Lelia was quiet the next morning. She hadn’t come outside to get him, though he’d caught her peeking through the curtains when she first woke. A half hour later, she stepped out into the cold, bundled up and dragging a large pack laden with supplies.

“No,” he grunted, taking the pack from her and moving to head back inside, but she just stood in front of him and crossed her arms, chin notched and jaw set. He growled, frustrated. “Toooo much. You need!”

“Last night, you said there were people,” she replied steadily. “As in, more than one. They need food more than I do, and that’s not even half of what we have. I‘m giving it to them, and that’s final.”

Ghost snarled, looming over her. He wasn’t above scaring her into submission, not when it came to her safety. Maybe it was a blessing he’d been reminded of his place, last night. Dogs showed their teeth even to their Masters, after all. It was simply in their nature.

Drool dripped from his broken jaw, and Lelia’s face softened. She reached up and wiped it away, and the vicious sound coming from him cut off abruptly as he went rigid. Then, with a hiss, he turned around and began marching towards the house the other survivors had claimed as their own.

Fine. If she wanted to be stupidly selfless and give away all her food, the food Ghost had worked so hard to find for her, she could. See if he bloody cared.

He cared. He cared so much it made him fucking sick.

Won’t matter if she ends up leaving with ‘em, a voice in his head—cruel and crackly and sounding nothing like Johnny—whispered. Or invites ‘em back home… either way, you’re out, kid. You’ve lost her, an’ there’s no one to blame but yourself.

He didn’t look at Lelia at all, not even when they stopped, just a few houses short of their target. He held out the pack to her, staring over her head, into the distance. After a moment’s hesitation, she took it from him, struggling under the weight but managing to secure it onto her back.

She touched his arm lightly, and against his will, his gaze was dragged down to his dov— to Lelia’s sweet face. She didn’t say anything, and neither did he—they just looked at each other for a long while, until finally, she stepped away, hoisted the pack a little higher, and walked off towards the house.

If she thought that was a good enough goodbye, she’d be in for a sore surprise, because he wasn't leaving until she told him to his face she wanted him gone… or until she left him behind.

He knew, though, that even if she did either of those things, he’d linger. Follow her around like a bad smell. Just like he’d done in the beginning. He’d keep her safe, from a distance. And maybe, if she noticed, she’d sneak off every once in a while to feed him scraps of affection. It would never be enough, not after everything they’d shared, but like a dog, he’d live for it. Sit on his haunches and beg for it, if he had to.

Fuckin’ hell, he was pathetic.

When Lelia knocked on the door, she wasn’t sure what, exactly, she was expecting to find. Simon had said there were people, but not how many, nor if they were man or woman, young or old. So she felt that she was prepared for anything—until the door opened and there was a gun pointed in her face, and she abruptly realized she was, quite actually, prepared for nothing.

“Wait!” She squeaked, half to the man holding the gun, and half to Simon, who she knew was lurking just a few houses back. She had a feeling he wouldn’t hesitate to hurt the man if he thought she was in danger, and that was the last thing Lelia wanted. “Wait, please— I have food. I w-wanted to bring you food.”

The gun lowered ever so slightly, though her wide eyes remained fixed on its barrel. It looked to have been sawed off, and though Lelia had no earthly idea why someone would do that, she was not at all curious to find out.

“Who else is with you?” The man demanded, and Lelia jumped, fingers clenching the straps of the pack so tightly her knuckles turned white.

“N-no one! You’re the f-first human I’ve seen in months,” she stuttered. It was true, technically. Simon wasn’t human, technically. Simon was a zombie, technically.

It didn’t feel true. Simon was more human now than Andrew had ever been, zombie or not.

The man narrowed his eyes, and the gun raised again. Clearly, he didn’t believe her. Lelia’s heart started to race, and she flinched, squeezing her eyes shut and bracing herself to get her head blown off. She doubted even Simon would be able to save her in time.

“Michael! Put the gun down,” another voice, a woman’s voice, called from further inside the house. Lelia opened her eyes in time to see a girl, maybe five or so years older than herself, shoving against the barrel of the shotgun until it pointed firmly at the floor. Lelia let out a huge whoosh of air, trembling from relief and leftover adrenaline. “She’s just a kid.”

