Sing for the Dead (London Undead) (7 page)

“Get away from him, lass!”

“It.” She stepped back once, took another, luring the zombie child away from him. “How is this one different? What power does it have over you?”

Another zombie came shuffling, and another. These were bigger and Kayden lost a precious moment to look at them.

“Damn!”

Apparently, so had Sorcha. She yanked her arm away from the zombie child and it fell to its knees as she backed away.

“You let it get a bite out of you?” He couldn’t believe it. The woman hadn’t had a scratch on her after dispatching dozens of the blighters.

She sheathed one sword and gripped the bitten arm. “Oh aye, now you say that, after you’ve been bitten yourself then gone daft. Never, ever kiss me on a field of battle again! Too much distraction for the both of us.”

Kayden’s retort died unspoken as the child raised its head. New light shone in its eyes and it opened its mouth in a wide grin and hissed at them both. It was up on its feet faster than any live child could move and charged Sorcha. She brought her blade across the tiny body at an angle, parting it at the shoulder and cutting deep into its chest cavity. As it was forced to its knees, it reached for her. She yanked her sword free and stumbled away.

Kayden saw her face twist, knew the move she would have taken and didn’t. Normally a bladesman would have set his boot to the victim and pushed them off the blade. His chested twisted with a sick sort of gratitude that Sorcha hadn’t done it to the child, zombie or no.

He rushed to the fallen child, pausing to glance in the direction of the oncoming danger, then up at Sorcha. She gave him a jerky nod and turned to deal with the newly arrived undead.

Grasping the child by the scruff as he would a kitten, he lifted its face to his. The eyes were covered in the thin, cloudy film of a corpse. Amazing they were intact, to be honest. Eyeballs softened after death—less fluid pressure—and the longer a zombie managed to walk around the more likely softer bits were to burst or putrefy. Maybe the spark of intelligence Kayden saw earlier was only imagination.

The zombie child jerked in his grasp, lunging for him. Stronger, faster, definitely more intelligent. It’d tried to fool him with a moment of passive waiting, Kayden was sure of it. He’d used the tactic himself in the past.

The boy had been bright as a button, he had.

“What’s become of you, laddie?” The worst thing imaginable. And Kayden had seen too many horrors to have to imagine worse. Oh the child had been the best of his group, the brightest, their leader. And Kayden had failed them all. The proof lay in his hands, seeing the boy as a mindless zombie...Ralph, his name had been.

Thin lips, dripping crimson with Sorcha’s blood and his, pulled back from yellowed teeth. “Why...did...you...leave...us?”

Shocked, Kayden let loose his hold. It shot up toward his neck, grabbed handfuls of his collar. It gave a gurgling cry of triumph, cut short by the sound of steel slicing through the air.

Its head toppled backward, rolled and came to a stop at Sorcha’s feet.

* * *

“If you’re the one who’s gone mad, why are you checking over me?” Despite her logic, Sorcha sat passive as the big cat in human form studied the bite on her arm. The last kill had obviously disturbed him—more than the fact that it’d been a child. And she’d learned a long time ago not to further upset an already stirred-up predator.

“Something different about the effect of biting you as compared to me,” Kayden muttered, his brows drawn together in a deep scowl.

The sky began to lighten from what she could see through the broken glass panes above them.

“Do they always give way to the dawn?” Patience came easier after the hours of killing she’d done. It had been a long time since she’d been able to kill without remorse, her talent for bringing death as a gift to end suffering as opposed to a curse. For the first time in decades, she felt something akin to restful.

Perhaps exhausted was a better description. Still, she had Kayden to thank for it.

“It’s not as if they can’t stand the light, like vampires.” He took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and exerted gentle pressure to turn her head so he could study her scalp line. “More, they slow down during the day, become less active.”

Perhaps he had a need to see to her care. None of the dual-natured fae she’d interacted with had exhibited this much concern though. Obviously the mortal shape-shifters were a different breed. It would not surprise her if immortality made fae set a lower value on the lives of others.

“So the zombies didn’t retreat.”

Apparently satisfied, Kayden straightened and offered his hand. “No. We just ran out of walking corpses to kill.”

That would explain how the bloodlust had finally loosed its hold on her. The berserker in her would have kept going as long as there had been enemies to slice apart.

“But there
are
more.” She took his proffered hand in a firm grasp and let him help her to her feet. He kept her hand, though, and tugged her across the street and down another.

