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And it was good.
And wrong.
And I didn't care.
I just wanted the sweetness to go on and on and on. Desire rose, but it was no instant burn despite the nearness of the full moon, rather a gentle flame as pure as the kiss.
When we finally broke apart, neither of us said anything. We simply stared into each other's eyes, looking for God knows what, our breath mingling and our lips still so tantalizingly close.
Then he smiled, and it, too, was a sweet thing. "I do not think we should explore what lay beyond that kiss."
"No," I agreed softly. I didn't need another attraction in my life. Didn't need him in my life. Not in any way, shape, or form.
Damn it, I didn't even really like the man, so why the hell was I even kissing him in the first place?
His fingers slid down my neck, then he slowly let his hand drop. "Till next we meet," he said softly, and walked away.
"If we meet again, your ass will be history," I muttered, watching said ass walk down the path. The man moved with a fluid grace that in some ways reminded me of a vampire. A dangerous vampire.
Only he was all wolf.
And if I wasn't very careful, a whole lot of trouble.
Once he'd climbed into his car and driven away, I turned and moved back to the cellar to keep an eye on the zombie and his parents.
Mrs. Habbsheen was sitting up against the washing machine, her hands and feet still tied. Her husband sat beside her, talking to her softly, obviously trying to calm her. It wasn't working, if the hateful, angry look she cast my way was anything to go by.
"Keep those bindings tight," I warned, and stepped over the pair of them to grab the axe. I wasn't about to leave it embedded in the wall, just in case she got lose. I took it out to the car and dropped it in the trunk. As I walked back toward the house, a Directorate car pulled up behind mine and three women piled out. I knew two by sight and one by name, having helped all three magi restrain a vengeful spirit.
"Marg," I said, shaking the older woman's fragile-looking hand. "Sorry to drag you out like this, but I need to know if there's any way to trace the magic that raised the zombie back to its owner."
"So Sal said." She waved me forward. "We won't know until we feel the magic, but I very much doubt we'll be able to trace it. The best we can probably do is block it and let the poor boy go back to his eternal rest."
"That would be better than nothing." And certainly better than the option I would have used.
We single-filed through the house and down into the cellar. Mrs. Habbsheen hurled abuse our way as we passed, but her husband managed to restrain her more violent tendencies.
"What's wrong with her?" Marg asked, her gaze on the body laying on the bed.
"Refuses to believe that her son didn't come back to her, that it's a shell with no thought and no feelings."
Marg snorted. "She'd believe soon enough once bits of him start rotting and dropping off. Most magic can only contain the decomposition of flesh for a limited amount of time, you know."
"And how long would that be?"
She shrugged as she squatted beside the bed. "Couple of days, depending on the strength of the sorcerer."
"Is there magic that can contain them longer than that?"
"Yes, but it takes very powerful-and very dark-blood magic to do it. More so than what you'd use raising fresh bodies."
Great. So I was dealing with not only yet another nut, but an extremely powerful one at that.
I leaned a shoulder against the wall, crossing my arms and watching as she ran a hand down the zombie's body. There was barely an inch between her hand and the zombie's cold flesh, but it was filled with a greenish glow that had a decidedly unhealthy look about it.
>I avoided another blow, then drew back my fist and hit her hard. Not enough to truly hurt her, but enough to knock her out.
When her body went limp, I blew out a breath and studied the shadows out of which she'd come. A small trapdoor led down into deeper darkness-and it was here that the aroma of decay was coming from.
