Bite Me (London Undead) (4 page)

Luckily, it looked to be the only fragment. “Those idjits popped out and honed in on the Peter Pan statue as if it might save them all somehow.”

Just to be safe, she prodded the area around the bullet hole a bit more. Perhaps it had something to do with her suppressor. It was homemade. Maybe the fragment came from that and not the bullet...

“They did head out of the park at the end there.” Seth tilted his head toward her. His sudden close proximity surprised her and she fumbled a swab soaked in disinfectant. “I caught their trail leaving the park at the same place we crossed the street.”

“I hope they have the sense not to try to double back.” She paused. Why had they been in the park in the first place? “You don’t think they were looting, do you? Seems even more daft than those idjits claiming they want to hunt zombies for trophies.”

Seth grunted. “We’ve seen a few lone normals scavenging for trinkets and valuables. People like them wouldn’t stand a chance competing with the tougher scavengers looting during the day when it’s safer. Maybe the man got desperate and the rest of the family went with him to help. Maybe the woman pushed him into it. Dunno.”

Maisie swallowed hard. She’d been near sick the first time she’d sifted through the bones and rags of the unlucky. But the dead wouldn’t need the firearms anymore and a person needed what defense they could find.

Desperate times.

She picked the swab back up and began to disinfect the area where she’d pulled the fragment out.

“I’m sure they’ve learned better now.” Brian had a knack for sounding confident—able to bring a bit of peace, even when a body had no reason to believe him. “And they owe you their lives.”

“I hope they take better care with them, then.”

“Still, what you’re describing... Let’s hope the zombies aren’t evolving somehow,” Brian mused. Likely he would mull over the possibility for quite a while.

She would too, in a “wake up in the middle of the night with cold sweats” sort of way.

“I wish there were more reliable information sources for the current findings on the virus, how widespread it’s become, what progress there is to find a cure,” Brian continued, more thinking out loud than to her or Seth. “Additional studies on why the lycanthropes, including the werewolves, are immune would be helpful too. Perhaps an antibody serum could be found.”

Seth, for his part, had fallen silent.

Considering the tension still in the muscles under her fingertips, whatever he was thinking didn’t consist of happy thoughts.

Well her mind wasn’t trending toward happy, so much as naughty. And that would not do, not at all.

Even as she admitted her thoughts, she realized Seth was watching her. Her cheeks grew warm and she addressed her attention to his front, trying not to spread her palms flat across his wonderfully broad chest. Running her hands over his tight abs and torso would get her into all sorts of trouble...

Nope.

She needed to focus on the hole she’d put in the man.

“Still, Maisie. You’ve heard the morning broadcasts. They say the parks and gardens are the worst place to be.” Returning to his lecture, Brian let the evolution of zombies rest. “And off you go, into Kensington Gardens and only one crutch with you.”

“Only one.” Seth made the statement without directing it at either her or Brian.

Brian apparently decided to answer for her though. “She has two and can move faster with them.”

“And have both my hands tied up? No thank you. I’d prefer to have one hand free for a gun, if necessary.”

“You need two to hold that favorite monstrosity of yours.” Brian waved in the direction of her waist.

Seth snorted.

Maisie shot him a quelling look. “A 38 super is not a large gun.”

“It is in your hands.” Brian pressed on. “Especially with that makeshift silencer thing you put on it.”

“It’s a suppressor. And for your information, I can shoot a 9mm just fine one-handed. You might look into learning to handle a gun yourself.” She’d sleep better at night. For now, she settled for scowling at Seth’s chest. Finding no more foreign bits, she returned to disinfecting the area. “I might have been foolish, yes, but not completely parted from my senses.”

“It sounds like you were very lucky tonight.” There was the note of worry Brian had been hiding up until now. “One need only look at you to realize how brave you are. You don’t need to prove it over and over again.”

Inexplicably, she blinked back tears. She hadn’t meant to cause Brian worry. Truly. She’d gone out to cool her head. The sun had set before she’d come out of her thoughts and everything had happened so fast. There’d been no time to call for help. And even if she had, wouldn’t she have put him in danger? Not something she’d risk.

Seth had arrived on the scene, strong and fierce. A stranger, and yet she suffered less guilt over his involvement in it all because he was like her. Moved to help in the midst of the circumstance. Seth had the power to survive and the immunity from the zombie virus to come away unchanged.

Relatively.

Most werewolves weren’t born werewolves, as far as she knew. The articles in the daily papers gave little in the way of real information—mostly reassurances the werewolves were keeping the zombies under control.

She let out a small sigh.

“I’m sorry, Brian.”

Maisie couldn’t bear to turn and see his brows furrowed or the creases around his mouth. Once upon a time, the only lines on his face had been from laughter.

