Page 35 of Zomromcom

Other than some surprisingly vigorous snoring—Edie would have to mock Max for that later—and a lot of healing, nothing much happened as he slept. No agitated thrashing. No transformation. No decapitation. No additional trauma.

Minute by minute, though, his bleeding waned as the rents in his flesh turned shallow and slowly knit together.

The less egregious injuries disappeared entirely within a couple of hours, and while the gaping wound at his neck required longer to mend, at some point his eventual recovery became a factual prediction rather than wild conjecture or the panic-stricken hope of a desperate woman.

He would live. Probably wouldn’t even have scars to show for his troubles.

When she knew that for certain, when she was absolutely sure he’d be fine sooner rather than later and wouldn’t require the neck-rending services of her cleaver, she tucked a pillow beneath his head, covered him with a thick, down-filled duvet, rose up from her stiff, sore knees, and stumbled to his bedroom.

To his en suite shower, where she washed his blood off her numb limbs with trembling hands.

To his bed, where she huddled naked beneath the covers and finally allowed herself a much-needed, much-delayed breakdown.

For a while, she was too busy shaking and crying to think much, other than a brief moment of wondering whether she’d gotten snot on his very nice sheets.

Spoiler alert! Of course she had.

But once she’d calmed enough to gather her thoughts, she couldn’t avoid the obvious any longer: She cared about Max. A lot. Like, a lot a lot.

She’d like to believe that witnessing anyone’s near-fatal battle with a zombie would distress and panic her, as would promising to personally cleave someone’s neck before they fully transformed into a violent, brain-gulping creature.

But Max wasn’t just anyone or someone to her. Not anymore.

Mere distress and panic couldn’t describe her emotional response, not unless she redefined the words.

Not unless they encompassed a riptide of gut-wrenching terror, twisting and yanking at her as she flailed helplessly, sucking her deep where she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but drown in her own fear and devastation.

She hadn’t experienced anything even remotely comparable in a long, long time. Twenty years, to be exact. And no amount of denial could fully hide the significance of that, despite how inconvenient her emotions were or how ill-fated her connection to him might be.

The unbroken stretches of her heart were no longer entirely her own.

Her instincts told her to run like hells.

She even had a great excuse for leaving: The sooner someone alerted the witch and began putting together a zombie-containment force of Zone inhabitants, the better, right?

And Edie could definitely find her, even without a trail-sniffing vampire or the internet. Almost certainly. Somehow.

So she could take her car and drive away right now. She could force a rupture in the ever-strengthening tether that connected the two of them. She could leave Max to his healing and pretend she was being noble and mission-focused.

But she couldn’t lie to herself. Fleeing wouldn’t be noble.

It would be cowardly. The act of a woman unwilling to risk further agony and grief.

And honestly, leaving wasn’t even a real possibility, because he was unconscious and vulnerable, and when he woke up, he might need her.

He might be too weak to reach his blood packs, given how much of his own blood he’d lost. He might go feral or starve in her absence.

If she were confronted by another stray zombie and died, who would help him?

Who would even know he was down here, much less understand how to breach his security measures and reach him in time?

He trusted her. Her . A human woman with tangled, rarely brushed hair, stained coveralls, and a weakness for preservative-laden foodstuffs.

How could she just abandon him?

She couldn’t. She wouldn’t.

While he slept, she’d take a brief nap of her own. She’d get her shit together. She’d muster the courage she needed for the fight ahead and a future she could no longer predict.

When he woke up, she’d help him and let him help her. That tether between them would probably keep strengthening, and if it broke, she wouldn’t be the reason why.

Come what may, she’d stay by his side. From now until…

Well, she hoped the end wouldn’t be bitter. But if it was, so be it. Some things were important enough to justify any risk.

Even a mere human could see that.

***

According to Maxi’s security cameras, the sun had just dipped below the horizon when he woke again.

From her comfortable little blanket-wrapped nest on his library sofa, she watched him blink in sleepy confusion for a few seconds before his gaze sharpened.

Prodding at his neck, he gave a small, pleased nod.

Other than his continuing paleness, he looked good. Alert. Strong. Gratifyingly non-perforated. She let herself appreciate the sight in silence as she chewed.