“There are always more.” As he spoke, she wiggled her fingers, wanting both hands free in case of trouble. He looked at her hand in his, brows drawn together, and released her slowly. “There’s a steady supply of daft hunters and tourists coming in, some scientists bent on studying the monsters. The pack can’t keep them all safe. And the homeless, the ones who couldn’t prove they had a place to go if they got out of the city. They’re stuck here.”

Her steps stuttered to a stop, her mind latching onto what he’d said. There was something there. Something important.

“I owe you an explanation for what happened back there with the wee zombie, lass. I know it. But can we let the topic rest until I can get us both settled and safe?” He glanced downward, then took her hand in his again. “Time to get cleaned up and maybe sleep a bit.”

Whatever her intuition had caught in the moment flickered out of being as he pulled her back into a walk. A peculiar tightening in her chest brought her attention to her hand in his. Large hands, strong, and roughly calloused. And yet, his hold wasn’t unpleasant. Rather, she was strangely hypersensitive to his touch. Odd.

“Yes. It can wait.” Curiosity wasn’t one of her drivers in any case. If it upset him this badly, she could wait until he chose to share—or not—as he needed. The long-lived could afford the time to be patient.

Silence fell between them, awkward perhaps, and yet it gave her time to ponder her change in mood. A strange man, Kayden, vibrant and alive where the fae she’d grown up with were pale ghosts of living beings. She’d found him cocky, arrogant, at first. This latest version of him puzzled her.

“Shape-shifters live long lives, do they not?” She’d thought so, but in her experience, only mortals’ finite lives burned with such brilliance.

Kayden didn’t look back, instead shrugging his shoulders. “Seth is older.”

“You are not young for your kind either.” Where did he get his energy from, then? If not the fear of death or the blessing of youth, why did he
live
so fiercely?

“No.” Kayden chuckled. “Are you hoping for me to be younger or older? I’ve seen a lot in my time. Some of it can age a man beyond his years, but then again, that sort of time can also give a man an appreciation for the time he has on this earth.”

She shook her head, struggled to make sense of it. “You are unlike any being I’ve ever known.”

“Ah well, then.” He tugged her round by the hand to lead her up a set of steps onto the landing of a townhouse. “Isn’t that the honest truth? And I’d be willing to bet you’ll never meet the likes of me ever again. Best get to know me while you have the chance.”

He winked at her.

Whatever the encounter with the zombie child had done to him, he was recovering quickly. Before she could think of any sort of response, he opened the door and ushered her inside. “The lift works, but I tend to prefer the stairs.”

As did she. She set her foot to the first step and began climbing. “Lifts are too close, fail too often.”

Attacks were too easy when one was trapped in a tiny box of metal, some made of cold iron.

“For one of the Fair Folk, you seem to handle the...machinery of modern housing without much of a fuss.”

She kept on up the stairs, but she appreciated his attempt at circumspection. Good to be around another warrior, one who respected the reluctance to discuss potential weaknesses. “My mortal blood affords me some resistance. A metal box is still a metal box, though.”

Even some humans harbored issues with such closed spaces.

“Aye, it is.” Kayden chuckled, the sound sending delicate shivers up her spine.

She missed a step.

“Careful now.” Strong hands came around her, one cupping her elbow and the other at her waist providing a steadying support. “Only a few more flights. My flat is on the sixth floor. Are ye coming down off the combat high, then?”

“I’m all right.” In truth, it was worse. Her limbs shook with fatigue and her coordination obviously had gotten away from her. There’d been battles in the past where she’d fallen in her own tracks once the bloodlust drained from her. Too afraid to approach, her own allies had left her where she lay. In moments, she’d fall into oblivion. Helpless.

Not yet.

“Shall I carry you?” Beneath the teasing lilt, she heard an undercurrent of worry in Kayden’s voice.

Shaking her head, she grit her teeth and pressed onward. She wouldn’t be humiliated by a few flights of stairs. “No need.”

“I’ve not got many supplies, but there’s a pot of soup on the stove. We’ll have a bowl each to warm us up, and then I’ll see you tucked into bed.”

“A blanket would suffice.” The words tumbled out faster than she’d meant. Would he think her afraid?