A large hand covered hers and she looked up into Seth’s face, startled.

“I didn’t say all this to get an apology from you, Maisie.” Brian sighed in turn. “I only want you to be more careful. I’m going to lose all my hair watching you go from one scrape to another.”

Seth tightened his hand around hers and gave it a gentle squeeze. Her heart skipped but she felt steadier, and perhaps a touch distracted. In a good way.

She smiled, for the both of them. “I’ll try to hold back a bit, then, and simply give you a shot of grey instead of making you lose it all. You’ll look distinguished.”

“Oh, that’s just grand.” Despite the sarcastic tone, Brian chuckled.

Glancing back up, she found herself drawn to Seth’s electric blue eyes. Had they been so deep a blue before? She couldn’t remember. But now, with Seth staring at her, she found herself very aware and suddenly shy.

“Now then, it seems to me you are all well in hand.” Breaking the silence, Brian stepped backward, out the doorway. “I was going to offer to walk you home, Maisie, but I think perhaps your new friend can be trusted to accompany you. He did save your life, after all. I can’t imagine he’d end it after going to the trouble.”

Before she could think of a response, Seth answered. “I can see her home.”

Truly, she must be tired if two men had beaten her to a comeback in less than a few minutes.

Her leg had gone past pain and into numb. Not a good sign. It wasn’t that she didn’t know her limits. She did. The fact was she simply pushed past them too often.

“Get some rest. No need to check the kennels. I’ve looked in on all our current beasties.” Brian gave her a parting admonishment. “And for heaven’s sake, get off your feet.”

“Good night, Brain.” She deliberately made use of his childhood nickname. Not brilliant, but definitely enough to push a button...or three. Petty maybe, but the best she could do under the extenuating circumstances.

She’d finished patching up her new... Was he a friend? Perhaps not yet. Still, sending him off into the night might be a problem. And she didn’t particularly want to. However, explaining where home was might pose a difficulty.

Chapter Four

Seth studied Maisie’s face as she cheerfully waved after Brian. Her friend headed out into the night armed with a cricket bat, ready to defend himself.

Unorthodox, that. At least innocent bystanders were less likely to be injured.

Anyway, Seth was more interested in why Maisie lied when she’d promised to go straight home.

The corners of her mouth trembled as she fought to maintain her smile. Her eyes darted to the left—no one was standing there.

She’d perked up once they’d come into the clinic, and he’d known better than to try to hold her off from treating him. She’d already demonstrated she put the good of others over her own well-being with a stubborn determination that bordered on mad.

But she was done now and the urge to get her off her feet and find something to feed her took over with surprising force. Since it was as likely common sense as instinct, he decided not to analyze it too closely.

“Sit down before you fall on your arse.” Well now, that hadn’t come out in any sort of genteel manner, but he’d managed to keep the growl out of his voice. Mostly.

“Shove off,” she shot back at him as she set about putting away the supplies used to patch him up.

Fine. He let the growl rise from his chest and roll through the room with a touch of power behind it. Most humans wouldn’t have understood, only trembled in fear.

“You can cut that out too.” No fear, only weariness and a bit of temper. Grumpy, in a cute way. “You’re all patched up, so we’re even now. You can go home if you’d like.”

Oh no. Getting him to leave was not going to be as easy as all that. Her limp was more pronounced, and fine tremors shook her hands even as she tried to hide them. Besides, the color was quickly leaching out of her face.

Work in an animal clinic might be messy and all, but did her old clothes have to be threadbare as well? Surely she had sturdy clothing that’d provide her more warmth in the cold months.

“I’ll buy you dinner on the way to your home.” He could have made it more of an offer, but it came out mostly as an order.

She turned from the storage cabinets, then leaned against the counter. The wan smile she managed tugged at him. “Thank you, but really, you said this would make us even. I’d like to keep it that way.”

“Freely offered.” He was aware of debts—the pack took them seriously. She couldn’t possibly know what an offer of a meal meant to a werewolf, not unless she’d dealt with any of the pack or with fae folk. He’d have heard about the former and hadn’t noticed any sign of the latter about her. She wasn’t fae-struck, as far as he could tell. Maybe just a coincidence then.

“There’s not any particular place to get food along the way.” Her gaze darted to the door and down to the floor.

Anger flashed. Was she afraid to go out into the night with him?

As quickly as he bristled, her gaze lifted to meet his. Sense washed away the heat of his temper in the face of her obvious awareness. Not afraid. Nervous then, but about what?

“Where is home?”

A blush spread across her cheeks.

Then her knees buckled.

He shot across the room and nipped her off her feet before she hit the floor.

“Oh, I...”

Her eyes were unfocused for a moment and she had to blink several times before she pulled herself together.

