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Authors: Isabelle Drake

Servicing the Undead

BOOK: Servicing the Undead
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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.

BOOK: Servicing the Undead
9.16Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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