“I’m twenty,” Lelia said, for some reason. Likely because terror had robbed her not only of her filter, but also all her good sense. “Or— maybe not yet. It’s hard to tell how much time has passed. Is it March yet, do you think?”

“Bloody Hell,” the man—Michael—muttered, stepping aside. He looked vaguely ill. “Get in ‘ere, kid. Don’t wanna attract the dead.”

“Right,” Lelia said as she stepped through the door, giving Michael a wide berth. She was still shaking a little, and the thought of being too close to him only made it worse. She wasn’t very happy to be coming inside, out of Simon’s line of sight, but she couldn’t say that she knew the village was clear without telling them how she knew—and she refused to put her zombie in danger like that. What if they didn’t believe that he could control himself, and tried to hurt him? What if they tried to kill him? The idea made her feel faint, heart thumping hard in her chest and her belly twisting. She let the pack drop from her shoulders, and it landed with a muted thud on the entry-way rug. There was a large, suspicious stain in the center of it, brownish red, and Lelia tried not to think about what had caused it. “I brought you supplies. Food mostly, but some water bottles too, and— and a first aid kit.”

She’d hesitated over including that last one, but she knew they would need it more than her. She was safe here in the village, with Simon. She’d only needed stitches the other day because of a dumb accident. She wasn’t constantly in danger like the other two survivors would be when they left.

And she was praying that they would leave. This was her home, the one she built with Simon, where they were safe from monsters—living and dead. This was their sanctuary. She didn’t want to give it up, the very thought made tears prick her eyes and the tip of her nose go hot—but if she couldn’t convince these people to go, then she’d have no choice. She couldn’t trust that Michael and the woman wouldn’t hurt her—or her zombie.

“Yeah?” Michael asked, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “And why the hell would you do that?”

“It’s— it’s the right thing to do,” Lelia replied nervously, gaze darting from him to the woman, searching for support. She’d stopped the man from shooting her earlier, so Lelia hoped she’d be easier to convince. “And… I heard the gunshot the other day, so I knew there had to be people around. I— well, I thought that maybe if I came with a gift, you’d be less likely to kill me.”

The woman let out a soft huff of laughter.

“But why not just wait us out? Avoid us til we move on?” Michael continued, and Lelia reluctantly looked at him once again. “You took a stupid risk for no reason. Worse, you’re losing supplies. Makes no sense—unless you have some sort of ulterior motive.”

“You want to join us, don’t you?” The woman asked, face still hard but with a hint of pity. “You said you’ve been alone for months… you must be desperate to talk to someone.”

Join them? She might have been upset with Simon for lying to her, but she would never leave him. Never. In fact, that’s why she was so hurt—she couldn’t help but think that the reason he hadn’t told her of the other survivors was because he was afraid she’d leave, and it infuriated her. How could he think that, after everything they’d been through? Everything they’d shared? She loved him, she’d given herself to him, body and soul—how could he still think so little of her?

So no, she wasn't desperate to talk to them, let alone join them. Lelia was desperate for them to leave, actually, but despite being separated from other humans for several months now, she still retained her manners, and so said no such thing.

“It’s been… difficult,” she said carefully, voice quiet, gaze locked back on the floor. That wasn’t a lie, exactly. Everything had been difficult since the dead started walking, for someone who had grown up like she did. Even after marrying Andrew, they’d still had maids and butlers and cooks, so she’d not had to do anything for herself, really. Her only job had been enduring Andrew’s cruelty. Even in the safezone, she’d not been put to work, though her quality of life had decreased drastically, of course. No, it wasn’t until she’d met Simon that she’d ever had to learn survival skills—and, to her shame, several basic tasks. It was a miracle he’d never gotten angry with her over how oblivious she’d been—and how much she had yet to learn.

“You expect me to believe some slip of a girl has kept herself alive this whole time? She’s not even got a damn weapon,” Michael said skeptically, no longer even looking at Lelia. She frowned. It seemed he had certainly forgotten his manners. Before his companion could respond, he continued. “You said it yourself, Laura, she’s just a kid.”

“Luck’s a hell of a thing, Michael,” the woman, Laura, answered, though her expressions wavered a little. “And this village has been pretty quiet, we’ve not seen a single undead since we got here. If she’s had this cache and a place to hide since the beginning, it wouldn't be impossible to have made it this long, even on her own.”