“Food first, then you can explain what the fuss is while I take you home.” The words were garbled with his growl but he knew she could understand him. She’d done it before, right after the fight.

The feel of her in his arms warmed every part of him, right down to his core. She weighed next to nothing. So fragile. He gathered her closer.

“It isn’t anything to worry over.” Her voice sounded even fainter.

He lifted his upper lip and snarled right in her face.

She stiffened. “Here now, no need to be mean about it. I’m tired is all.”

There was that nice bit of temper. Relief washed through him and he relaxed his hold on her just a touch.

“Does anyone stop you doing this sort of thing? Ever? Really, you should let me down and go do...wolfy things.” Her voice had taken on an irritated edge.

Wouldn’t be fun to let her go on too much more. Only one person ever argued with him and his medic wasn’t there. Besides, Danny would’ve held the door open and gone with to have a pint of beer.

“There’s a pub around the corner.”

“There’s a pub around every corner in this part of London.” She grumbled, and then her belly rumbled louder.

Chuckling, he carried her down the hallway and out the door.

“Oy. I can walk.”

“I forgot your crutches.” He kept his tone deliberately flat.

She glared at him.

He grinned and kept walking.

“We should have locked up.”

Ah. He wasn’t going back. “Should be all right this time of night.” He’d text a patrol from his pack and have them watch the place for a few hours. “We’ll go back and lock up after your stomach stops trying to eat you.”

She wiggled—testing his hold on her, he’d bet. Little chit would hop right out of his arms and try to make a break for it if he gave her half a chance.

He grinned wider.

“What’s all that about?”

“You’re amusing.”

She quit struggling and crossed her arms over her plump breasts. He couldn’t help but notice her nipples had grown tight in the cold. Her shirt and bra were worn thin.

“Now what? You’ve stopped with the smiling and gone back to the brooding.”

He glowered at her, even though he felt a smile teasing his lips. “I should have thought to get your coat.”

“Don’t have one.”

Well, then... “Why don’t you have one? And don’t tell me it’s because you like the cold.”

“Why do you wear one? The cold doesn’t bother you as much, being a werewolf. You said as much earlier.”

She blinked big grey eyes at him. He narrowed his own at her. She didn’t drop her gaze. Stalemate.

Amusement, rather than rage, ran through his system. He gave her a little toss, grinning when she squeaked in surprise, and resettled her in his arms as he continued down the empty street. No dangers lurking in the shadows, only the rubbish and remains of what used to be a busy city.

“Do all werewolves like to mess with people?”

He cocked his head to the side, considered. “We all like a good game once in a while, about as much as a good fight.”

It’d been a long time since he’d felt like playing...anything.

“Do you fight a lot? I mean, aside from zombies. The news broadcasts on the telly always has some new bit about you all ‘taking out the zombie threat.’” The last bit was a fair imitation of one of the popular newscasters who stayed in London specifically to cover the infestation.

“We don’t fight amongst each other, if that’s what you mean.” He considered for a moment, then drew his eyebrows together. “Not all werewolves are honorable, mind you. I can only speak for my pack. My pack doesn’t waste time with in-fighting because I lead them. If there’s a challenge for a place in the hierarchy, it will be a dispute sanctioned by me.”

And to disablement or death.

He always made the decision based on the circumstances. Humans might not understand, but there were some hard decisions he had to make for the good of the pack. Disputes couldn’t be allowed to fester.

“So you’re the alpha.” The words didn’t bring him back to the conversation as much as her sudden stillness in his arms. He’d even stopped walking.

He gave her a brief nod and started toward the pub again. It really wasn’t that far, but he’d been enjoying the walk so much, he’d taken her on around the block.

Funny. She hadn’t protested.

“Have you always been the alpha?” A soft question, one with a pile more behind it he’d bet.

“I wasn’t born a werewolf.” Why tell her from the beginning? Maybe there’d be fewer questions if he gave her the whole of it. No one around but her to hear anyway. “Werewolves born to a pack are stronger, faster. The alpha is always the strongest, smartest, of the wolves. Stands to reason the alpha is usually born a werewolf as well.”

“But you weren’t.” So calm. How did her calm settle him? She was like a warm blanket—soft, comforting.

“I’m old. It took me a long time to find a pack I could belong to.” He paused. Remembering. “A long time to find an alpha I could put my faith in, one worth following.”

“I don’t suppose the former alpha retired to an estate out in Hampshire, did he?”

Ah, the old wolf would’ve enjoyed that. Plenty of hunting, lots of rich snobs to drive crazy.

“Werewolves don’t often take themselves off to a grizzled retirement.” No, they generally went insane, especially if left unbalanced by lack of a companion to ground them. Friend, mate, someone. “The anger, it grows inside us. Drives us mad, eventually.”

