Page 22 of Zomromcom

The familiar horror racked Edie as she perched far above the violence and cowered in fear and shame.

The smell of iron choked her, howls of triumph hurt her ears, and she knew it was a dream.

She’d watched this moment a thousand times in her sleep, her mind supplying the grisly details she hadn’t actually witnessed in real life, so she knew what to expect and it couldn’t hurt her, only—

“Edie.” Cool hands drew her closer to an equally cool body. “Wake up.”

The nightmare twisted, and it wasn’t just her parents below her anymore.

No , she shouted, and tried to jump down from the attic, ladder or no ladder, but she kept falling endlessly, unable to look away as the zombies slaughtered everyone she—

“Shhh. You’re safe.” The quiet words, gentle for all their implacability, interrupted the bloodbath. “Don’t cry, my Edie.”

Her ears ringing, she blinked awake and scrabbled for Max’s hands, his forearms, any bit of him she could snatch against herself and keep safe and whole. Her ragged nails bit deep into his skin, and she was panting as she flailed in an attempt to turn over and see him.

When she began to fall off the couch, he hauled her back into his embrace and against his chest, this time facing him. “Calm yourself, ma puce. I’m here. All is well.”

He wrapped her in himself, and she huddled against him, trembling.

One big palm cradled her nape as she pressed her face into his bare neck.

The other swept up and down her spine in slow, steady strokes.

She sniffled, attempting to parse her nightmarish reality and her literal nightmare, and a brief, soft pressure touched the top of her head.

After several minutes, she’d shaken off the worst of it.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, and would have curled into herself like a humiliated shrimp if he hadn’t kept her stretched out against him. “I haven’t had a dream like that for a while, but…”

He exhaled, his leg sliding against hers. “Yes. The last two days have been a challenge.”

“Please.” A husky feminine voice came from somewhere behind the couch. “Do tell.”

Max had clearly been tempering his speed and strength for her sake, because she couldn’t even follow how quickly he moved or believe how easily he moved her .

Before she could blink, she was lying flat on the ground and hidden as fully as possible between him and the sofa, her cleaver’s handle pressed into her grasp, as he stood and faced their uninvited company.

Another confrontation. More violence. Fucking hells .

Adrenaline flooded her veins and tasted metallic on her tongue, and she had to tighten her grip on her weapon so her fingers wouldn’t tremble.

“Come no closer,” he warned them—because it was more than one person. The sounds of shuffling feet and brandished weaponry indicated a substantial gathering of people. “I don’t wish to hurt you, but I will.”

At that, grumbles of affront mingled with a few chuckles.

“Forgive me if I don’t flee in terror,” the woman said, sounding amused. “I figure a dozen armed fighters can take out one rando in a tablecloth and the woman cowering at his feet, but perhaps I’m mistaken. If so, my apologies.”

Cowering .

Their intruder couldn’t have pushed Edie’s buttons more effectively, not even if the entire group had watched her nightmare play out live.

Max tried to stop her from scrambling to her feet, but he was hampered by the knife he held in one hand, his need to watch their unwelcome guests, and his unwillingness to hurt her.

In the end, she no longer lay at his feet or remained hidden behind him.

She stood at his side. As she should have from the beginning, no matter the danger.

There were, in fact, a dozen armed people ringed around the sofa, scruffy but surprisingly clean. All genders, different heights and builds and skin colors. None of them had guns, but they held their baseball bats, knives, and tire irons with the comfortable ease of long practice.

Shit.

Yeah, the two of them were goners. Unless she could sweet-talk the gang leaders and emphasize how little threat she and Max posed, but how?

When he tried to guide her behind him again, she resisted.

“ Human —” he began under his breath, his tone vicious and furious, the word choice a deliberate reminder of his relative invulnerability compared to her species’ fragility.

“Ah, there she is.” The woman—a waifish redhead with pale skin, a pixie cut, and tattoo sleeves—smiled at Edie, and it would have been charming enough to prompt a smile in return. If, that is, the redhead weren’t armed with an axe. “So glad you could join the party.”

“Stop playing with your food, Belinda,” said a handsome Black man with a shaved head. “It’s beneath you.”

Edie cringed. Were they feral werewolves, or…?

“That was a metaphor,” a thin white guy with a luxuriant mustache and a ponytail cheerfully told them. “We’re just humans. We’re totally not going to eat you or anything, so don’t worry. Ugh. Gross.”

“Doug,” the redhead chided, shaking her head. “Discretion. Please.”

“But we might hurt or kill you,” Doug hurried to add, waving his tire iron. “It depends.”

