The Queen Of Zombie Hearts. Gena Showalter

blinked up at me. “But that aside, let’s cut through the crap and focus on what you’re really saying. I have to choose between him and you.”

      If it would save me from having to argue about leaving? “Yes.”

      “Oh. Well, then. I choose you,” she said with a sunny smile. “Of course.”

      Should have seen that coming. As much as she loved Frosty, she loved me. Maybe more. We were sisters of the heart rather than blood, and (almost) always put each other’s needs above everyone else’s.

      “Get lost, Frosty.” She made shooing motions over my shoulder. “You can remind me of my affection for you later.”

      “But, kitten,” he said, his tone beseeching. And it was funny, hearing one of the biggest, baddest Z-killers in Birmingham, Alabama, reduced to begging, all because a tiny fluff of nothing had decided not to play with him. “I have a fever, and the only prescription...is more cow-kat.”

      Kat narrowed her eyes at him. “Cow-kat?”

      “Dude,” Lucas muttered. “Do you want to lose a testicle?”

      “Okay,” Frosty said, “I’m man enough to admit that might have come out wrong.”

      I gripped Kat by the shoulders. “You don’t have to worry about hurting my feelings. I’m foaming-at-the-mouth eager to see Cole.”

      “You planning to make out with him?”

      “Yes,” I admitted, even as my cheeks heated.

      “That’s so cake. And you’ll give me every detail?”

      Wait. “Cake?”

      “My new favorite word, meaning so totally beyond amazeballs.”

      Well, okay, then. Soon, it would be the world’s favorite. “If you insist, I’ll give you a play-by-play.” I knew she would.

      She thought for a moment, sighed. “Fine. Go. We’ll reschedule.”

      “Really?”

      “What can I say? I’m a giver.”

      “Thank you, thank you, a thousand times thank you.” I kissed her cheek and raced to Mackenzie’s side.

      “—must be a light switch, because every time I look at you, I’m turned on,” Chartreuse was saying.

      No. Just no. Pickup lines were never okay. “We’ve gotta go,” I told her.

      Chartreuse frowned. “But she just got here.”

      Relief radiated from Mackenzie. “Sorry, boys. It’s been... Yeah.” She said no more as she tugged me toward the door.

      “Hey!” Reeve called. “No one said ’bye to me.”

      I waved, saying, “’Bye. We love you!” over my shoulder.

      She blew me a kiss.

      Trina laughed at something Lucas said, unconcerned by our departure.

      Mackenzie and I stepped into the wintry afternoon. The sun was shining but the air was chilled. Shoppers wove in and out of nearby boutiques, each lost in their own little worlds.

      “Thank you,” Mackenzie said with a shudder. “The only guy I had any interest in never spoke a word to me.”

      “Let me guess. Mr. Knuckle Scars.”

      “Yeah. How’d you know?”

      “We have similar taste.” Proof: we’d both dated Cole. “He would have been my choice, too.” And not just for his rugged appeal.

      Every slayer in the war against Z’s had lost loved ones to bites and battle wounds, and the sorrow and grief tended to build barriers around our hearts. More and more, it became clear that the strong had a better chance of survival; Knuckle Scars had definitely been the strongest of the bunch.

      Shockingly enough, Frosty—who had lost more than most—was the exception to my theory. He’d fallen for Kat despite her kidney disease. But I wasn’t going to think about her illness and the pain she was—and would be—forced to endure. I’d break down and be forced to compartmentalize, shoving the heartbreak into a deep, dark corner of my mind, to be dealt with later.

      My compartments were almost full.

      I’d told myself I’d stop doing it, stop locking away the hard emotional crap and finally deal with my feelings, but I’d fallen back into the habit...and honestly, I wasn’t in any hurry to change.

      “Where are we going?” Mackenzie settled behind the wheel of her truck. “It’s too early for patrol.”

      Oh, yeah. We had to patrol for zombies this evening. We’d be with Gavin the man-whore—another one of my pet projects, despite his warped sense of humor—and the mostly silent Bronx. Time was limited.

      “We’re going to Tatty’s,” I said and explained why.

      “I’d advise you to play a little hard to get, but I swear, it doesn’t matter what you do. Cole thinks it’s the most adorable thing ever. It makes me want to stab you both in the eye.”

      A few weeks ago, she would have spat those words at me like weapons. Because the moment Cole had displayed an interest in me—which had been at moment one, thank you very much—she’d hated me.

      My sparkling personality had eventually won her over.

      Fine. Personality had nothing to do with it. We were soldiers in a war, and we were fighting for the same side. A bond had formed.

      “If you stab us both in the eye, we will wear matching patches and pretend to be pirates,” I said. “You’ll wish you’d stabbed yourself instead.”

      She shuddered. “You still have an evil side, I see.”

      “Yes, and your tears are the food she craves.”

      Mackenzie almost cracked a smile.

      I scanned the parking lot when we reached our destination, fighting disappointment when I couldn’t locate Cole’s Jeep.

      Maybe he’d walked? You know, for exercise. As if he didn’t get enough at his gym, running the treadmill, lifting weights and boxing in the ring. But he wasn’t inside, and my disappointment intensified.

      I could call or text him, I supposed, but this wasn’t just girls’ day out. It was boys’ day out, too. He could still be with Gavin, Bronx and new-to-the-team Justin. Well, new again. Long story.

      “Do you have a few hours to spare?” I asked Mackenzie.

      “Is my other choice heading back to Choco Loco?”

      “Yes.”

      “Then I do.”

      I headed to the back of the shop with Artist Guy, the man who’d done my other tattoos. There were two, one on each wrist; the reason he already had my permission slip on file. The first one he’d given me was the white rabbit to represent my sister, Emma. She might be dead, but she still came to visit me. The second, a pair of swords in the shape of a cross to represent my parents.

      “Tell me what you want,” he said as I settled into the seat.

      I’d thought about this for quite some time. Everything we felt always found a way to manifest outwardly. Smiles, frowns. Laugh lines. Scowl lines. This was my way of showing my love for the family and friends I’d lost.

      “To start, I want a phoenix on the back of my neck.” This would represent Cole. I hadn’t lost him—and wouldn’t!—but he still deserved a place of honor. With his help, I’d risen from the ashes of my past and forged a new future. “Then I want a pair of boxing gloves above the daggers.” They would represent Pops, my grandfather, who’d been killed by zombie toxin. As a teenager, he’d trained in the ring, and throughout the rest of his life, he’d taken hard