“Ah, lass, my mother’d turn in her grave if she found she’d raised a boy who couldn’t take proper care of a lady.” Kayden clucked and pressed her forward onto the landing of the top level. “I’ve slept plenty a night on the floor and can do it again. I’ll not get a wink of sleep if you refuse the comfort of my bed and we’ll both end up on the floor for no reason but pride. Better you let me see to your comfort and we’ll both get some rest. It’s the way of it for good men raised proper, more so for shape-shifters. The more dominant we are, the more it fusses us when we cannae care for the friends we’ve made.”

He opened the door to his flat and entered first. She did not particularly mind what some might have considered a breach of courtesy, especially when he took in a deep breath of air as if searching for scents. Too many of her old comrades had died in the imagined safety of their own homes.

Appearing satisfied, Kayden indicated the interior with a sweep of his arm. “Come in, my new ally, and be welcome.”

Not a traditional welcome, to be sure, but closer in sincerity than any she’d heard in a long time. Not many kept to the older ways, be they human or fae and she had no knowledge of interactions between the latter and shape-shifters.

Humans were the connection between all the supernaturals, the one race to interact with them all through the centuries even as the supernaturals had hidden from the world. And from humans, had come the zombies. “It is always humans,” she murmured, more to herself than to him, and she entered his home.

Chapter Five

It was large, for a single studio in London. Or perhaps it seemed larger than most, simply because it lacked anything much to fill it. A pair of mattresses had been stacked at the far end, covered in clean-looking sheets with plenty of blankets folded neatly at one end. A lone duffel bag lay in one corner, easily retrieved if the need to leave arose. A camp set of pots sat on the tiny stove unit in the kitchen area. He’d not lived here long, from the looks of it, nor was he planning to settle in either.

Of course, she had no room to criticize, as she had naught but the clothes she wore and the weapons she carried. Her purpose in London was one of reconnaissance and eliminating any potential threat to the fae if she found it. At this point, she wasn’t sure if the zombies would be considered a true threat to either of the Courts in any case despite the evidence of their ability to feed on fae flesh. The more powerful fae were strong enough to avoid being cornered by the walking dead. Of greater concern was the mystery fae behind the creation of the magical lure.

Kayden stepped to the stove and began pulling things from the cupboard. “It’s a bit new, this place. The previous owners were able to evacuate and there are no other tenants in the building. I managed to lay claim to it before some of the more enterprising landlords thought to rent these out to visiting hunters.”

“You own the entire townhouse, then?” Surprised, but perhaps she shouldn’t have been. A longer-lived mortal like a shape-shifter could amass a decent amount of wealth by human standards if he were so inclined.

“Rent. I’d no desire to own. Everything is temporary when you move through the human world ‘on the down low’ as the Americans say.”

A laugh escaped her. More of an amused huff. “And have you been to America?”

“Aye. Interesting continent. I prefer Europe, though, especially Scotland and the countryside around London.” He took a pitcher with some sort of filter affixed to the top and poured water into a pot. Shape-shifters had hardier constitutions than normal humans and she, as fae, needn’t worry about consuming tainted water either as her small spark of healing could take care of any damage it might do to her. Not that he would know it, but perhaps he filtered the water for the taste. She smiled, watching him. A male with taste, something about the concept—and every nuance of him—fascinated her. As a shape-shifter, other fae might look upon Kayden as a savage, a beast. And here he was chopping a few onions to flavor a soup.

“The countryside has always been beautiful.” She had a preference for the sweeping fells of northern England, though the rolling green hills farther south had once been every bit as beautiful by moonlight. Only in the more recent centuries had she learned to tolerate the press of iron and concrete of the major cities. “Why are you here, then? Why the center of London?”

His hands paused, his grip on the kitchen knife tightening for a moment before he went on cutting dried strips of meat. “I passed through a year ago.” Another long moment grew heavy with silence. “When I heard of the zombie infestation, I came back to have a look around and decided to give Seth’s pack what aid I could. It’s always a good idea to have a few well-placed men who owe you a favor. An alpha of any breed is a good connection amongst shape-shifters.”

A truth, but not the whole of it. He was a cat, after all, and when did any of them give a straight answer? She spared a faint smile for her momentary whimsy. Perhaps wine would drink itself and she would find the way down to the answer she sought.

Again, her gift for the future sparked, but no vision came. No knowledge of an impending death washed over her. Only a hint of surety—she needed to dig deeper and continue on her line of investigation. She’d have let the thread of conversation end there if her gut didn’t insist she needed to know more about why he was here. Perhaps she’d learn more from a slightly different approach.

