Page 24 of Immune

A shadow passes the kitchen curtains, and then another, and very quietly, Kaito asks, “Biters?”

“Zeds,” I correct automatically, the word slipping out before my brain can stop it.

His gaze flicks to me, and I instantly regret even opening my mouth, more so when his mouth almost curves as he tests the word on his own tongue, “Zeds.”

I give him a dirty look. “Don’t make it weird.”

“Wouldn’t dare,” he deflects.

“You were thinking about making it weird. You have that look about you,” I argue, not sure why I do.

His mouth twitches. “I was just thinking it’s shorter and easier to use.”

“Because mine is better,” I agree.

“More efficient,” he tries to correct.

“That’s what I said.”

A thump lands against the back door, and my grip tightens on the gun. Kaito turns his head toward the sound before focusing his gaze back on me as he asks, “How many ways out?”

I tilt my head like a smartass and drawl, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

He pauses for a split second before nodding as though he’s questioning my intelligence. “Well, yeah, since I’m currently in the house with you.”

“A problem of your own creation, might I remind you,” I smugly retort, and the look I receive isn’t one of annoyance or anger, but one of irritated defeat. It brings me no short amount of satisfaction.

“You’re right,” he agrees as though it pains him slightly, and it almost makes me laugh again.

As it was, another thump hits the door harder this time, drawing me back to the problem at hand. The door rattles in the frame, and I move first, because this is my house for the night and I know exactly which floorboards scream. Kaito follows without being told, quiet enough that the only reason I even know he’s there is the strange pull of his scent under the rotcoming through the walls. Burning wood. Warm flannel. Warm, worn-in, and infuriatingly comforting in a way that makes my Omega sit up at attention as if someone has just whispered her name from another room.

Once more, my Omega can fuck all the way off.

In the kitchen, two Zeds are pressed against the back door, their faces squished across the grimy glass panes. A third is dragging itself through the weeds beyond them. More could be nearby, but it’s hard to tell with the setting sun and descending darkness.

Cursing under my breath draws Kaito’s attention, and he asks, “How many bullets?”

“Enough,” I answer shortly, spitting out the lie easily.

“That means not enough,” he counters, and I glare.

“I actually hate that you’re not stupid,” I snap.

“Thank you.”

“It wasn’t a compliment,” I argue, mind running a mile a minute.

“It kinda felt like one, so I’ll take it for what it was,” he retorts, and if there wasn’t an immediate threat, I’d clock him in the temple with the butt of my gun.

As it was, the back door cracks under another hit from the persistent Zeds, so I shove the gun into my holster and pull my knife free instead. “We can’t shoot unless we want the whole neighborhood to come for a nighttime barbecue.”

“Right again,” Kaito quips.

Sending him another look, I mutter, “Why did you sound surprised?”

“I didn’t,” he argues quickly, shaking his head just as fast.

“You did,” I counter, apparently itching for a fight today with anything that isn’t a Zed.