A low, furious rumble emanated from Brighton’s chest. “I’m going to put them out of their misery.”
She shifted her position, bodily blocking his path. “No, you’re not. You go killing shells and the ’Gasts will know we’re here.”
“I can’t just leave them like that. I owe them the peace of death.”
“They’re already dead,” she told him. “Nothing left but meat and bones.” At least that’s what she kept telling herself.
“No one knows that for sure.”
“I do.”
She felt him go still. “How?”
That single, tiny word fell on her with the weight of the world. She wasn’t about to spill her guts to a man she’d just met, but at the same time, ignoring his question would only make him more curious. Instead, she gave him the vaguest answer she could. “I’ve gotten close enough to look them in the eyes. I’m sure.”
“Well, I’m not. And until I am, I’m going to end the suffering of every shell I find.”
“You do that, and we’re dead. No hammer, no purse, no living to fight another day. And worse yet, our bodies will be right down there with those shells, wandering around, bumping into things until some unsuspecting human comes along for us to kill.”
He stared down at her for a long time, his mouth tight with anger, his body vibrating with restraint. “I hate it that you’re right.”
“So do I.” Her hand settled on his arm in an uncharacteristic show of sympathy. She knew better than to let herself feel anything for him—even something as simple as concern. Chances were he wouldn’t survive long if he kept messing around with the ’Gasts.
And a man like Brighton had way too much determination to do the smart thing. Otherwise, they wouldn’t be here now, about to walk into a life-or-death kind of situation.
He covered her hand with his, his skin deliciously warm.
“Are you ready?” she asked.
Brighton wove his fingers through hers, chasing away the chill that lingered along her skin. “Let’s do this.”
Simone activated her boots, willing them to layer a web of invisibility over both her and Brighton. Covering his bulk took a bit of effort, but she figured out how the ability worked pretty fast. It was similar to masking whatever she held in her hands, but on a grander scale.
A shimmering wave of warmth rippled across her skin—a familiar feeling. As she waited for the echo to die down, she swore she felt something else between the ripples. It was subtle, but it left the scent of sun-warmed skin and melting chocolate in its wake, and had the distinct feeling of acknowledgment to it. Almost like a homecoming.
If she didn’t know better, she would have thought that the boots recognized their maker.
Before the odd feeling could settle in and take root, it was gone, leaving her with a job to do and not much time left to do it.
“Stay quiet,” she told him. “Move slowly and follow my lead.”
Simone set a path toward the edge of the parking lot on the southern side of the building. None of the shells saw their approach, even though they left behind a path of trampled grass and weeds.
As they got closer, the scent of rotting flesh rose up like an invisible wall, making her falter in her tracks.
Brighton let out a quiet noise somewhere between gagging and a cough as his fingers tightened around hers.
She did the best she could to hold her breath as they slipped between the shells milling about.
Not only was the door on this side of the building cracked open, but it was broken. The handle had been snapped off—likely by one of the clumsy shells. No need for the set of lock picks tucked in the purse.
She waited until the shells were turned away, searching for signs of people approaching, then slipped through the door. It eased shut behind them.
Red lights gave the hallway a bloody glow. Smears of mud and worse dirtied the tile floor, proving that shells moved this way often. There were a few trails leading into the row of offices along this side of the building, but most of the filth went straight toward a pair of double doors about twenty yards away.
The doors swung inward, and what used to be a woman shuffled through, her sluggish steps sliding through the muck.
Her black hair had once been in a ponytail, but was now hanging askew with bits of leaves clinging to the elastic band. Several buttons on her blouse were undone, and the tail on one side was hanging over her slim skirt. Beneath torn panty hose, dirt stained her knees. There was a gash on one ankle that had scabbed over, but was swollen and red with infection.
Simone simply stared, all logical thought slipping from her head. In the space of a split second, she told herself half a dozen different stories about who this woman had been. A schoolteacher who’d devoted her life to children, an executive who’d taken the wrong turn while attending a business meeting out of town, a soccer mom on her way to pick up a kid from a friend’s house . . .
Simone wondered who this woman had left behind, and if those people who’d loved her even knew what had happened to her.
The shell kept coming. A few more seconds and she would run right into Simone and Brighton. And yet she stood frozen, unable to get past the loss the woman represented.
Brighton’s body quivered with anxiety. He gave Simone’s hand a squeeze as if to tell her to pull it together. She’d ordered him to follow her lead and yet here she was, not leading.
Still her mind reeled at the loss. How many lives had been shattered because of what the ’Gasts had stolen?
One second Simone was standing there, too overwhelmed to move. The next she was pressed against a cool door with Brighton’s bulk pinning her in place. He didn’t let go of her hand, which caused their arms to twist awkwardly between them. Her breasts flattened against his forearm. The blunt, wide edge of the ax dug into her skin. His thigh was wedged between hers, their clothes doing little to shield her from his heat.
Within the shimmering web that cloaked them from sight, she could make out his bulging jawline. Her nose was only inches from a thick vein in his neck, pulsing with his heartbeat. She could smell his skin and the hint of soap clinging to him.
For one insane moment, she wanted to snuggle right in and bury her face in the crook of his shoulder. Just like she used to do with Jeremy.
The thought trickled through her like ice water, making her body go stiff. She suffered through the stab of betrayal, accepting it as her due punishment.
“Stay still,” he whispered right into her ear, so close she knew the sound wouldn’t travel.
Simone forced her body to relax, forced her breathing to even out so that her frantic panting wouldn’t be heard by the passing shell.
The exterior door at the end of the hall opened and shut as the shell left.
Brighton’s heavy body eased away from hers, and he looked down at her with fury riding his features. In the red lighting, his eyes glinted with a fiery blaze. “What the hell was that? You nearly got us killed.”
“It won’t happen again.”
“It better not. I’m not dying in here tonight. Got it?”
Simone nodded and gave him a shove with her arm—just enough to get him to back off, taking his intriguing, distracting scent with him. “I’m fine. Let’s go.”
Before he could argue, she tugged on his hand, dragging him along with her.
She pushed the swinging doors open just enough to peer through a narrow crack. A low hum and the scent of ozone struck her like a slap in the face.
She’d been surrounded by that once before. Trapped, with no way to escape what was being done to her. That smell had shoved its way into her nose, stronger than the stench of rotting shells ever could be. She’d choked on it, knowing that she would die doing so—that the smell would stop only when she was dead.