“No, no. I don’t like it. She’s got a group stashed somewhere, waiting to take our supplies. They send her in, all pretty and innocent and young with some big sob story to guilt us into taking her along. Next thing we know, she slits our throats in the middle of the night and makes off with our stuff like the cat that’s got the bloody canary.”

Laura blinked. Lelia blinked. Laura laughed. Lelia did not.

“You are one paranoid bastard,” Laura chuckled, shaking her head. “Don’t you think they would have sent her sooner if that were true? We shot that dog three days ago.”

“You shot a puppy?” Lelia gasped, tearing up at the very thought. She suddenly regretted giving these people any supplies, right thing to do or not. How could they do something so cruel?

“It wasn’t a puppy, but it was rabid,” Micahel said dismissively, not even turning to look at her. “Big teeth, foaming at the mouth, snarling like one of the fucking zombies… you would have shot it too, if you wanted to live.”

Lelia wasn’t so sure about that herself. She knew she was far too soft for this world, even after Simon’s lessons. The only reason she was still alive was because he stuck around protecting her, like a knight in shining armour.

“I don’t— just take the supplies and go, please,” she begged, taking a step back towards the door. Michael raised the shotgun again, and she froze, holding her hands up in surrender. “Please. You won’t let me join, that’s— that’s okay. But at least let me live. I haven’t— I haven’t done anything to you.”

“She’s right, Michael," Laura said. “You think she’s too much of a risk to take on, fine. But there’s no need to shoot the poor thing. If she really is alone, the undead will get her soon enough… and if she’s not, I doubt her group will take kindly to her losing them so much supplies. Either way, she’s not a threat. Just a death we’ll have to carry on our conscience.”

Michael stared at the woman intensely for a long moment. Lelia shuddered at hearing her death talked about so casually right in front of her. Simon would never.

“Fine,” Michael said after a long moment, and to her surprise, he even sounded a little relieved. It seemed he didn’t want to kill her almost as much as she didn’t want to die. She smiled tremulously. Her plan to get them to leave was working!  “She can come. But we sleep in shifts until I’m sure we can trust her.”

Huh?

“Wh-what?” She stammered, startled. Laura was already bending down to pick up the heavy pack of supplies Lelia had brought, the muscles in her arms flexing. “Erm— I don’t— what do you—?”

“Michael’s not actually a murdering arsehole,” Laura laughed, sending Lelia a conspiratorial wink. “He just puts up a tough front. It’s the big brother in him, you see. Thinks he gets the final say just because he was born first—but we both know it was me mum used to leave in charge when we were home alone as kids.”

“That’s not true!” Michael exclaimed, and Lelia gaped at the way his entire demeanor had changed, from a stoic, dangerous man on a hair trigger to a bratty little boy. Upon seeing her expression, he cleared his throat and straightened his shoulders before trying again. “That’s not true. Now come on, we need to leave now if we want to find somewhere to lay low before dark.”

Oh. Oh, things had gone horribly awry at some point, and Lelia had no idea how or when. But she had to fix this, and quickly.

“Wait, I— I can’t go with you,” she rushed out, searching frantically for a believable excuse. “I’m— I’m too scared to leave the village.”

“We can’t stay here,” Laura explained softly, like she was talking to a spooked horse. “The supplies you had might have been enough for just you to wait out the end of winter, but between the three of us, it won’t last two weeks, even if we ration. We have to move on.”

Lelia shook her head, backing away again. There was no one between her and the door. She could just—make a run for it. Simon would follow her—

But what if they saw him going after her and thought he was trying to eat her? They’d shoot him for sure. And she couldn’t risk that.

It didn't take him long to find the source of the gunshot.

Two people, a man and a woman, both only a few years older than Lelia from the looks of it. He followed the frantic trail they left behind—messy footprints in the snow, a half empty rucksack in the road, and a dead dog with pink foam clinging to its jaws and a hole in its flank—to a cottage with a newly broken door, the knob hanging at an awkward angle. He watched from a safe distance as they moved around inside, listening to a tense argument as they decided whether or not to stay the night and be sitting ducks for anyone who might've heard the shot, or risk another night out in the dark, cold woods.

