23. Juliet

My forayinto the outside world has set something alight inside me. I'm like a new person. I'm eating more, I have more energy, my sleep is so much better. Gina can't stop complimenting my smile.

But something changed between Silas and I that day, and it dampens my mood every time I think about it too much.

I'd wanted him to fuck me so badly when I crawled out of that back seat. I'd lain under that blanket, my mind boiling with desire, thinking about him and all the ways I wanted him to have his way with me. I'd nearly crawled straight into his lap. I'd nearly leaned over and unzipped him, aching to touch him in any way possible.

Thank god he'd sent me into the water. It had been cold, but comforting, like coming home. And it brought me to my senses. As those pheromones wore off, I'd begun to see clearly. I'd relaxed, and all that brainless desire had worn off.

And I realized I really did want him to fuck me.

But he's been avoiding me. I still feel his eyes on me, lingering in the background as always. Making sure no one hurts me. But he stays away. He doesn't come too close.

It makes me sad, and then bad weather sets in. The early warm days of Fall pass us by, and we head into October. It rains almost every day and it becomes unseasonably cold. We're forced to spend more time inside, and the boredom is mind-crushing.

I spend a lot of time sitting undercover, wrapped up in a thick sweater as I watch the leaves change and fall. I wish I had pencils and paper so I could draw. I trace the shape of each leaf in my mind, the arching fingers of the branches on the trees.

Halloween comes around, with no celebration or fanfare. I'd always thought Halloween was kind of dumb, just an excuse to make yourself sick on candy and toilet-paper the neighbor's tree. But I loved the decorations. My Mom used to make our porch look so pretty. Not with cobwebs and skeletons, but beautiful harvest-themed wreaths made herself, and big jack-o-lanterns my dad would drill intricate patterns into. I loved it.

Then we roll into November, and it gets so cold I'm convinced it's going to snow. Maybe we'll have a white Christmas this year. Another holiday we don't celebrate anymore. Something else to remind me just what I miss about my old life.

On this especially cold morning, just a few days shy of Thanksgiving, I sit with my hands tucked into my sleeves, my sweater pulled up around my chin, watching the rain pelt down from the dark sky. I wait for it to turn to sleet any second now.

"Hello, stranger."

I look over my shoulder in the direction of the voice, and straight into Silas's eyes. I stretch my legs down off the bench, turning towards him.

"Well, hello. I thought you didn't like me anymore." I give him a crooked smile. "You haven't talked to me in a long time."

He looks sheepish, sweeping the dark hair from his forehead with his tattooed hand.

"Sorry about that." He holds up a black duffel bag, his chest puffing a little, as though he's really proud. "But I have something I think might cheer you up."

I raise an eyebrow. "And what is that?"

"Come with me and you'll find out."

I don't ask any more questions, too relieved to be back in his presence to care what that black bag holds. I follow him across the yard, scurrying through the pouring rain. We head past the kitchen and an administration block, around some storage sheds and straight for a line of neat yellow and white cabins.

"Are you taking me to your place?" I ask with a giggle.

He grins over his shoulder at me. "You got somewhere better to be?"

I pad up the steps behind him, and he opens the door to a cute little room. There's a big bed in the middle, and an armchair in front of an enclosed metal fireplace. A desk with a big chair is on the opposite wall, beside which stands a bookshelf filled with books.

I peel off my wet sweater, and walk over to the bookshelf. "You like to read?"

"Yeah, always have. I guess you have too, daughter of an english teacher and all."

"That's for sure. Books as presents, for every birthday." I gesture to the shelf. "Mind if I take a look?"

He waves me over. "Course not. Go ahead."

I look over the spines, reading off the titles, some I know, some I've never heard of. On one of the shelves lies a faded polaroid picture, underneath an old cassette tape. I can't make out much of it, but it looks like a very young Silas with a pretty redhead. They're both laughing. On the cassette tape, in black pen, are the words "For Harri", along with two uneven little hearts.

"Who's this in the picture?" I ask.

A beat, a moment's hesitation in which the air becomes somehow heavier. I turn to look at him, and his eyes are fixed downwards.

"She was my best friend growing up." His voice is a little strained, and the small twitch of his jaw tells me that maybe I shouldn't push this, not when we just tenuously found our way back to each other. Instead, I walk to his side and look over everything he's spread out on the desk.