He shouldn’t tell her. They’d been careful to give their best hero appearance to the public. They’d worked hard to hide the worst of themselves.

A small hand spread flat against his chest, over his heart. “You’re not angry now.”

The warmth of her palm seeped into his skin and deeper.

“No.” He breathed deep, enjoyed the clean scent of her hair. Then he tossed her up in the air again and caught her close to his chest.

“Oy!” She pounded her fist into his chest. “I’m not a ball to be tossing around here.”

He could’ve kept walking. Maybe after they’d both eaten, he’d take her for another walk.

The pub he’d chosen was one friendly to his pack. Convenient, really. He planned to include this portion of the pack’s territory in his personal patrols in the future.

At the moment, though, he had a bundle of disgruntled moxie to feed. She’d fussed to be let down at the front door and he had acquiesced, letting her limp her way to a booth. Her grip on his offered arm had to be as much temper as it was necessity.

She snarled almost as well as a Were.

“Haven’t seen you in these parts in a while, Seth.” The barmaid stopped by as soon as they sat down. “You know we normally require shirt and shoes for service.

He cocked his head to one side and gave her a nod of apology. “Sorry, Mel, hit a mess of trouble while I was out on a run. You’re not too crowded tonight.”

“No, and we’re not too crowded any night lately. You can eat as you are.” Mel gave an indifferent sniff. “At least you appreciate the quality of our food.”

Not many had the quid to eat here, even the honest pub food. Of those who could, many were rich tourists here to hunt zombies. They came in armed with too much pride and not much in good taste.

Those with money had bought their way out of London before the quarantine had gone into effect and the military had established the checkpoints around the M25 beyond the city.

“I’ll have my usual.” He looked at Maisie, who was studying the one page menu she must have nicked from the holder at the end of the table. “My...friend might need a minute to decide.”

Before Mel could step away, Maisie piped up. “Oh no, I’m ready. I’ll have the haddock, please, and a side of mushy peas.”

Seth raised his eyebrow. Maisie’s sweet smile, which she hadn’t yet given him, won an answering smile from Mel. The choice in supper probably won points too.
His
girl had a palate.

Of course she was his.

Content in the way Maisie seemed to have accepted his offer to buy her dinner, he slid a fresh glass of water across the table to her.

“Hydrate.”

She stuck her tongue out at him.

He considered what he’d like to do with her sass, but got sidetracked by imagining what she might do with her tongue instead. He hardened at the thought and things didn’t get any more comfortable when she wrapped both hands around her glass and brought it to her lips to drink.

Too distracted to make conversation, he was glad she wasn’t one of those people who needed to fill silence with idle chatter. Instead, she seemed content to sip her water and look around the pub with those wide grey eyes.

And there were still things to see, even if few patrons populated the pub. One or two brave souls sat at the bar and another quiet pair sat in a different corner booth. Conversation was hushed, as if everyone was too exhausted to be loud. This area had been hit harder by the infestation, as close as it was to Kensington Gardens and Hyde Park. Stray zombies shambled out of the parks and into the alleys at night. Some were even lured out by bait set out by crazy hunters. Until the virus could be brought under control, this area would continue to struggle.

Jobs were gone. People eked out what existence they could supporting the new hunter tourism or trading each other for simple skills, like plumbing or handiwork.

Still, the pub had seen hard times before and it would weather the winter nights as well. Seth and his pack mates would see to it.

Once the zombies were gone and the quarantine lifted, London would bustle again.

“Here you are.” Mel returned with two large platters. “On the pack account, Seth?”

“My personal tab, Mel. And buy yourself a drink for when you get off, will you?”

Mel smiled and gave him a nod, then left them to their meal.

As hungry as he was, Seth studied Maisie’s plate first, to be sure it had been put together proper.

A salad of light greens had been arranged in a nice pile on her plate and a crisp breaded fillet of haddock laid on top. A perfectly poached egg sat perched on the haddock with a light drizzle of some sort of Béarnaise sauce over it all. In another small dish was her side of mushy peas.

Mel’s cook did wonders with the shipments allowed in past the barricades and the little roof garden up on the top of the building.

Maisie laid a napkin in her lap and took up her fork, piercing the poached egg to let the rich golden yolk flow. Then she took a bite of the flaky haddock and a bit of salad. Her eyes rolled up and she gave an almost inaudible moan of pleasure.

Damn, but he might bust a zipper in his britches. The girl did enjoy her food. He desperately wanted to lick away the bit of sauce on her lip, but she wiped it away neatly with her napkin before digging in for another bite.

“Taste good?”

“Wonderful.” She didn’t even look up.