Page 98 of Grave Beginnings

“He’s here, but sort of grumpy,” Ivan whispered, keeping himself between me and everyone else, as if my tiny little brother could somehow protect me from a bunch of crazy, supernatural assholes.

“I’m the grumpy one in this relationship,” I muttered. “Fuck, my shoulder still hurts.”

“Wrist is fucked up, too,” Ivan added. “Nose isn’t broken, but bled a lot.”

“Cracked rib, too. Might be more than one,” I said, recalling the kick to my back. “Bruised, but I’ll live. Probably.”

“Can you send someone back to that lot?” Ivan asked.

“Why?” someone asked.

“Um, Jude raised the dead.”

I sputtered and nearly made myself pass out again as the pain brought a wave of darkness to supersede the dim garage lighting. “What? Another lame superpower, raising a zombie neighborhood watch. Go me.”

“Sorry, Jude,” Ivan said, holding me carefully. “They ran when something came out of the ground. Whatever they were looked people-shaped but didn’t attack, not even when I got to your side, but they were still standing when I put you in the car.”

“Fuck,” Xavier cursed.

“Jude?” Angel called, as if pleading. Where was he? I tried to look for him, but one eye wouldn’t open and the other was caked with enough blood to make my lashes and hair obscure my vision, making everything shadowy and blurry.

“I’m okay,” I said.

“He’s a shitty liar,” one of the twins said.

“If you attack Ivan, I’ll end you,” Xavier said.

Who was attacking Ivan?

“V? You okay?” I asked my little brother. Was he hurt?

“I’m fine. I did what you said. Shifted and hid under the seat. I called Xavier when you passed out in the car. Who were those guys? Were they real cops?”

“Cops? Cops did this?” Angel demanded.

“A bag of dicks,” I said.

Angel cursed, and I heard another slew of shouting but tuned them out. They could fight over who was the most alpha male on their own time. I desperately wanted to curl up in my bed with Peanut Butter’s purr to lull me to sleep. And if I didn’t wake up… well, I had a good life insurance plan that would hopefully take care of Ivan and Grandpa.

“Can you help me to the elevator?” I asked Ivan. “I need to wash up.” And maybe pass out again. Had I hit my head? “Fuck, I need to feed you dinner. Did you say I raised zombies? Holy fuck.”

“How about we get you upstairs and worry about food and everything else later?” Ivan asked.

“You’re talking to me more. That’s something, right?”

He grumbled something I didn’t understand as he lifted me.

“You’re strong.”

“Shifter, remember? Just ‘cause my cat is small doesn’t mean I’m weak,” Ivan said.

“Good to know,” I responded, leaning on him as he used the car to help me up. My right hip locked up. “Fuck. My body is giving me a ‘fuck you very much’ signal from every nerve.”

“This is why I said you should go to the hospital.”

“Last time I went there, they locked me up for two weeks in the psych ward and told me I was variant. They even cuffed me in the morgue for over twelve hours. Bodies on the table, not in bags. No one talked to me, but still they say I talk to dead people. I thought I was going insane. I never even thought of morgues ascreepy until then. I’d rather curl up in my bed and die on my own terms, thanks.”

Silence fell over everything again. As much as I wanted to twist around and find out what all the noise was about, or the lack of it now, I had to focus on keeping my feet. I clung to Ivan like a life raft.