"You got art supplies?" I gaze up at him in awe. "How did you manage that?"

"I put in a special request to one of the family centers," he replies. "They sent me some things, excess stock apparently."

I laugh, reaching down to flip open a notebook, running my fingers over the heavy paper. "This is amazing." I smile up at him. "Are we going to draw together?"

"Well the weather's shit and I don't feel like going to the gym, so why not?"

Without thinking, I throw my arms around Silas and grab him in a tight hug.

"Oh my god, thank you!" I realize as he tenses that maybe that was a bad idea, not after we were panting over each other in a truck a few weeks ago. I quickly let him go and take a step back. "Sorry, I'm just excited."

"It's OK." He gives me that devastating smile again, and unbuttons his khaki shirt, peeling it down his arms. He's wearing a tight white t-shirt underneath which makes his tanned skin look even darker. He runs a hand through his damp hair, raking it back over his head and he looks good enough to eat.

He catches me staring at him, his eyes moving down to my lips.

"I wanted to apologize," he says slowly. "For what happened, in the truck."

"You don't need to apologize for that."

"I didn't want to make you uncomfortable."

I shake my head quickly. "You didn't. I was confused for a minute, but that was all."

"Me too." His eyes move back up my face to meet mine. "They want us to spend time together, the higher-ups. They think it's good PR. Make the humans trust us again."

"Good PR?"

"Yeah. They think it's good we're… friends."

"Friends, huh?"

"Yes, friends." His tongue nudges against one of his fangs, as though he's contemplating the word. His eyes flash down to my lips for a split second, and I think he's going to move closer to me. But then he breaks away from my gaze to look down at the desk, picking up a notepad and a box of pencils, handing them to me. "Here, sit where you like."

"I used to draw on my bed. Lying on my stomach, it was always the most comfortable."

His Adam's apple races up and down his throat as he swallows. "Make yourself at home then."

I lie down on his bed, flipping open the notepad in front of me and pulling a pencil out of the box. I gaze out the window at the trees that are waving in the wind that's sprung up, at the leaves that are falling, and put the tip of the pencil to the paper.

Silas turns the armchair so it's facing the bed, and sits down, throwing open the notepad on his knee. His pencil scratches across the paper, and he looks up at me sporadically, narrowing his eyes and tilting his head.

I sketch out the window frame, the drapes either side, and look over at him.

"Are you drawing me?" I ask after a while.

He smiles at his paper, his hand continuing to move. "What else would I draw?"

I lean up on my elbows as though trying to catch a glimpse. "Do I have clothes on?"

The corners of his mouth quirk. "You'll have to wait and see."

"Well you have seen me naked I guess." I look out the window, analyzing the shape and curve of the branches on the trees. "It's not a stretch for you to remember exactly what I look like."

"A refresher couldn't hurt," he mutters, still suppressing a grin.

I laugh and look at him with raised eyebrows. "Oh really? Well I'm scheduled for a shower tonight, maybe you can talk one of your buddies into swapping shifts."

"I might just have to do that." He keeps drawing, every now and then sweeping a thumb over the paper.

I carefully sketch out the trees outside, then begin to trace raindrops on the window pane even though it's covered by a roof and no raindrops are running down it. After a while he flips the notepad over towards me.

"What do you think?"

I stare at the picture. Not only is he good, he's drawn me. Lying in bed, face down. Hair trailing over my bare back, the barest hint of my ass peeking out over the sheets. There's a hand on my lower back, the owner out of frame. It's beautiful, so carefully done and the details so perfect, I can hardly believe he just threw that down on paper while I was lying here doodling trees.

I raise my eyes back to his.

"You're really good." My lips tremble a little as I smile. "Is that how you see me?"

He smiles, looking down at the picture. "I wish I could see you like this." He shakes his head and goes back to drawing.

"I did mean it."

He pauses his drawing and looks back up at me. "Mean what?"

"What I said in the truck. That I… You know, in the forest. I would have let you kiss me."

"Is that right?"

I nod. "I just didn't want you to get in trouble."

Goddamn his gaze is so intense. The rain patters loudly against the roof, as we look at each other, and after a while I shiver.

"You cold?" He asks, rising to his feet.

I sit up on my knees and rub my arms. "Yeah, a little."

