Page 61 of Glass Rose
He brings my hand to his lips. “You know what’s stopping me.”
Me. He means me. “I’ll join you.”
“Into unknown territory? With no guarantee they’re even alive?”
“Yes.” I eliminate the space between us. “Unless you don’t want me there.”
His hand finds my waist, fingers digging in. “Don’t tell the others. Especially not Alex. That camera-happy fucker would turn it into a goddamn rescue mission documentary.”
“When are you planning to leave?”
“I didn’t say I was?—”
I grab his shirt, bunching the fabric in my fist. “When?”
“I wanted to go on one or two-day supply runs. Check if I can reach them.” His eyes search mine. “A month. Maybe three.”
“I’m coming with you.”
“Sofia—”
“Not negotiable.” I release his shirt, smoothing the wrinkles I created. “Either we both go, or neither of us. And if you leave alone. I’ll hunt you.” I doubt I’d be a very good hunter. Against a Black-Ops? No chance, but I’ll do it.
He throws his head back and laughs. A real laugh that transforms his face into something almost boyish. A deep, rich sound that catches me off guard, and settles something inside me. This is evidence that whatever they did to him at Green, they couldn’t take everything.
“You’d hunt me?” His eyes crinkle at the corners, shouldersstill shaking. “With what? Your lab coat and a microscope?”
I shove him. “I’ve killed zombies. I’m practically Lara Croft.”
“Sure, Doc.” His fingers brush a strand of hair from my face, remaining at my cheek. “And I’m just a little concerned about the woman who squealed at a spider in the shower yesterday tracking me through hostile territory.”
“That was a really big spider.” I lean into his touch despite myself. “And it had the element of surprise.”
His thumb traces my bottom lip. “Like you’d have with me?”
“I’m resourceful.”
“That you are.” His eyes darken. “Your heart’s racing.”
“It’s not fear.”
“I can’t protect you out there. Not like here.”
“I don’t need protection. I need—” I swallow hard. “I need not to be left behind. Not again. Not by you.”
His thumb smears black blood across my cheek, his eyes tracking the movement with a strange intensity. I should be disgusted—I’m covered in zombie guts—but all I feel is the heat of his touch and the weight of what we’re discussing.
“I’m not leaving you behind,” he murmurs.
I rise on my tiptoes, fingers curling around his neck to meet me halfway. The kiss is softer than before, but no less urgent.
A promise, a claim.
When we break apart, his eyes carry that beautiful, dazed look, and I know I’m making him feel exactly what he does to me.
He draws me against his body, palming my ass. “What were we fighting about again?”
“Your hero complex. My recklessness.” I gesture to the corpses surrounding us. “The usual relationship stuff.”