“The station tonight, I know why you took me down there, and for that, I am grateful.” Rubbing her upper arms, she turned in a slow circle, taking in the sparse furnishing, the lack of keepsakes of any kind. Mortals with good memories tended to keep both somehow. But this man, this man had nothing that wasn’t newly acquired. Everything had the look and smell of having been freshly unwrapped from some package. Facing him again, she tilted her head as she studied him. “Why do you go hunting down there?”

He shrugged. “Much the same as you, lass. Patrolling isn’t always enough to take the edge off the need to hunt. I see a lot of stupid human men waste their lives heading into the parks every night. They make the mistake of thinking mindless zombies would provide interesting sport, a whole new kind of trophy hunting though a walking corpse goes to dirt. You can’t stuff one of those and hang it on a wall somewhere. Those hunters, they get cocky, brandishing some bit of clothing or some trinket they’ve looted and then they get themselves cornered or surrounded. Dumb and daft, they end up eaten, and worse, they add to the infestation. It makes me angry to see all of this every day and best to take my anger out where it will at least do us all some good.”

Some part of Sorcha warmed to the idea. How many beings would simply vent their wrath without a care for the harm or the good it would do others? “Why did tonight surprise you?”

His jaw tightened.

A bit of intuition, another spark of foresight darted through her consciousness. The child, the child. It had everything to do with the child. But how had that zombie been different than the others in any other way but what it used to be?

Kayden had stopped stirring the soup. Ever so carefully, he set down the spoon and switched off the heat. “I knew him.”

He picked up the pot and poured a bit of soup into two camp mugs. Taking one in each hand, he offered her one. Careful of the hot sides, she took hers gingerly and followed him to one side of the room.

“The boy was one of those street urchins you’d see running about the city.” Kayden braced his back against the wall and allowed himself to slide down until he sat on the floor. “Doesn’t matter what decade, there’s always bound to be some. Orphans, mostly, or runaways. If they’re lucky, they band together in packs of their own to survive life on the streets, pickpocketing and nicking a few things here and there for their survival.”

She joined him, sitting within arm’s reach by his side. “But he was human?”

Kayden nodded. “Aye. And he was a bright lad. He could tell I wasn’t strictly normal, though he didn’t say as much. He knew enough to let a man keep his own secrets. He was holed up with his pack in some of the old tunnels in Notting Hill Gate, closed off and not in use. They’d all learned not to trust adults, young as they were, but I’d been camping in another tunnel nearby. After a couple of days I guess they decided since I hadn’t tried to harm them, I must be safe enough to talk to. Besides, they wanted to know how I’d avoided being caught by the station guards. Even street-smart kids are still curious.”

“Was it so easy to avoid detection?” For a shape-shifter, it probably had been. Normal human guards would easily overlook a shadow in some abandoned tunnel. Even a large predator like that could lie in the shadows and hide from eyes that didn’t expect to find it.

“If a mess of children could successfully hide from the station guards every night, of course I’d have no problems doing the same in order to have a quiet piece of sheltered territory to sleep in for a few days.” Kayden snorted. “I suppose they might have been looking for a bit of something to believe in, and a supernatural is a brilliant discovery to a wee one.”

He hadn’t avoided her original question, but he was working his own way to giving her his answer. Smiling, she took a sip of soup. Surprisingly rich flavor burst across her tongue, savory and warming. How had he managed to turn a few onions and jerky into such a satisfying comfort?

“You like it, then?” He’d been watching her. “I made this for the kids too. It’s mostly in the seasoning for the jerky. Any greens you can find are a bonus, added nutrition and flavor. I carry the jerky when I travel in case I’m not in a place where I can run down fresh meat, but you can make it stretch by turning it into a soup. I left them an entire package of this jerky when I moved on.”

He fell silent. She continued to sip, waited.

“They didn’t want me to leave. Said there were rumors of people falling ill. Random people gone mad on the trains. Too cold for them to find another hidey-hole up on the streets so they had to stay in the underground.” Kayden set his mug down on the floor with exaggerated care and then crossed his arms over his knees. “But I didn’t want them becoming too attached to me. Liked them all well enough, but big cats like me are loners by nature. We drift, we move on. And that’s what I did. I left them.”

And how much chance did a group of children have in a city with an epidemic running rampant? Oh, she didn’t fault him. Impossible for him to have known how bad it all would have gotten. But she was beginning to understand the weight he must carry with the memories.