He gets to his feet and turns to a set of drawers beside the bed, pulling out a black sweater.

"Here," he says, watching as I pull it on over my head. "It's probably gonna be enormous on you."

It is, the sleeves hang way over my hands, and it sits well below my ass. But it's warm, and it smells like him.

"Thanks." I gaze up at him. "Why didn't you talk to me for so long?"

He sighs heavily, frowning down at me. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you."

"Then why?" My throat tightens a little, all the emotion I'd refused to acknowledge for the past few weeks welling up and making my eyes sting. "I thought you liked me."

"Oh, angel." He lifts a hand, jerking it back into a fist. With a frustrated sigh he runs a hand through his hair, and it's such a juxtaposition, this huge tattooed man standing over me, looking utterly lost and helpless for a moment. His jaw feathers as he looks back down at me, reaching out to stroke his thumb down my cheek. "I do like you, Juliet. I like you too much. And that's the problem."

I try to smile and not show my disappointment. "So you were trying to talk yourself out of it, huh?"

He huffs out a laugh, his perfect mouth turning up into another one of his devastating smiles, and heat tenses my stomach. "I couldn't even if I wanted to." His hand moves from my cheek, down my throat, until he's cupping my neck in his enormous warm hand. "And now you're here, sitting on my bed, wearing my clothes."

"It feels like a very girlfriend thing to be doing. Wearing your sweater."

A growl rumbles in his throat. "It looks good on you. I like it."

"Like I belong to you, huh?" I'm breathing a little harder now, and warmth is spreading between my thighs.

"If you belonged to me, angel, that sweater is the only thing you'd be wearing right now."

My breath hitches in my throat. "Is that so?"

"Mmmm." He leans on the bed, so he's almost face to face with me. "I'd peel these sweatpants down your legs. Get down to your panties."

"Oh really?" Why is my voice so damn squeaky? "You like having sex with clothes on?"

"I like delayed gratification." His eyes flicker down to my groin. "You're getting wet just thinking about it, aren't you?"

"No." I shake my head, trying to fight off the overwhelming desire rushing through me.

His mouth turns up into a devilish grin, bright red crimson seeping into his eyes. "Liar."

I swallow hard. "How do you know I'm lying?"

"Because I can smell you, angel."

Heat runs down my spine. I know this isn't allowed. I know he'll get in trouble. I don't know what they'll do to him, but it has to be bad. It has to be awful. But the way he's looking at me now, I can't resist playing further into this dangerous game.

"And then what?" My mouth is running dry. "Then what would you do, once you had my panties off?"

"Who says I'd take them off?" He leans closer. "I'd stroke your clit through them, feeling you get wetter and wetter for me. I'd almost make you come, have you trembling right here on my bed, almost at the edge. And then I'd stop."

"So you want to torture me, is that it?" I ask, trying to make my laugh sound nonchalant. My nipples are so hard they hurt. Every part of me is tense, listening to him talk like this.

"Not torture, angel. I just want you to beg. I want you to beg me to make you come. And once you're begging me, I'd tear those panties off, and I'd have those legs draped over my shoulders." He leans closer still, his breath hot as it passes the distance between us to wash over my lips. "I'd have your soaking wet cunt dripping down my lips."

I can't respond anymore. I'm one breath away from throwing myself at him. Instead I lean back on my hands, extending my legs out towards him. I shuffle down my sweatpants, just enough, just so he can see the tops of my panties.

"And then what?" I run a finger along my hip. "What would you do with your mouth then?"

A predatory haze sets over his face. I count out the seconds as his gaze follows the line of my finger.

"I'd suck that clit until you were screaming my name." His eyes rove over my body, his hands still planted on the bed. "I'd make you come until you couldn't take any more."

"And then?"

His eyes flicker up to mine, filled with lust. "Then I'd flip you over, push your head right down into the bed, and sink my cock into that soaked pussy. I'd hold you down while I fucked you hard, while you're screaming my name into the mattress."

I shift on the bed, desperate for him to touch me. If he doesn't touch me soon, I'm going to touch myself, right here, on his bed, in front of him.

"Would you stop there?"

He growls, and it almost sounds like purring, deep in his throat. He licks his lips, shaking his head.

