Page 2 of Making Haven (Haven #1)

Chapter Two

Lawrence

I lean against the wall, waiting for the shadows to finish growing, signaling when it’s safe for me to finally venture outside.

I already have my bag packed and ready to go.

My initial plan for the night was to work on cleaning out a few houses.

They’ve sat empty for two years, and it’s about time I properly deal with them instead of pretending anyone is going to show up and help me.

My neighbors are long gone and it’s about time I face that fact.

But that plan sounded drab. Instead, I’m hoping to venture out and find supplies.

What sort of supplies? I’m not entirely sure yet.

I have a restlessness under my skin, compelling me to get out and do something.

The towns closest to my home have already been raided but I’m prepared to travel a few towns over, just to see if there’s anything not already picked over.

I’m not sure why but today I’m feeling lucky.

Sticking to my homebase is what’s kept me safe for the last few years, but there’s something in the air tonight. I learned a long time ago to trust my instincts and I’m not about to stop doing that now.

Once the sun has gone down, I pick up my backpack and head outside.

I stop at my garden, pulling a few things from the ground and placing them carefully in my bag.

There’s always a chance at running into survivors while I’m out and I want to be prepared to trade.

What’s hotter commodity in the literal end of the world than fresh produce? It’s not like I can eat it, anyway.

Hunger is a familiar companion these days, always lingering just under my skin.

It gnaws at me until I can barely stand it, until my stomach aches and my head spins.

When I was still human, there was a time I ate far too many burgers in one sitting and got the meat sweats.

Now, I get the same sort of feeling, only it’s from a hunger that I can barely quench.

I throw my backpack into place over my shoulders before starting my walk.

I make sure to lock the gate up as I go, wanting my little gated community to stay empty while I’m gone.

I chance one look over my shoulder at it as I go, my hand unconsciously going to my chest, wishing it was just hunger gnawing at me instead of bone deep loneliness as well.

Can’t really find a stray deer in the forest to take that particular pain away.

Not wanting to waste what limited time I have before the sun comes out, I break out into a sprint.

Being a vampire comes with its pros and cons.

I have to live off blood and can’t feel the sun on my skin any longer, but on the bright side, I apparently can’t contract the virus that brought about these undead zombies.

Undead vampirism apparently trumps undead zombie virus!

I can run at vehicle level speeds. I’m incredibly strong and also incredibly handsome.

At least I’m pretty sure about that last one.

It’s been a few years since I was able to see my reflection but from what I remember, I was quite the looker.

If I had to guess, I’d say it takes me about a half hour of running to reach the city I was aiming for.

Jillian Bay was hit hard when everything went to shit.

A lot of people used to live here so when one zombie came stumbling in, the virus spread like wildfire in a hay barn.

I’d heard stories about people jumping onto boats to get away only to realize one of the people who came with them was hiding a bite. Dumb fuckers.

Why do so many people hide their bites? It’s like they want to spread this shit.

I slow my steps into a walk, looking around the city. So far, there’s not much movement or action that I can see. Either, there are less zombies in this city than I initially expected, or something has them all congregated together somewhere.

A heartbeat hits my ears and my steps falter.

I look to my right, finding a fat owl sitting on a branch, staring at me.

Its heartbeat makes my mouth water. It’s been a while since I’ve fed, mostly sticking to the rabbits who try to take a nibble from my precious little garden and other ways to sate my hunger.

I’ll go into town and see what’s going on, but first, a little snack is in order. Normally, I wouldn’t waste my time on a bird, knowing they’re more than likely to fly away before I can really get a grip on it, but this particular bird looks so lazy, so plump. I can’t seem to help myself.

Using that vampiric speed from earlier, I pounce, wrapping my hands around the bird. It gives a weak squeak before my fangs are sliding down into place. I take a bite, moaning as warm blood pools against my tongue. Fuck. Fuck, this is so good. Exactly what I needed.

The owl flails in my grip, its talons digging into my arm but I don’t care, too lost in the lust of feeding.

Everything goes hazy around the edges as I drink deeply.

Sometimes, I’ll just take a few sips before letting the animal go.

This time, I seem to have lost all wits and thought, too overwhelmed with just how fucking good this owl tastes.

I drink and I drink and I drink until my sucking brings up nothing at all.

I pull away, licking the last few drops from my lips. With a shuddering breath, I pull my fangs back up, leaving them blunt and human-like. I kiss the owl’s head, silently thanking it for the meal before laying it at the base of its tree.

Fuck, I feel clearer than I have in a long time.

I’m more aware of my surroundings, my body poised and ready for any danger that might spring up.

I feel strong, capable of taking down the most grizzly opponent.

Which might just come in handy if the noises that are coming from the area ahead of me are anything to go by.

The usual gurgle and shuffling of the undead hits my ears as I begin my walk once more.

They’re hunting something, or probably more accurately, someone.

Poor bastard has gotten themselves in a tough situation.

A small part of me thinks about turning back and making my way back home.

They’d never know someone else was even here.

I don’t really need to bother helping people when I’ve got a solid set-up back home.

But the bigger part of me knows I won’t do that.

There’s not nearly enough survivors anymore.

And I’m so goddamn lonely in that big cul-de-sac by myself.

I could use a little company, even if it’s just for a little while as I help get them out of this situation.