The man—Michael, the woman had called him—won, and they settled in for the night, pulling the curtains closed and barricading the door. Simon stayed where he was for another hour, occasionally catching a glimpse of Michael’s pale, nervous face as he glanced out the window, the barrel of a shot gun peeking out over his shoulder from where it was slung across his back.

Finally, when he was satisfied they wouldn’t be going anywhere until morning, he traced his path back to the dead dog. He thought about eating it, but the foam around its mouth made him hesitate. Could rabies affect him, dead as he was? He doubted it, but he couldn’t take any risks, not with his dove to think of.

He winced, imagining her reaction if she stumbled upon the poor beast… she’d cry for days, he was certain. So with a put-upon sigh, he began dragging it towards the woods, taking care to make it seem like it was done by the dead, in case the two newcomers came back this way.

He couldn’t bury the dog with the ground still frozen—that the thought even crossed his mind was entirely his dove’s influence, he knew—but he did set it gently in a root hollow he came across, taking the time to close its glassy eyes and give it a last pet before he headed home. It’s what Lelia would have wanted.

She was awake when he got back, unsurprisingly. She’d dressed herself in one of his shirts, the hem nearly down to her knees, her eyes as wide and frightened as they were when he’d left. She launched herself at him the second the bedroom door was open, and he caught her with a grunt, pressing his nose to her hair and gently rubbing her back as he carried her over to the bed.

“Are you okay? What happened? What did you find? Was it a gunshot? Is someone hurt? Are you hurt? Tell me you’re not hurt, Simon!” Lelia’s rapid fire questions were full of anxiety, and she clung to him like a limpet. He was pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to pry her off if he tried. The thought warmed his cold, dead heart, though his own worries killed it again a second later. He didn’t want to tell Lelia what he’d found. Who he’d found. What if she wanted to go be with humans instead of him? She’d said she didn’t before, but that was months ago. Months of having only a rotted, old man for company. What if she only thought she loved him because he was her only choice?

“Finnnee,” he said, closing his eyes and breathing in her scent, his own arms tightening around her. He sat down on the couch, holding her in his lap like she was the most precious thing in the world, because she was. He couldn’t lose her. He couldn’t. Who’s to say he wouldn’t lose himself again without her? Go back to that cursed half-life? “Waaas nooothinggg.”

He felt a pang of guilt when Lelia didn’t doubt his words for a second. She let out a gusty sigh of relief and pulled back a little bit to look into his eyes. He was wearing his mask again, and she frowned, reaching up to take it off. He twitched but didn’t stop her, and she smiled tremulously when she saw his bare face once more.

“You’re okay?” She repeated, and Simon huffed, tugging on a lock of her hair and rolling his eyes dramatically, trying to make her laugh. She smiled a little wider, but no sweet giggle escaped. She just leaned their foreheads together, her eyes fluttering shut, her arms around his neck, one hand cupping his nape. Her breath fanned across his broken jaw, warm and alive and human, and then she rubbed the tips of their noses together. He blinked, letting out a questioning grunt, and finally, he heard that little laugh he loved so much.

“I was kissing you,” she informed him happily, then rubbed their noses together again. “That’s a kiss. Our kiss.”

Bloody hell. She was the most adorable damn thing in existence. And she was turning him softer than mush. If only Johnny could see him now…

Chapped lips pressed to his own, hot and insistent. The scratch of facial hair against his cheek. A possessive hand at the nape of his neck, gripping it tightly, holding him close. Bright, blue eyes staring right at him—into his goddamned soul—glinting with fierce determination.

“Kiss fer luck, LT. Ye’ll get another if we both make it out o’ this alive.”

“Gonna hold ya to that, Johnny.”

Simon brushed his nose against Lelia’s, pulling her closer and tucking her face into the crook of his neck. She went willingly, melting into his embrace. He stared into the unlit fireplace, a mix of guilt and longing sitting like a stone in his gut. 

He’d loved that Johnny bloke. Could barely remember him, but Simon knew it was true. Johnny had haunted his undead existence as long as he could remember, filling the holes in his infection-riddled brain with blue eyes and bad jokes in a deep, Scottish brogue.

Lelia shifted in his arms, and Simon looked down at her, twirling a lock of hair around his finger. He felt her press a soft kiss to his collarbone, lips blessedly warm against his cold skin.

