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“Are you?” I whisper.

“No!” The word explodes out, and his fist explodes through the wall. I barely jump. “No. Sorry,” his voice softens. “I’m confused. It was almost like he thought we would be together.”

“Oh. Yeah. That makes sense.”

“Why does it make sense?”

“If Pazcuso or Bocella’s guys find me, they’ll kill me,” I murmur, and it’s true, with one important detail left out. They’ll kill me if I don’t kill Lazarus, or at least die trying.

Lazarus shakes splinters of wood and drywall from his hand. His hand that’s not even bruised, not even scratched. “And what’s that have to do with me?”

“You could protect me. If they knew we were both in the same town, and we are who they think we are, then maybe the whore and the monster hook up. Maybe she has a ‘golden pussy’ that Pazcuso thinks the monster likes, likes so much that he spares her life.”

I’m disgusted saying the words, because I hope they’re true, and yet I hate myself for reducing either of us to primal needs and body parts.

That’s all he is. Parts. The snide little murderer in my head, the one that’s usually calling the shots while I’m numbed and on autopilot, is sneering and whispering.

Lazarus’ sickened grunt and horrified scowl shut her up.

“Still. Why. Call. You?” Each word is a stalking step closer.

“Because he took over Frank Bocella’s territory!” I hiss. “Because now there are probably partnerships. Sick, twisted alliances. I killed a mob boss. I did that—a stupid little call girl who didn’t stay in her place and killed a man for smacking her around. I have to be put in a different place, six feet under! That call? That was a threat. A reminder that he can find me, and he can make me pay!” My voice is rising to a screech.

“Shh. Shh, shh, I’m sorry.” Lazarus is suddenly next to me, on the bed, arm around me. “I’m not gonna let him touch you. I’m never gonna let anyone touch you. Anyone but me.”

“I don’t... I don’t want anyone but you,” I admit, a desperate rasp in the back of my throat as I reach for him. “I’m just a different kind of monster, but I... I could be yours.”

“Aren’t you afraid of me? Pazcuso, the guy who threatened you, made me to carry out his threats. He literally just told me if I killed you, he’d turn you into my undead dream girl.”

“I’d still be with you,” I breathe out, shaking inside, not sure what I’m supposed to feel. I don’t want that. But I want to prove that even though I know I’m not telling the truth, I’m not bad to him. Not a threat.

But I need to be. Pazcuzo knows where I am, knows Lazarus is with me.

He’s smart enough to have stayed alive and in power while dozens of other guys have died in his “line of work.” Vince Pazcuso might be smart enough to figure out that I’m infiltrating.

That was my plan B.

I don’t know what the hell letter I’m on right now.

What letter is it where Lazarus lifts me gently into his lap, still sideways like he’s carrying me to safety, not straddled and spread across him. His hand slides slowly up and down my back, just the part that’s bare above the towel, just with the tips of his curved fingers.

“You shouldn’t trust people so fast,” Lazarus grunts, his head lightly resting against mine. “I’m not... I’m not built for nice things. For relationships with breakable people.”

I let myself cup his cheek. Stroke along his jaw. Lead his mouth to mine. “Maybe you shouldn’t trust me, either,” I whisper before I kiss him.

I DON’T TRUST HER.

I want to, but I don’t.

And I just plain want her.

The monster in me says that it’s time to take what I want, especially since it’s offered up on beautiful, pale features and swollen, kissable lips that I’ve already tasted.

Instead, she leads, kissing me, making me dizzy, making me forget what I already know about fucking, that hard, violent exchange between demonness and revenant.

This is exploration.

This could be making love.