That’s without knowing that it’s the right thing to do. If people stop helping each other, we become as bad as the undead zombies.

My steps quicken and it’s not hard to find what’s going on.

There’s a man stranded on a balcony by himself, a group of zombies gathered below him, staring up at him like he’s their next meal.

I’ve never been more glad for my heightened eyesight because even from a distance, I can see just how beautiful this guy is.

Tall and broad in a way that tells me he’s strong.

He’s a survivor. His hair is long and dark, a mess he’s trying to keep pushed behind his ears and out of the way.

His face is covered in stubble. I wish I could see what color his eyes are from here but my admiration will have to wait until a more opportune time.

The zombies below the balcony aren’t the worst of what’s happening. The glass door behind the poor guy shakes and quivers as someone pounds on it. A werewolf zombie. What I lovingly call a zere. Fuck.

As if zombies weren’t enough during this hellscape of a time, we quickly learned that humans weren’t the only ones capable of contracting the virus.

Vampires seem immune but that’s not the case for werewolves.

Instead of turning them into brain-dead undead, they turned them completely and utterly feral.

They’re more animal than man now, wanting nothing more than to feed on fresh flesh.

The guy seems to be smart, this must be how he’s survived this long on his own.

Before I can properly get in there to help take out the zombies below him, he pulls something from his bag, twists it a few times before tossing it over the roof.

It lands a good distance away, ringing like an old fashioned alarm clock.

The zombies hear it and begin to shuffle towards the noise.

“Okay, okay. Shit. Fuck.”

He turns around, staring at the sliding glass door. His body tenses just before the entire thing fucking shatters.

The guy screams before hastily climbing over the railing of the balcony and launching himself over the side of it.

Time seems to slow as he flies through the air before hitting the ground.

There’s a terrible popping noise that makes me wince.

I’m moving before I even tell my body to follow, instincts taking over.

The zere throws itself over the edge as well, scrambling towards their next meal.

Their body is contorted into a half shift that I’ve only seen from zeres, their back hunched, their claws outstretched, ready to dig into the man.

My fangs drop down as I leap forward, covering the man with my body, my stance one of an animal protecting its territory. The zere freezes at its competition and I use that frozen moment to my advantage, pouncing.

Thank Christ for that owly dinner, because without it, I’m not sure I’d have the strength to take this zere on.

My fingers wrap around the zere’s throat and I pull. The zere’s life is over quickly as his head pops from his neck. Blood sprays across my front, warm against my skin. I just barely keep myself from licking my lips. From desperate experience, I know the undead taste terrible.

I turn around, finding the guy I’d just saved looking at me with wide brown eyes.

Brown. His eyes are brown. He’s even more beautiful up close.

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

“You can just call me Lawrence,” I tell him, the tiniest smile playing at my lips.

The guy stands up, breathing heavily. He winces when he puts weight on his right leg. There’s blood dripping from his palms and various places on his face where the glass nicked his skin when the glass door shattered.

“I realize it’s a lot to ask for trust since we’ve only just met but your alarm over there is about to run out and there’s no way you’re running on that leg,” I say carefully, looking around and finding a few stray zombies already stumbling in our direction. “So? Trust me?”

“Oh, fuck me,” he says before nodding in my direction.

With permission, I grab him around the waist, hoisting him against me. “Tuck your face against my throat,” I tell him before I start running.

A surprised noise leaves his throat and his arms tighten around me as his hair flies around in the wind. I keep moving until we’re completely out of town, halfway to my home. Once I know we’re in a decently safe place, I finally slow and set him onto his feet.

The guy turns away from me, bending over and throwing up. He straightens, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Okay. I feel better.”

His hands are shaking and he looks far too pale to me. “You’re going into shock.”

“Might be. Did almost just die. Might have broken my fucking leg.”

“Here,” I murmur, pulling a carrot from my bag.

The guy takes it from me, staring at me like I’ve sprouted a second head. “A carrot? Really? How is this supposed to help?”

I shrug. “Seems like you should eat something. Or drink something. Do you have some water with you?”

There’s a long pause before the guy gives a long sigh.

He pulls his backpack from his back, taking out a water bottle and taking a swig.

Right now is really not the time to be noticing small things, like the way his eyes stare at me untrusting, the way his jaw is strong, the way his fingers look wrapped around his water bottle.

The way his Adam’s Apple bobs with each pull of water makes my mouth run dry.

Fuck, I need to focus. Just because I haven’t been around another person in years doesn’t mean I can develop a fascination with the first guy I meet.

“Would you like to come home with me?”

A skeptical brow raises. “Why would I do that?”

“Seems safer than trying to hobble around on your fucked up leg. I live in an abandoned cul-de-sac at the top of a giant hill. Pretty safe while you rest up.”

“Yeah, that does sound safe, but what do you get out of it? I don’t really have much on me and I’m not about to kiss you for a place to sleep.”

“Hey!” I say, raising my hands in surrender. “I’m not asking for anything in return, man. Jesus. Who hurt you?”

“Everyone,” he says back, his voice sounding tired instead of ready for a fight. “Why the fuck should I trust you? That you’re helping me out of the kindness of your heart?”

“I guess you can’t trust me,” I say slowly. “But what other choice do you have?”