Knowing he’d loved someone before her didn't change anything, not really. Not to Simon. Johnny was a ghost in his head and an ache in his heart. Intangible.

But Lelia was real. Somehow, impossibly, she was real, and she was his. His purpose, his link to his humanity, his undeserved second chance.

His dove.

“S’long as you’re happy,” Johnny’s voice in his head said, bittersweet and echoey like a long forgotten memory. “”S’all I ever wanted fer ye, Si.”

It’d been three days since the strangers had trespassed into his territory, and they still hadn’t left.

Simon had watched them for hours each day, silently tailing them as they braved the cold to scavenge the village, their spirits visibly falling every time they came up empty handed. But of course they would—Simon had spent the last two months methodically stripping each cottage of anything useful for humans, and squirreling it away back in his and his dove’s nest. He’d built up quite a cache—Lelia would be set for months, so long as the weather held. Winter snows or spring showers, it didn’t matter—he’d set up a collection system a little while back, enough to gather a week’s worth of water at a time. Two, if they dipped into the emergency stash of water bottles.

Despite being the reason these people might very well starve to death, Simon didn’t feel guilty. Lelia came first, always. And if she knew about them, she’d insist they share her supplies.

Because they were decent people, that much Simon could admit to himself by now, if reluctantly. He’d discovered that they were brother and sister, and all they had left in the world after their parents died during the initial outbreak. Michael was older, as he often reminded the girl, Laura, and protective in a way that felt familiar to Simon. They were both too thin to be healthy, though Michael moreso. Simon didn’t have to see him sneaking extra rations onto Laura’s plate to know that was why. It’s what he’d always done for— for… someone. Someone long gone. Simon didn’t remember their name or who they were to him, just that they had been dead for a long time, and their loss ached, a distant pulse of pain.

“Simon,” Lelia said, pulling him from his thoughts as she carefully cradled his broken jaw and wiped the blood from his face with a wet rag. He’d just come back from a hunt, the most recent in his list of excuses as to why she couldn’t join him whenever he left the cottage the last few days. “There’s… there’s something I need to tell you.”

Simon focused his cloudy gaze on her face, but Lelia refused to look at him, staring at his chest rather than his eyes. She took a deep, shuddering breath, and he could feel her fingers trembling ever-so-slightly against his skin.

“I’m— I’m m-married.”

For a long moment, Simon didn’t speak or move, not wanting to spook her. Then, he slowly lifted his hands, resting them on her hips and squeezing softly, comfortingly. He’d wondered when she would finally feel comfortable to talk about the man who haunted her nightmares.

“Knoooowww, Dddoove,” he said as gently as possible. Lelia frowned.

“I— yes I am, Simon,” she protested, misunderstanding him. “I mean, I didn’t want to marry him, but I did. And it’s not like I could file divorce papers in the apocalypse…”

Simon shook his head, snuffing out the anger he felt at learning another sliver of his dove's horrid past. She didn't need that, right now.

“Nuhhhh,” he tried again, patting his chest. “I knoowwww.”

“You— you knew?” Lelia asked, looking even more frightened. “What— but— but how?”

That wasn’t a question Simon could answer with his limited speech, and Lelia seemed to realize that quite quickly. She shook her head, hands dropping from his face as she began to pick nervously at her cuticles, watching him with wary eyes.

“You don't hate me?” She whispered, and when Simon let out a disbelieving grunt, she continued. “For not telling you right away? For— for being an adultress?”

Simon let out a shocked snort of laughter. An adultress? Bloody hell, what was this, the 18th century?

But Lelia looked so earnest, and so scared, that the spark of amusement instantly died. He pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her middle and tugging her into his lap.

“He hurttt… you,” he said slowly, making sure she understood. Lelia tensed, but he just rubbed her back soothingly. “You… baaad dreams… scaaared of… waterrr… soldierrrrs. Because… him. He… baad. You are…” wonderful, perfect, everything pure in this wretched world, “gooood.”

He looked down to find tears streaming down his dove’s face, and he let out a low rumble as he brushed his nose against hers.

“Youuu do… nothing… wrongggg,” he promised. Lelia sniffled, looping her arms around his neck and squeezing tightly as she tucked her face into his chest.

