Servant of the Undead

"Roaming the Streets?"

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 backside of the Old South Church, an open window smacked against the stone exterior of the wide building. Weak light shone from within. 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 faded.

Hayden winced, 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. 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 scent.

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 enough, 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 weather, 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, 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.

The solid, booted feet swung in, disappearing. 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. And all traces of sweetness were gone.

"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 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. Two steps and already he felt the sensation of the smell settling deep in his mouth, seeping across his molars.

She watched his lips part as 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.

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, trying to crush the sensation in his jaw, 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.