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Although, I did bring my flask, so there’s that.
“Sort of.” He flashes me a knowing grin and out pops that dimple on his chin.
Don’t lose your shit over a stupid fucking dimple. Sure, Nine can be nice, but he’s also dangerous and for all intense and purposes, your kidnapper.
I’m warring with my inner thoughts, so distracted that I don’t see the man beside the ticket booth until he jumps out from behind it, holding a bloody heart in his hands.
I scream and turn to run, only to collide with Nine’s hard chest. I begin to move away, to continue my escape when I feel him pull me back in, his torso shaking with laughter against my cheek. I crane my neck to see what’s so funny and ask why we aren’t running when Nine, looking highly amused, slowly pushes me off of him and turns me around to face my assailant.
Instantly, my face flushes with embarrassment. The man isn’t coming after me, he was never coming after me. He’s in costume and elaborate zombie makeup. The heart in his hands is only a prop. A good one, but still, just plastic and some sort of red liquid made to look like blood.
The man uses his hand not holding the prop to tip his tattered top hat in greeting. “Welcome, living ones. Do you two already have your tickets? If not, you can purchase wristbands from the zombie at the gate, otherwise known as my dear undead wife, Zelda,” he announces, then limps off to scare his next victims, a young couple who shrieks in terror before breaking out in uncontrollable laughter.
“Don’t worry. He’s not a real zombie,” Nine teases in a whisper.
I playfully smack his chest, but when I connect with his shirt, he grabs my hand and slowly lifts it to his lips. My breath catches in my throat. “You don’t have to worry about being bitten by zombies,” he says, grazing my knuckles with his teeth. “It’s me you should be afraid of.” He growls, then nips playfully at my hand, pretending to take a bite.
I both love and hate the way my body reacts to him, but kidnapper or not, I do like this playful side to Nine.
He lowers my hand, but doesn’t release it, instead linking his fingers with mine. He leads me through the gates after showing our tickets to the undead wife of the zombie who greeted us. He catches me staring at our linked hands. “For zombie protection, of course,” he assures me with a wink.
“What exactly is this sort-of fair?” I ask, using his earlier words.
It is a festival, that much I know. There’s rides and carnival games and booths with sugary treats and fried everything, but it’s not like any festival I’ve ever been to before, like the shrimp festival or the annual charity wine festival. For one thing, this place is packed with people, and none are wearing formal attire. In fact, most are dressed in tattered clothes like the greeter, and full faces of elaborate paint. Black circles around their eyes and mouths, splatters of red to make it look like their leaking blood. Some of the makeup is so elaborate and well done, it’s made to look as if they have gaping holes in the sides of their faces or heads. A tall, skinny man passes by and hisses, he’s shirtless, and his entire body is painted to make it look like his internal organs are hanging on the outside.
“Welcome to Zombie Fest!” Nine announces.
I raise my shoulders and let them fall again, relaxing for the first time in what seems like forever. The energy in the air hums all around me. “It’s…it’s fantastic.”
Nine tugs on my hand, leading me further inside the fairgrounds. “Come on. Unless you’re too scared.” He wags his eyebrows.
I straighten my shoulders and stick out my chest. “I’m not scared.”
Not of the zombies, anyway.
What scares me isn’t fake blood or gore or the hundreds of undead walking by. It’s the way Nine’s looking at me. The way his hand feels in mind. The way he’s smiling as he leads me around the fairgrounds and the way he laughs at what we discover in each booth. It’s how his eyes are filled with wonder and excitement. It’s a child-like enthusiasm that I’m both jealous of and at the same time makes me wonder other things about him. Like how it would feel to feel the full weight of him on top of me. Inside of me. Skin. Heat. Sweat. Lips… I shudder at the erotic thought.
Nine notices.
“Cold?” he asks.
It’s eighty degrees outside. I’m far from cold. In fact, my entire body is beading up in a sheen of sweat, but it has nothing to do with the temperature and everything to do with the man holding my hand.