“I love you,” she whimpered, her fingers clenching onto the fabric of his shirt so tightly it bunched up around the collar. “I love you Simon, so much! I wish— I wish I could have married you instead.”

Shock hit him like a punch to the gut, stealing the air he didn't need from his lungs. He exhaled loudly, his arms tightening around her, eyes wide. He couldn’t help but picture it—Lelia in a dove-white wedding dress, beaming up at him from under a veil as he slipped a ring onto her finger, a matching one already on his own. It was pure fantasy—she would have run the other way, if they’d ever crossed paths in the Before.

Lelia didn't know what she was saying. Didn’t know the kind of man he’d been, the kind of man he still was. The kind that would lie to her, keep her away from the only other humans they’d come across in all the time they'd known each other. The kind who would take away her choice, just like her last husband had.

Simon suddenly pulled away from her, guilt choking him, making him feel unworthy of her touch. Lelia let out a soft, confused noise, sniffling and wiping her eyes as she looked up at him.

“Simon?” She whispered, hesitant, like she thought he’d changed his mind and was about to call her a cheating whore. He wanted to kiss her, to wipe that nervous, hurt look off her face, but he couldn’t. Not while he was still lying to her.

“Lied tooo… you,” he said instead, avoiding her eyes. “There… peoplllle. In villaaage.”

“What?” She gasped, recoiling slightly, before she swayed closer, grabbing his hands. “Simon, what are you— what are you saying? There were— there were people in the v-village? When?” Her eyes widened, voice dropping back to a whisper. “The gunshot?”

He nodded, then shook his head, then nodded again. He grunted in frustration, jaw trembling as he tried to explain just how badly he'd fucked up.

“Yeeess… but. Still… here,” he finally managed. Lelia just stared at him, eyes wide, mouth agape. He forced himself to continue. “Noooot… dangerous. Beeeen watch…ing.”

Slowly, Lelia let go of his hands. He closed his eyes against the pain it caused him. She was silent for a long moment, and he could feel the weight of her stare on him, hurt and disappointed.

“That’s where you’ve been going every day,” she said, voice small. “Not looking for supplies. Not hunting. That’s why you haven’t let me come with you.” A pause, and then, voice trembling and full of hurt, “You’ve been lying to me.”

He nodded, not saying a word. What could he say? That he’d just wanted to make sure they were safe people before getting her hopes up? That would only be another lie. No, Simon hadn’t planned to ever tell her a thing. He was going to just let her last chance at being with her own kind—of falling in love with a human rather than the beastly, decrepit thing that she’d only latched onto out of desperation—pass her by.

The truth was, he'd meant to trap her here, with him, forever, because she was the only thing keeping him sane, and he was a terrible, selfish bastard that would never deserve a pure little dove like her.

“Taaake you… tooo them,” he forced himself to say, dead heart shattering in his chest, every fiber in his being wanting to grab her and never let go. If he sunk his teeth into her flesh, snapped her bones and sucked out the marrow, consumed every part of her, she’d be with him forever. No one would ever be able to take her away, then, not even herself.

But in doing so, he’d destroy her, the one pure fucking thing left in this world. He didn't have to remember his life Before to know it would be the most monstrous thing he’d ever done.

“Tomorrow,” she whispered, climbing off his lap and putting distance between them for the first time since she’d hugged him, when he’d cried like some fucking pansy over not being able to read. She hadn’t mocked him then even though he deserved it. She’d been kind. And in return, he’d treated her just like her husband had. “We’ll— we’ll bring them some supplies. A peace offering, so they know we’re no danger to them. Or—that I’m not. You… you’ll wait out of sight. I’ll say it’s just me. That I’m the only other human here.”

Simon’s stiff fingers cracked as he clenched them tightly at his sides, refusing to look at her. It was cowardly, but he couldn’t stand to see the hurt on her face, even though he was the one to put it there. She stood still for a long moment, staring at him, before curling in on herself and brushing past him into the bedroom. The door closed behind her softly, and the sound of the lock engaging was as loud as a bullet.

He growled, banishing himself from the cottage before he ruined anything else. He stormed towards the little house Michael and Laura had taken up in, black blood thrumming in dead veins. He barely stopped himself from barging inside and tearing them to shreds, hating them for existing, for coming here, for taking Lelia from him. He felt like he could rip them apart limb by limb without flinching, and for once, it wasn't the virus making him want to.

