A Mad Zombie Party

Fury claims his expression, twisting his features. “You are a means to an end. A way to see Kat. Never doubt it.”

Bile rises again, only hotter, but I manage a smile. “Don’t worry. I won’t.” Did I really expect him to soften so quickly—or ever?

This is my penance, my only means of atonement, and I’ll see it through to the end. No matter what.

“Let’s go.” His expression is softer, at least. But of course, he takes off without looking back to ensure I’ve followed.

I race after him.

“Don’t forget,” Ali calls. “Hash Town. Seven a.m. If you’re late, I’ll post naked pictures of you all over the internet. And I promise you I’m not bluffing. Kat told me where to find one of her old phones.”

He waves without looking back.

“You and Ali are having breakfast together?” I ask.

“Yes. You’re not invited.”

Ouch. “Try to leave me behind. See what happens.”

He has no reply, but then, he rarely does with me.

We reach our bodies and with a single touch, we’re paired back up. As he stops to answer a question from Bronx—what happened out there?—I pile inside his truck and buckle my belt.

Yesterday, Frosty demanded I walk to his apartment. Tonight, I’m not taking any chances. He’ll have to drag me out of the vehicle kicking and screaming—and then he’ll have to crawl back inside it, because I won’t leave him unscathed.

When he settles behind the wheel, he doesn’t even glance in my direction. And yet, it isn’t until he pulls out of the cemetery that I relax. Or try to. Every muscle I possess is knotted and trembling, the stress of not knowing what’s been done to me jacking me up.

“Great fight,” I say, hoping to make conversation and distract myself. “You worked magic out there.”

He turns up the radio.

I jab my finger at the button, switching the music off. “We’re partners, Frosty. You have to start—”

He speaks over me. “I don’t have to start anything. And we aren’t partners. You and I will never be partners.”

A painful burn returns to my chest. “Look. I’m sorry for my actions in the past. I am. You’ll never know how sorry. I hate what I did, I hate the outcome, but I was backed into a corner. Anima would have killed River, and he’s my only family. I wish I could go back and protect Kat with my own life, but I can’t. All I can do is protect yours now. But if I’m going to do so, you’ve got to start trusting me. At least a little. You can start by talking to me as if I’m a real person with feelings.” Because I am.

“That will happen in never. You aren’t a real person to me. You’re a murderer.” He sounds as cold and merciless as his navy eyes appear. “And just so you know, an apology means nothing without action to back it up.”

“I do know. I just need time to prove myself.”

“Time I’d rather not give you. I don’t need protecting.”

“Kat says otherwise. You heard her. Ali had a vision. At some point, I will save your life. Without me, you’ll die.”

He slams on the breaks as he pulls over to the side of the road. “Dying wouldn’t be such a bad thing. I’d be with Kat. So why don’t you do us both a favor and get out. Your services are no longer needed.”

“But—”

“Now.”

My lips compress into a thin line. My hand shakes as I open the door. I’m hurt by his refusal, yes, but as my feet hit the pavement, I’m also suddenly and inexplicably angry. “You would rather be shot in the chest than spend time with me?” I shout. “I’m that bad? I’m so despicable you feel it’s okay to abandon me on the side of a road, alone, in the middle of the night when light is scarce?”

I palm my daggers. Before Frosty can speed away, I stomp in front of the truck and, glaring at him through the front windshield, slam the tips of both weapons into a tire.

(#ulink_0c0ad8c0-380c-57c3-9bbd-a3a01aed10ea)

Maintaining a good mad is impossible right now. I’m just too freaking tired. Why did Camilla have to go and be all adorable and crap, throwing a bona fide slayer tantrum?

I stick my head out the window to yell at her, but all I end up saying is “Just...I don’t know...get in or something.”

A moment passes before she climbs back into the truck. She doesn’t meet my gaze. I get out and change the tire, then return to the wheel, gunning the engine.

“If we’re playing would you rather... I’d rather kiss a viper than continue our conversation,” I say. “So maybe let’s play the quiet game instead.”

No response. She doesn’t even stiffen.

This bothers me.

I’m the moron who keeps going. “Have you ever considered therapy? That temper of yours—”

“Doesn’t come out to play nearly as much as yours.”

Good point. “Difference is, rage is sexy on guys.”

As calm as can be, she says, “The guys you’re crushing on must not rage correctly. True rage? It’s a total loss of control, and it’s ugly. What I did to your tires? I meant to do.”

There’s a story there. One I’m strangely eager to hear. But I don’t ask.

Use her and lose her, don’t get to know her.

“Anything else you’d like to say before we get started on that quiet game?” I ask.

Silence.

Again it bothers me and I don’t know why.