Wanted: Undead or Alive

Another Shirt Bites The Dust

When I could see again, I saw both Nick and Mx. Landry leaning over Moose's prone form.

Oh, god. What if I killed him?

It was just a leg shot.

Legs have arteries.

I dropped the gun and bumbled toward the others on numb feet.

Nick's hands moved over Moose's head, his chest, his leg.

"Don't do it, boss," Moose said. "This ain't nothing human docs can't handle." His voice sounded like he had a throat full of sand, but he was alive.

A breath of relief rattled in my chest.

Mx. Landry stood and pulled a phone from the pocket of their baby blue polyester pants. I heard a tiny voice a million miles away say, "Nine-one-one, what's your emergency?"

Moose's hazy gaze drifted in my direction. "You're still alive?"

"I think so."

Nick looked up at me. Into me. Through me. The blue light in his eyes crackled and buzzed around him as if he were, quite literally, about to blow a fuse. Moving slowly, he rose to his full height. The remains of his shirt hung in tatters with burnt edges from the waist of his pants. The skin of his torso was perfect. Unburnt. Completely unblemished. Without any discernible flaw. Firm. Tan. With a dark happy trail leading from his navel downward.

I peeled my tongue off the roof of my mouth. "I helped." Is that what I'd meant to say?

He reached for my arm and lifted it again, as he had in the elevator.

The crucifix remained clutched tightly in my fist. "You can let go, now."

Tears came then—more tears than I knew I had in me. I plopped down on my butt and sobbed into my knees, soaking my jeans. My head throbbed and my stomach cramped, and I cried and cried. The ambulance came, and a pretty woman with curly red hair knelt next to me and asked if I was hurt. From somewhere very far away, Mx. Landry said something about me being in shock. Warm fingers pressed against my wrist for several seconds. A cool cloth touched the back of my neck.

Eventually, everyone was gone again, and still I cried. Not sobbing at that point, just a soft, endless stream that washed away all capability of thought. I heard Mx. Landry and Nick speaking. The elevator dinged and hummed.

Nick sat down next to me, facing me. With one warm hand, he cupped my cheek and lifted my head until our gazes met. "You are stronger than I gave you credit for."

I scoffed and wiped the snot and tears from my face with my sleeves. It's exceptionally strange to be in the middle of a major emotional breakdown and panting with supernatural lust, all at the same time.

"Tears are no sign of weakness." His hand shifted. With one finger, he traced the outline of my ear and followed the path along my jawline to my chin, which he held between his thumb and finger. "Did you know, when one feels any emotion, not only sadness, too strongly, the brain uses tears to wash the excess chemicals away? Tears of sadness appear different under a microscope than tears of pain or tears of joy. They taste different, too. Bitter tears are, quite literally, bitter." He brushed his thumb across my cheek and then brought it close to his own face, inhaled the scent, and licked my tears from it.

I stopped crying.

His gaze shifted away from me. "I assume you have gathered by now that I am not human."

"You're very pretty," I said. Oh, god. I wanted to fall into a hole and disappear.

He looked at me again and smiled then, for the first time since I'd met him, and it was like the sun dawning on a warm spring day after a particularly harsh winter.