Before Edie could ask him what, precisely, their continued survival depended upon, the Black man cleared his throat, drawing the room’s attention back to him.

“As Belinda was about to tell you, outsiders aren’t welcome here,” he informed her and Max. “You’ve not only intruded upon our territory, but—”

“That’s our napping couch!” Doug announced. “Austin gets really cranky without his daily nap.”

The Black man pinched his forehead. “Doug. We’ve discussed this.”

“But you do .” Tucking his tire iron beneath his arm, the thin man peered down at the sofa’s uncovered cushions. “I had no idea those were slipcovers. Amazing.”

Well, there was an opening. A weird one, but so be it.

“The covers are machine washable,” Edie volunteered. “The fabric is stain resistant, so they’ll probably look good as new after one cycle if you presoak them.”

“Huh.” Doug looked intrigued.

“Also,” she added quickly, before Austin or Belinda regained their threat-making mojo, “we’re so sorry to have intruded.

We had no idea this was your territory or your, uh”—she stifled a hysterical giggle—“napping couch. We just needed someplace to dry off and get warm before we moved on. We promise we won’t go anywhere else in the mall, and we won’t tell anyone we saw you here. ”

When Max’s continued attempts to yank her behind him failed, he heaved a silent sigh and spoke. “She’s telling the truth. We don’t know what you’re doing here. We don’t care what you’re doing here. If you’d just let us—”

“We’re counterfeiters!” Doug interjected. “The best on the East Coast!”

Everyone in the room turned to stare at him. Belinda resumed shaking her head while Austin appeared to be trying to set the other man on fire with his mind.

Max’s body had gone taut at her side as he braced for battle, and her frantic pulse echoed in her skull. Now that they’d unwillingly learned about the gang’s activities, there was no way they’d be allowed to leave freely. Unless…

Okay. Last-ditch-effort time. Building empathy sometimes worked in these sorts of situations, right?

“That’s fascinating!” Edie forced herself to smile at a shamefaced Doug, then at Austin and Belinda and everyone else. “I’ve always thought counterfeiting was an interesting blend of artistry and technology. It kind of reminds me of what I do.”

“What do you do?” Perking up, Doug perched on the sofa’s back and watched her curiously.

“Don’t tell them,” Max ordered. “Don’t—”

“Tell us. Now.” Belinda’s axe made an ominous whoosh ing sound when she lifted it menacingly. “If you lie to me, I’ll know, and you’ll regret it.”

“I’m a soap maker.” Edie’s throat was dust-dry, and swallowing hurt. “My job mixes art and science too.”

“What the fuck , woman?” Max sounded like the top of his head was about to blow off. “Even if we manage to escape, they have enough information to hunt you down now.”

She crinkled her nose. “I’m not a good liar.”

In retrospect, she probably shouldn’t have been participating in such a fraught discussion when she was exhausted, still partially frozen, and fresh from a disorienting nightmare.

“Wait,” Belinda said slowly. “I know you.”

“Mother fucker .” His knife and body still poised for attack, Max glared down at Edie. “I can’t believe you just told them—”

“I know both of you.” The other woman’s head tilted as she studied them, the tense readiness in her posture softening. “Wow.”

“Ha! It’s not just me!” Edie poked his ribs, then returned Belinda’s curious stare. “Hold on. How do you know us? Who do you think we are?”

“We watch Brad and Tonya’s channel all the time.” Grinning now, Belinda tucked her axe into a leather carrying sling. “Which is where we saw you, and the reason we know about his channel.”

Her forefinger pointed directly at Max.

“You—” His jaw worked for a moment. “You’re a subscriber?”

The redhead winked at him, which was both a good sign concerning Edie’s and Max’s continued survival and really freaking annoying. “Ever since you modeled those tiny macramé briefs.”

His shoulders relaxed a fraction. “That’s my video with the most views.”

“For good reason,” Belinda said with emphasis.

Both Austin and Edie scowled at her.

“Now that we’re all acquainted, I should take you on a tour of our headquarters.

We’re based at Sharper Image, since they have lots of electrical outlets.

It’s where we put our generator,” said sweet, clueless Doug, interrupting the tense moment with yet more dangerous revelations no one had asked him to share.

“And, of course, we spend a lot of time at Brookstone too.”

Austin groaned faintly.

“Ah.” Dismissing the momentary sting of jealousy—this was neither the time nor the place, and she had no claim on Max anyway—Edie smiled at Doug. “The massage chairs?”

“The massage chairs,” he affirmed. “Want to know how counterfeiting works?”