Page 13 of Cruel Devotion

Not that she needs a weapon.

Chen spoke, “Yan has not been back in the States for many years. She would be considered an honorary guest.”

Goddamn it.

Chen continued, “tradition dictates that we should have a moonlit feast and provide her with a place to lay her head—”

“Another fucking feast?” I bared my teeth. “I want to be alone. Not sitting on some fucking throne, putting on a fake mask and pretending like I care to hear any argument she has to keep our father alive.”

“You are the Mountain Master.” Chen placed his hand on my shoulder. “It is not an easy life. You know this.”

“Tonight, I’m supposed to say goodbye to Chanel. That won’t be a short moment.” A cold shiver sliced up my spine. “When will I have the time to say goodbye?”

“If not tonight, then take all morning.” Slowly, he moved his hand from my shoulder. “I promise to not have Chanel’s body taken away until you have given her a proper goodbye.”

I nodded.

Chen put his gaze on the horizon. “This is going to be a long night.”

I headed off. “Let’s just hope I don’t kill Yan or Duck by the morning.”

Chapter two

Zombie Blues

Monique

In my dream, Lei and I rushed through the grand hallway of a mansion.

I held a machete.

He gripped a shotgun. A sword hung in its sheath on his hip.

Portraits of stern-faced rich men lined the walls.

Our feet sunk slightly into the luscious, thick red carpets, their patterns interlocked with roses and thorns, embodying the idea of love intertwined with anguish.

The ceilings above us featured beautiful gold leaf designs, with cherubs and lovers intricately etched in each. Their expressions were both passionate and afraid, trapped in a golden eternity.

The grandiose beauty of the house seemed so out of place given our anxiety-ridden situation.

Because each shadowed nook and cranny of the mansion harbored a new threat of zombies.

The undead—once the guests of some formal party at this mansion—now roamed its hallowed halls with a grotesque purpose.

Their pale, decayed skin cracked.

Black sludge spilled from the female zombie’s misshapen mouths and dripped along their ripped gowns.

The males dragged forward in their tattered tuxedos and frayed bowties hanging loosely off their shirts.

All the while, their eyes—milky and devoid of souls—locked onto us with a terrifying hunger. Their gaped open mouths revealed jagged teeth stained from unspeakable feasts.

“This way, Monique.” Lei reached for an ornate door, its once polished wood now marred by scratches and scuffs, as if many had tried to seek refuge behind it.

We opened the door, and a magnificent sight greeted us.

The grand ballroom—once probably the heart of a lavish party—now lay draped in a haunting stillness.

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