers mingled around them.

Just then, the boarding announcement echoed over the speakers, and Griffin gestured for her to precede him.

Once inside the plane, he hoisted his large black duffel into the overhead compartment at their first-class seats. Unable to resist, she watched his arm muscles, how his shirt stretched across his chest. Distracted, she didn’t realize he’d sat next to her until he leaned in.

“Quite the adventure we’re in for,” he whispered as the first class flight attendant made his way toward them.

“Is that so?” she asked, the wicked glint in her eye leaving no doubt about her interest.

“Absolutely.” His answer was quick, as if he’d been thinking the same thing. But then he smiled, relaxed beside her. “Receiving a letter from a French Lawyer about an inheritance that isn’t an Internet scam or in Nigeria is an adventure in my book.”

It was his wink that almost had her forgetting their extremely public setting. The fact that her FBI credentials would probably not prevent them from being kicked off the plane should she jump the delicious doctor next to her had her forcibly buckling the flimsy airplane seatbelt.

Rebecca forced herself to keep her hands in her lap as the male flight attendant took their drink orders. Oh, but how fun it would be to lick some gooey tropical concoction off the doctor’s chest.

* * * *

199

“Your room or mine?”

Instead of verbally answering, Griffin picked her up. Her legs wrapped around his waist as he carried her across the floor. Rebecca barely noticed the view before he placed her on the bed. Quickly rising to her knees as he stepped back, taking his addicting scent with him, she ignored everything but Griffin and pulled him down.

Those large hands she’d admired the entire flight here, and the all-too-brief stopover in San Juan, slid under her top. Mouths fused in a rush of fire and need. She unbuttoned his linen shirt, and ran her hands over the smooth paleness of his chest. Her fingers tingled at the sensation, and her breath caught at the feel of his skin beneath her palms.

Kissing his chest, tongue darting out to taste him, Rebecca whimpered as Griffin squeezed her upper thighs, moved his hands to her backside and up her spine, taking her tank top with him.

Rebecca abandoned herself to his hard muscles and the texture of his skin as it rippled under her questing fingers. This was passion—pure, unadulterated passion. And he was such a beautiful creature, she couldn’t help herself.

Her mouth clamped down on his nipple as she unbuckled his pants. Griffin undid her bra and she wiggled free to shove his pants over his lean hips. Immediately twisting around, she pushed him onto his back and straddled him, wearing only a thin scrap of panties and her flat sandals.

The look in his eyes as she knelt before him was hot and hungry, and her heart pounded in anticipation. No regret stirred within her as she took what she wanted, what Griffin’s demanding kisses and sure hands promised the both of them. Quickly stripping him, she crawled up his body.

200

“Delicious,” she murmured. Strength, restrained power, and unbridled passion waited for her. All for her. “I need you now.” His hands secured her to him, his eyes a burning blue in the dimness.

Legs clamped tight around his waist, Rebecca pushed down, rotating her hips against him. His hands gripped her, stilling her for a moment, but just a moment. Those long talented fingers of his skimmed along her breasts, nails scraping over her sensitive nipples, then down her belly, smoothing over the silken material of her panties.

“You look like Aglaia,” he murmured, tangling his hands in her long curly hair. “The youngest and most beautiful of the Three Graces.”

Surprised, Rebecca smiled, touched at the sentiment. “That’s sweet.” She thanked him, touching her lips to his in a soft kiss. Sweet or not, no matter how she appreciated his words, or that he even
knew
the names of the Graces, she wanted him—no, she
needed
him.

Maneuvering her body onto his, she teased his rock-hard erection, touching him, caressing his skin with her hands and body.

“Rebecca,” he growled. Grabbing her waist, in one quick move he rolled them so he hovered over her.

Griffin pressed against her entrance, moved only the tip against her. He kissed her hard, stealing her breath, and she moaned as he released her from his powerful touch. Grabbing her beneath her knees, he pushed her legs back almost to her shoulders. With erotic slowness, his blue gaze watching her intently as she shivered with the anticipation of their joining, Griffin entered her. Stilling for a moment, now completely encased in her, he paused and she relished the feel of this connection.

Whatever this was between them, it was strong.

201

Her breath came in short gasps. She curled her nails into his arms, arching into him, silently begging him to move. He pushed her legs further back, leaned down, and kissed her again.

Moving within her, pumping slowly at first, and then in a steadily increasing rhythm, he entered her again and again. Rebecca’s breath hitched, her passion coiling tighter, her body ready to explode. Griffin’s hands trailed down her, teasing heated flesh, making her ache for more. She wrapped her legs about his hips, straining closer as they clawed at each other. Passion built and exploded, and built once more.

And still, they couldn’t get enough of each other.

Rebecca yelled his name as her back arched in a mind-blowing climax. She clamped around him, gripping his arms tightly, thighs clenching around his hips. Feeling his body tense over her, hearing him rasp out her name, she reached up and held him close as they both peaked.

Long, long minutes later, she opened her eyes and tried to remember how to speak.

Happy to stay like this for the foreseeable future, Rebecca turned her head. Griffin watched her through half-open eyes.

“I vote for staying here tonight.” His deep voice rumbled along her skin.

Nodding as his hand skimmed over her hip, Rebecca agreed. “The lawyer can wait.”

* * * *

“We’ll never get there at this rate,” Griffin commented as he finished buttoning his pants.

They’d pulled their Jeep into a secluded path off what passed for a main road in Martinique for a quickie. Fleur de Martinique Plantation was in the middle of the island, and even with the rental’s GPS, he wasn’t certain they’d be able to find it easily.

“You’re right,” Rebecca replied. “I just find it hard to keep my hands off of you.”

202

Griffin shot her a grin as he started the engine on their Jeep. Though he’d never been to this particular island, he’d driven through several Caribbean ones and a Jeep with four-wheel drive was always best.

Another hour, two wrong turns, and the condescending GPS recalculating the route later, they arrived at what was presumably their inheritance.

“It’s got potential.” Rebecca finally said.

“Doesn’t look at all like Collinwood,” he agreed.

She slanted him an amused glance. “
Dark Shadows
?”

Griffin shrugged. “You have a better comparison?”

“No,” she sighed, dark eyes sparkling in the dimness of the turnoff. “Though I’m certain there are ghosts wandering the halls. Hmm,” she added as they sat there, staring at the monstrosity. “Maybe Brad Pitt’s house from
Interview with the Vampire
?”

“Good one,” he laughed. “You’ve got that whole tropical feel, the dense rain forest. I can see that.”

“I even have my own Brad Pitt.” She turned to look at him, wiggling her eyebrows up and down.

Griffin returned her smile but said nothing. Then, before either could be distracted further from their destination, he released the brake and started down the rutted drive. It was just after noon, yet the sun was blocked from view by dozens of thick trees, their overhang forming a bower that reminded Griffin of Sleepy Hollow. Switching on the headlights and feeling absurd that it was necessary, he watched a small unrecognizable animal dart across the lane.

The sun dappled the yard around the house, spots of bright Caribbean sunlight not doing a damn thing to dispel the murkiness that hung over the property.

203

“This is reminiscent of every horror movie I’ve ever seen.” He shook his head as another bump loomed in the middle of the road.

“One,” Rebecca said and laughed, an oddly carefree sound in the gloom of the driveway,