Abruptly, his look of satisfaction darkened into a ferocious scowl. He sat up in a single swift motion, and the duvet she’d draped over him fell to his waist. He impatiently shoved it aside and leapt to his feet, his narrow-eyed gaze searching the room.

Then he spotted her. Her mouth still full, she raised her free hand and wiggled her fingers in a welcoming wave.

Letting out a relieved breath, he thumped back onto the rug. “There you are, human.”

“Here I am,” she confirmed after swallowing.

He scrubbed his palms over his face. “I thought you might have gone up to the surface to get your duffel. If you’d met another stray while you were alone…” His throat shifted as he swallowed hard. “Anyway. You were wise to wait. I can accompany you.”

Discreetly, she tucked the can by her hip beneath the blanket, along with her fork. “Yep. Super wise. That’s me.”

“What time is it?”

He began testing the recovery of his various muscle groups. His broad shoulders bunched and released, swiftly followed by his biceps and triceps, then his pecs, and her mouth promptly went drier than even a meal of not-falafel could explain.

“Right about dusk.” Dammit, she was thirsty. But if she got out her juice box—

“So it’s too late to find the witch tonight.” He rotated his neck, his mouth pinched into a thin line. “Fuck.”

Now . Now was her chance, with his face pointed the other way.

With an unobtrusive swipe of her wrist across her mouth, a telltale crumb went flying. “How are you feeling?”

Because she was feeling pretty hopeful about his overall recovery. Also pleased with her exemplary level of sneakiness and subtlety.

“Hungry.” One shoulder, gleaming in the lamplight, lifted in a shrug. “Otherwise fine.”

Hmmm. “Even your neck?”

“Still stings a little.” He flipped a dismissive hand. “Some blood and another hour or two will take care of it.”

“Let me have a look.” She began untangling herself from her cocoon of blankets, tossing them aside carelessly. “If it’s closed up enough, we can take off the—”

Her can clanged as it hit the wooden floorboards. Her fork landed somewhere near his knee. One piece of not-falafel rolled gently until it hit the side of the rug.

“Um.” Her gaze surveyed the room, studiously avoiding the rug and anyone who might happen to be sitting atop said rug, but she could still sense his eyes on her. The heat of his glare should have singed her skin. “Maybe I should wash my hands before touching your wounds. I’ll just—”

“Edie.” His voice was a furious, gravelly rasp. “What the fuck .”

Turned out, her shit was decidedly not together , despite her earlier attempt at gathering it into a neat, manageable pile. At the anger in his voice, his chiding tone, all her repressed emotion broke over her head like a wave, filling her lungs until she couldn’t seem to catch a breath.

She threw her hands in the air, her sinuses afire.

“I was starving , asshole! It was an exhausting, shitty day, and you were unconscious from having your godsdamn neck nearly clawed the fuck off , and I didn’t have any internet to distract me, and I was painfully hungry, okay?

So sue me for not waiting when I had no idea how long you’d be out, dickwad! ”

“Edie,” he repeated, much more softly.

“And you know what makes a human woman especially fucking hungry ?” she spat out.

“When she’s forced to watch someone she cares about fighting a fucking zombie without letting her fucking help .

Risking his life to protect her, even though that’s the last fucking thing she wants happening ever again .

And then, when he’s bleeding the fuck out before her very eyes, then she gets to spend an hour or two with a fucking cleaver clutched in her sweaty fucking hand, bracing herself for the possibility that he might turn into a fucking brain slurper and she might have to fucking murder him, even though she l—”

Cutting herself off just in time, she gave a frustrated growl and slapped the moisture from her cheeks.

“I checked the security footage before going anywhere and brought my fucking knife, asswipe. I was fucking vigilant . I’ve been taking care of myself for years, and I’m not a godsdamn moron.

So fuck you, fucking Gaston . Don’t you dare yell at me, you Beast-tormenting French jackass! ”

Snarling and muttering to herself, she bent down to reclaim her can and her fork and stabbed at her missing sphere of not-falafel on the floor.

After shoving it in her mouth, she plopped back onto the couch and chewed belligerently, all while glaring directly into his eyes.

Even though she couldn’t see him that clearly through her angry tears.