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KAT SQUATTED BESIDE ETHAN AND STUDIED THE OLD SHACK below them. It was a small wooden structure that looked to have been at the mercy of the elements for a good five years. Not the warmest hideaway in the world, though it was doubtful the dead really cared.
She shifted the weight of the pack on her back, then said, “You wait here. Once I’m sure the sleep bombs have worked, I’ll call you over.”
He placed a hand on her arm, stopping her from rising. “I don’t think you should go down there alone.”
She bit down on her impatience and ignored the concern in his eyes. “We’ve been through this already. Gran only included one mask.” Truth was, she didn’t include any. They didn’t need them, because these sleep bombs were designed to affect only the dead. But she needed to get away from him for a few minutes. Needed time alone to gather her thoughts. To contemplate the reality of bringing a kid into the world who, like her, might never know his father.
Pain rose. She pushed it away and stood. “I’ve been doing this a long time. I know what I’m doing when it comes to the dead.” It was the living she couldn’t understand.
She walked down the slope to the small cabin. The smell of death was so overwhelming she gagged. She took several deep breaths through her mouth to ease the churning in her stomach, then edged around the corner and headed for the nearest window. The glass was grimy, but even so, she could see the dead on the floor. Ten of them. God help her and Ethan if they woke before the sleeping potions had a chance to work.
She kinetically unlocked the window and eased it up. The zombie closest to her stirred. She froze, hoping the gentle breeze playing in her hair didn’t take her smell to it.
It turned, then began to snore. She swung the pack off and carefully dug out the four golf ball–sized bombs. They were warm against her palms, their feel almost jellylike. She tossed one into each corner of the cabin, listened for the gentle plop that indicated the outer skin had broken, and watched as pale fingers of red smoke began to ease across the floor. She closed the window and glanced at her watch. They’d have to wait five minutes for the mist to do its stuff, making it safe enough to enter.
She squatted on her heels and leaned back against the cabin wall. Thunder rumbled overhead, a warning of the storm clearly gathering. The smell of rain sharpened the air but didn’t quite erase the smell of the dead. She hoped the storm didn’t break until after they’d explored whatever it was the zombies protected. If those clouds were anything to go by, the storm was going to be a doozy. Maybe enough to wake the sleep-spelled dead.
She let her gaze roam across the tree line until she found the shadows in which Ethan hid.
What in hell was she going to do with him?
He kept insisting he wasn’t capable of loving her, and yet his touch and his eyes and the emotions that sometimes surged between them suggested otherwise.
Could a wolf lose his heart more than once?
She’d ask him, except for the fact that she’d promised to drop the subject and didn’t want to risk alienating him completely. Maybe it was a question Gwen could answer.
She hoped so. Because she very much suspected she was falling in love with the man.
She hugged her arms around her belly. She’d find out tonight whether she was pregnant or not. And if she was, there was one thing she was suddenly certain of.
Her child would know its father.
She’d grown up without that knowledge and knew the pai
n it caused. If he didn’t want any part of his child’s life, then fair enough, but her child would know who he was, what he looked like, what he did, and where he lived. That child would have the sense of history, of belonging, that in many respects she never had, no matter how much Gran had loved her. Four simple pieces of information could have made her childhood seem a whole lot less of a mistake.
And perhaps most important, her child would never be in doubt that her mother not only wanted her, but loved her. Or him, as the case may be.
She glanced at her watch again, then rose and looked inside. The red mist had almost dissipated. It should be safe enough now to enter without waking the zombies.
She signaled to Ethan, then carefully opened the window. A heartbeat later she felt the warmth of his presence wash over her senses.
“What, no masks?” Ethan asked, voice low and annoyed as she clambered inside.
She hid her smile and met his gaze. “Don’t need them with the mist almost gone.”
He snorted softly. “Wouldn’t be a ploy to keep me at a safe distance while you explored, would it?”
“Of course not,” she said absently as she looked around, trying to sense the presence of anything other than the sleeping zombies.
“That’s what I figured.” He stepped carefully over a zombie. “What are we looking for?”
“I don’t know. You check that door.” She waved a hand at the door to their left. “And I’ll look around here.”
He made his way toward the door. She stayed where she was, hands on her hips, as she studied the floor. The air gently caressing her face was damp and smelled slightly musty. It wasn’t the staleness of a cellar, but rather that of an old cave. Suggesting, perhaps, there was another access point here besides the window and the front door. One that went down rather than out.
She stepped over a dead man and followed the caress of air into the shadows. And found a trapdoor. One that had a zombie sleeping over the top of it.
