Page 27 of Immune

“It’s gravity’s fault, not mine. Gravity started it,” he counters, like a toddler tattling on the very thing that’s going to kill him.

The gutter groans under his weight just as Zeds spill out onto the porch roof behind him. They drag themselves through the bathroom window with clumsy eagerness, jaws snapping and dead hands clawing at anything in sight.

If I’m being honest, I have every opportunity to run. It’s actually a very beautiful opportunity, too. Wide open, practically gift-wrapped by the universe with a pretty red bow and a tiny card that says, “Here you go, Kota. Make a good decision for once.”

Apparently, I’m all for defying the universe today, because I grab Kaito’s wrist instead. His skin is warm beneath my glove. Too warm, his Alpha temperature burning through the material with a heat that doesn’t sting. The scent of him slams into me harder than a freight train, that same burning wood and worn flannel scent mingled with blood, sweat, Alpha, and something that makes my Omega perk up as though someone just rang a dinner bell and she’s eager to be first in line.

Gritting my teeth, I wrap my fingers tightly around Kaito’s wrist and pull hard. He helps as much as he can, hauling himself up with a pained groan that sounds like it’s torn from somewhere deep. For one terrible second, his weight drags me toward the edge, but then he manages to hoist one knee onto the roof. Together, we drag his body onto the porch before we both roll away from the drop just as the first Zed reaches the gap between houses and falls straight through it.

The crunch of its body is wet, gruesome, horrible, and deeply satisfying.

Rolling onto my back, I pant for air, breathing hard enough that my chest rises and falls rapidly. Kaito lands next to me, one hand somehow wrapped around my wrist. Neither of usmoves for a moment, staring up at the sky that is quickly turning the color of a bruise, purple and blues fading into one another. Clouds are streaked across the sky, swallowing the dying light as the sun fades after another trying day.

Somewhere below is the sound of snarling Zeds, growling and scraping at siding they can’t climb. The roof under me is damp, the cold seeping through my jacket. My arm throbs, my knee aches something fierce, and my heart is throwing itself around the cage of my ribs as though it’s fighting for freedom.

Kaito’s fingers loosen around my wrist, and then he lets go first.

That matters. I hate that it does, but it really fucking matters, and I can’t do a damned thing about the new rhythm my heart decides to beat at.

“You keep saving me,” he says, voice rough with more than just pain.

Rolling my head against the roof, I paint a glare across my features and mutter, “Then how about you stop needing it?”

Kaito’s mouth twitches, and I point a warning finger at his face. “Don’t do it. Don’t even think about it.”

“What?” he asks innocently.

“Don’t smile,” I snap, still pointing.

“I wasn’t going to,” he argues, but I see the amusement in those dark almond eyes.

“You were thinking about it,” I say, sure in my assessment.

He nods, looking like he’s still fighting against the smile I can visibly see teasing the edges of his mouth.

“Stop it,” I demand.

“I’m trying,” he assures, though it doesn’t look like he’s trying all that hard.

I hate that another tiny laugh actually threatens me. I kill it with fire immediately, because this is not a time to be laughing. Hell, is there ever a time to laugh in a zombie apocalypse?

Below us, the Zeds continue to claw uselessly at the walls. For now, though, we’re out of reach. Across the roofs, the next house offers a way down through a broken attic window. I only know because I checked it yesterday, planning the escape route should I need it. I never anticipated that I would need it before I even rested for the evening, but what the hell should I have expected? I also know the house beyond that backs onto a street with less dead, and three blocks after that is a narrow lane that leads toward the woods.

This means my escape route is still viable. Kind of. Mostly, at least.

Unfortunately, my escape route now includes one bleeding Alpha who smells too good and asks permission before opening windows. Fucking A.

The night presses in closer, and the temperature gradually drops the longer we lie here. It’s only in the silence between us and the groaning Zeds below that I notice Kaito’s breathing turn shallow. Even in the fading light, I can see the blood staining his shirt, the pool spreading across the material.

“You’re about to pass out on me,” I guess.

“Nah. I’m good. Probably,” he refutes.

I scoff. “That means you’re probably going to pass out.”

He pushes out a huff that almost sounds like laughter. “Yeah, maybe.”

Sitting upright with a groan, I turn my head to look at him with every ounce of irritation I possess and inform him, “You’re actually the most inconvenient man I think I’ve ever met.”