"I wouldn't stop til you begged me to." One corner of his mouth lifts in a grin. "I wouldn't stop til you were shaking, til you couldn't walk." He lowers his mouth to my ear, and my eyes slip shut. "I want to taste you, angel."

"I want that too." My breathing is so fast now I'm sure I'm going to pop a fucking lung. "No one's ever… I mean…"

"Bitten you?" He rakes his fangs against my pulse, and I bite my lip, shaking my head.

"No," I whimper. "No one's ever, ummm…" I gasp as his hand moves over the sweatshirt, over my nipples that are painfully hard under his touch. "Oh fuck. No one's ever gone down on me before."

He shackles my hands in his, whipping them up from behind me and flat on the bed. I'm pinned underneath him, gasping and hot and my whole body is screaming for him to fuck me.

"Poor angel," he murmurs against my throat. "No one's ever looked after this sweet cunt properly, have they?" He presses a leg between my thighs, I moan a little as I rock against him, trying to find some friction. His fang drags along my jawline, and the sudden sting of pain just turns me on even more. "You're fucking dangerous."

His words make me shiver. This is dangerous. This is stupid. But any sense I may have had goes right out the window when I find the right spot, grinding myself against his thigh. Heat rises through my core, rushing up my throat into my face. I exhale heavily around a moan, opening my eyes to find Silas gazing down at me.

"Is this what you want?"

I nod, licking my lips. "Yeah." My breath stutters in my lungs. "You do too, right?"

His mouth is at my throat again, moving down to nip at my collarbone. "What the fuck do you think?" The hard ridge of his cock presses against my hip. "Can you feel how crazy you make me?"

Tension drags at my shoulders, my whole body tense with arousal. I'm heat, and sweat, and nothing else as I squirm under him, chasing the climax that's clawing at my insides. He's that hard because of me, because he wants me.

"Such a pretty little fuckdoll." Silas grins down at me. "You're going to make yourself come all over my leg, aren't you?"

What did he just call me? I don't actually fucking care, because the explosion of heat between my thighs goes fucking volcanic. Sure, I love being called a fuckdoll, why not?

"Say that again."

"You want me to call you my little fuckdoll?" He lets out a breathy chuckle as I moan. "My dirty girl likes names, hmm?" He cages me in, breathing heavy against my ear. "You're going to come for me, get yourself nice and wet for me, angel. Such a fucking needy girl."

"Silas," I say with a gasp, grinding myself harder against him. He's groaning softly now too, exhaling through gritted teeth.

If he can make me come with just his goddamn thigh and some dirty talk, what the hell is he going to do when he's eating me out? When he's inside me? Wait, when? It's then I realize this is really going to happen, and I want it to happen. My whole body's soaring on euphoria, and I swallow back a choked scream.

"Kiss me," I plead, desperate to feel the warmth of his lips, to feel his tongue in my mouth. I'm going to come, my climax is cresting right there, and I begin to tremble as his mouth descends on mine.

I've barely tasted him, his tongue has barely touched mine, as the siren blares through the compound.

The rush of deflation is so great that my whole body feels cold as Silas rises off me, heading straight to the window. He looks out, side to side, before running to the desk and tearing open a drawer, pulling out a gun. Terror overtakes me, and I curl up into a ball, shaking, watching as he stalks back to the window.

"Fuck," he mutters as the siren continues to drone overhead. He turns back to me, holding out a hand. "Stay here. Lock the door. Hide in the bathroom, stay out of sight, do you understand?"

"OK."

He tears open the door.

"Silas!" My voice is cracking, and he pauses to look over his shoulder at me. "Please be careful."

He barely nods before he's out the door, the siren continuing to drone overhead. I rush to the door and flip the latch shut. He told me to hide in the bathroom. I turn the light off in the cabin, and huddle by the window. I know I should hide, he told me to, this is dangerous. But I can't bear not being able to see what's going on.

Feeders are running past the cabins, some of them armed. I can't hear what they're saying over the siren, but they look worried. There's a flash of light overhead, and then the ground quakes as an explosion rocks the cabin. I clap my hand over my mouth to stop myself crying out, and press myself harder against the wall.

I peer over the edge of the window frame. The sky seems to have gotten darker, and the rain is coming down in heavy sheets. The yard in front of the cabin is illuminated by the rotating orange light perched on top of the perimeter fence. Everything goes so oddly quiet.