“I didn’t know,” he whispered. “The zombie virus was only a rumor at the time. I was already out of the city by the time they set up the quarantine. And when I came back, I lost time arguing with the human officials. Had to contact Seth’s pack to have a reason to be here, to look for them. And by the time I could, the children were gone. Their scents were scattered, too lost in the chaos for me to track any of them. But I keep going down there, hoping to find out what happened to them. And tonight, I saw Ralph.”

Safe enough to assume Kayden’s reaction had more to do with the guilt and the shock than any supernatural power the zombie might have had over Kayden, then. Relief swept through her. The chance of zombies developing powers was unlikely but the effect would have been devastating. After a moment she set down her own mug and reached out to give him a tentative pat on the arm. Awkward, but she wasn’t used to giving consolation to someone who wasn’t dying. And yet, she wanted to. Her heart ached for him, even as the emotion surprised her.

He covered her hand with his, then curled his fingers around it. “I didn’t take it well when I caught the scent of your blood, lass. If we’re to fight together, you mustn’t do that again.”

“I...” His gaze caught hers, held her with unsettling intensity. She fell silent—no desire to argue with him but unwilling to give him a false promise either.

“You’re a fierce warrior, of that I have no doubt.” He lifted her fingertips to his lips. “But it undid something inside me to see you bleeding.”

The heat of his lips pressed against her fingertips sent thrills up her arm. Her breath caught and her pulse quickened. Her nipples tightened beneath her tank top. How did he trigger such hunger in her? How was she still thrumming with energy after slacking the blood madness?

What was he waking inside her?

Intuition poked at her. But it wasn’t answering her questions so she mentally shoved it aside.

He released her hand and reached for her, his gaze never leaving hers as he cupped her cheek. She parted her lips, tried to think of something to say, but words scampered across her mind in every direction. Then his thumb brushed over her bottom lip and a wildness sparked inside her, an urge to break whatever hold he had on her without backing away. Oh no, backing away was the last thing she wanted to do.

Instead, she set her teeth into his thumb.

* * *

The snarl escaped Kayden’s throat before he could control it. Little minx. Defiance lit her eyes as she released his thumb and then pressed a light kiss on it. His control broke. He slid his hand behind her head, grasped her nape and pulled her close for a deep kiss.

She was liquid heat in his arms, her tongue dancing with his. He shifted his hands to get a good hold on her and pulled her across his lap. But she didn’t just lie there. No, she lunged up out of his grasp and straddled him. Her hands plunged into his hair as she first nipped at the corner of his mouth and then claimed it as hers, drinking him in and kissing him as if their lives depended on it.

Never still, her body pressed against him. Her hips ground into his. He let his hands roam over every inch of her, reveling in the fantastic strength of the taut muscle under her sleek surface. No fragile flower, his fae, his faery woman. Tearing free of their kiss for a moment, he buried his face into the sweet depths of her cleavage as he pressed his hands into her back, encouraging her to arch for him.

He tugged at the thin fabric stretched across her shoulders. “Take it off before I tear it off.”

She leaned back, just a bit, and stared at him, deciding. Then she set her hands to the hem and peeled the garment off. He slid his hands underneath her tank top, followed it upward as she removed the tank as well.

So soft, so smooth.

Her bra was at odds with the stark plainness of her outerwear. Sheer lace held the most perfect breasts he’d ever seen, cupped in almost invisible support. He palmed one breast in each hand and squeezed, grinned when she gasped and took hold of his upper arms. She didn’t try to pull his hands away. But she did need the support. Her head fell back and she let out a soft mew as he massaged, molded, her breasts in his grip. She gasped again as he switched to teasing her taut nipples between thumb and forefinger, and the sound almost brought him to his own peak as his cock strained to get past the loose fabric of his borrowed sweatpants.

He wanted her the way he needed food, water. He needed to bury himself inside her heat and
live
, the way too many people took for granted and no one in London ever forgot to. Why now, why with her, he didn’t plan to think on. Instinct drove him. His beast waited just beneath the surface.

“It’s been a long time, lass.” The words tumbled out as he struggled to pull his control together. Important to let her know what she was getting into. “I’ve not the patience to go slow this first time with you.”

“Then come inside me.” She leaned in, paused to meet his gaze in one long moment and then pressed her lips to his. Her response whispered against his mouth. “Patience...is not one of my virtues either.”