She gives me a strange, sad look, and I hate it. I want to wipe it off her face.
The Roth coming to Earth was an unspeakable act of violence. We’ve made peace with them now, the old emperor deposed by one of his long-lost sons, but the damage is done, and Lily’s people and planet have suffered.
“Don’t look at me like you feel sorry for me,” she says, tossing her short black mane of hair. “We need to get this flat-pack made before the zombies eat us.”
A short huff of laughter follows that as she rips into the strange paper box, revealing a set of instructions that she glances at before throwing aside.
“Do you need help?” I ask her.
“Keep the zombies off me.”
I nod. I can do that.
“And whatever you do,” she says, not looking up from the box, pulling piece after piece out, “don’t let them bite you.”
I don’t tell her it won’t matter now if they bite me. Whatever toxin they have is not nearly as deadly as the one already in my system.
She needs to finish the construction so that she can move on with or without me, and I must keep her safe, because these things—she’s terrified of them, and I will not let them touch her.
Instead, I tilt my head, cracking my neck, rolling my shoulders, stretching.
I’ll give it a go as long as I can before I have to use the final option in my arsenal.
“Can I have a kiss for luck?” I ask her, the words slightly stilted.
It might be the last time I touch her, but I’m not going to take it when it’s so much sweeter when she capitulates.
“One kiss for luck, Romeo, and then we gotta get going.”
A fighter to the end, I think to myself, cradling her face in my hands. So tiny, so delicate compared to me. So absolutely perfect, filling every hole in my heart.
“I love you,” I tell her.
And then I kiss her, and I put my whole self into it.
She pushes me off her, eyes slightly glazed, the scent of her heat once again overtaking her fear.
If that is her last memory of me, at least it will be a good one.
“Go kill some zombies, you silly Draegon,” she says, slapping my arm. “Don’t get bitten. Don’t hurt yourself,” she adds, crouching down next to the pieces of the object, picking up a shiny, strange-looking, and seemingly useless tool.
I jump off the dais, then walk to what will certainly be my last battle.
For her, I would do it a million times.
CHAPTER
TWENTY
LILY
Havingto assemble a flat-pack piece of furniture while a ticking clock toward my death literally looms overhead, and a partner who has become much more than just a partner battles a horde of zombies to defend me from certain death—or at least something really gross from happening—is absolutely diabolical.
It’s something straight out of one of my worst nightmares.
IKEA flat-pack included. Allen wrench checked off the list of nightmare objects as well.
But I get it done. Or almost done.