Maybe it's over. Maybe it was nothing.

I lift up a little, craning my neck to see further out the window.

The whole cabin shakes as an explosion lights up the storage buildings nearby. I throw myself flat on the floor, covering my head as debris pings loudly against the windows and roof. I crawl across the cabin on my stomach, dragging myself to the bathroom door. I've almost reached it when I hear it.

That awful screeching cry of the Afflicted.

They're right outside the cabin.

I haul myself into the bathroom, pushing the door closed and turning the latch. I back into the corner, quivering, my arms wrapped around my legs. They're pounding on the cabin walls, groaning and screeching. I can see the shadows passing the frosted bathroom window, their nails trailing along the shiplap.

They're here. They're all the way in here already.

Please don't let me die here. Please don't let me die here all alone. I don't want to die alone. I'm crying, hot salty tears running down my cheeks and into my mouth. I'm gasping for breath, trying to stay quiet. And then it occurs to me that Gina might already be dead. That Silas might already be dead. My stomach is clenched in terror.

Please let them be OK. Please let them be OK.

The scratching and banging get louder, there's more of them. I cover my ears with my hands, biting my lip to stop myself sobbing. They're going to break down the door. They'll smell me in the bathroom, then they'll break that door down too. They'll eat me in the damn bathroom.

My skin is coursing with ice and electricity.

There's another explosion and I yelp, wishing I could somehow curl up into an even smaller ball. A high pitched squeal fills the air, making my eardrums ache, sending pain right down into my jaw. It makes me feel sick, my throat feels tight and I struggle to breathe.

As quickly as it starts, it's over, and the Afflicted outside are quiet. My head aches. I blink away the pain, stretching my mouth open to try and make that ache dissipate. What the hell was that? Why is it so quiet?

There's voices outside, deep and muffled. Heavy footsteps sound on the porch. There's banging against the door.

"Anyone in there?" A voice calls.

Is it a feeder? I crawl slowly across the floor.

"Hello?" More banging against the door, shadows moving past the bathroom window.

I open the bathroom door slowly, peering around to see if I can catch a glimpse of who it is through the windows.

I see two figures, wearing helmets and body armor. They're both holding assault rifles.

Across their chests there are two words emblazoned in white script.

National Guard.

I get to my feet, stepping out from behind the door and one of them spots me.

"Someone's in there," he says, gesturing to me. "Hey! Open the door!"

They're human. They might not know I am. I don't want them to shoot me.

"I'm human!" I raise my hands. "I'm human!"

He gestures urgently at the door. "Open up, we're here to he-"

I scream and drop to my feet as a bullet tears through the man's head, piercing straight through his helmet and splattering the window with blood as it shatters. I drag myself under the bed as gunfire erupts, and something heavy slams into the door.

The guns stop quickly, and all I can hear is groaning. Blood seeps under the door, crawling across the floor slowly. There are two more brief shots, and everything goes quiet outside. I'm shaking so hard my head bounces against the floor.

Someone kicks in the door, and boots slam against the floor.

"Who's in here?" They drop down to look under the bed, and it's a feeder, peering at me. "You OK?" He asks gruffly.

I can't talk, my tongue is swollen in my mouth and my jaw is chattering. I try to nod, scraping my nails into the floor to pull myself out. As soon as I clear the bed, hands are on me, pulling me to my feet, hauling me out over the blood splatter and past the dead bodies on the porch.

There's four of them on the grass outside the cabin. All of them, in the same uniform. National Guard.

Littered amongst the bodies of the Afflicted, in their blue uniforms and their helmets, their huge weapons lying beside them on the ground.

I stumble a little, trying to make sense of it as panic and terror continue to whir through my head. The National Guard are here. The one at the window had been about to say they were here to help. They came to rescue us? At the same time as an Afflicted attack? Did they follow them here?

I can't comprehend what's happening.

We round the corner, past the destroyed storage buildings, and it's a war zone. There's dead people everywhere, the rain carrying their blood with it in sickening rivulets that spread around my feet. There's people crawling along the ground, obviously bitten by Afflicted.

Feeders walk around, and executing the bitten one by one.

I can't even comprehend this horror anymore. I let them drag me past it all, into the cafeteria where everyone is huddled, shaking and crying.

And all I can think about is Silas. All I can do is pray that he's alive.