But Lelia would know what he’d done, so Simon dragged himself back to the cottage that had started to feel like home, staring through the back window into the darkened bedroom, where he could hear his dove tossing and turning in what he’d come to think of as their bed.

He reached down and grabbed the mask hanging off his belt, feeling the familiar grooves beneath his fingertips for a long moment before putting it back on. Ghost had forgotten his role. He wasn’t Lelia’s husband—he was the guard dog.

15/? Chapters Posted

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

Part Seven

Part Eight

Part Nine

Part Ten

Part Eleven

Part Twelve

Part Thirteen

Part Fourteen

Part Fifteen

Part Sixteen

Part Seventeen

Part Eighteen

???

The kiss was messy.

Her soft lips bumped against his tongue and the top row of his teeth, the bottom row digging into her chin. He drooled all over her, a hungry groan leaving him as he licked at the seam of her lips, begging for entrance. She parted them obediently, and his hands gripped her waist tightly as he licked into her mouth. It was the most delicious thing he'd ever tasted. She was the most delicious thing he'd ever tasted. And he knew her cunt would be just as mouthwatering.

Instinctively, he rocked his hips up, seeking friction against his stubbornly soft cock. His dove gasped, fingers digging into his shoulders, the sweet, musky scent of her arousal thickening in the air. He growled, doing it again as he moved his mouth from her lips to her jaw, licking and scraping his teeth against her sensitive skin. She whimpered as he made his way down her neck, her body trembling on top of him.

“S-Simon,” she said breathily, clumsily grinding into his lap. One of his hands cupped her arse, guiding her movements, and she squeaked, pulling away a bit. Simon chased her, licking a fat stripe over her delicate collarbones and moaning. She shivered, whining softly, and he dared to go a little lower, dipping his tongue into the wide neck of her too large shirt to tease the swell of her small, perky tits. His dove moved her hips faster, and Simon slid his hand under her shirt and over her ribs to cup one of her breasts. She moaned as he thumbed her stiff nipple, pulling back to look down at him with wide eyes. He let her this time, taking the chance to admire her.

He could still taste Lelia on his tongue, sweet like the fucking food of the gods. Her lips, chin, and neck were shiny with his spit, and her cheeks were bright red. The neckline of her shirt gaped open, hanging off of one pale, bony shoulder, and he licked his teeth so he didn't lick her again. Part of her belly was exposed, and he drank in the sight of it, hips thrusting up involuntarily as he thought once again about fucking a baby into her.

His dove bit her lip, hesitating, before grabbing the hem of her shirt with shaking hands and slowly pulling it over her head. Simon sucked in a breath, eyes zeroing in on her cute little tits. Her nipples were small and pink, and he pinched the one beneath his thumb lightly, making her jolt. She was so fucking sensitive, it was driving him crazy.

“Will you— will you use your— your mouth, please?” She asked, shy as a mouse, and Simon groaned at how bloody innocent she sounded. He was a nasty dog for it, but it turned him on like nothing else.

She didn’t have to ask him twice—he eagerly started slobbering all over her tits, flicking her nipples with his tongue and dragging his teeth over them. Lelia moaned again, louder this time, and he used the hand on her arse to encourage her to start grinding on him once more. It pissed him off that he couldn’t give her nipples a proper suck, but the noises she made made it clear how much she was enjoying what he could do.

“S-Simon, Simon,” she gasped, and he was sure his name had never sounded so pretty. She slipped a hand between her legs to cup her clothed cunt, her knuckles brushing against his groin. He let out a choked noise when he could feel the slight bit of friction, the way he’d felt the softness of her skin earlier—the way he could still feel it, each and every wrinkle of her pebbled nipples. He knew sensation had been slowly returning to him, but hadn't quite realized how much, not until his dove offered him a veritable fucking feast of it.

“Please, Simon!” Lelia whined, tears in her eyes. For a second, he panicked, thinking he’d gone and cocked things up. That he'd gotten carried away, made her think he was just like all the other bastards who’d taken advantage of her, who’d hurt her. That he wouldn’t stop if she said no, that he’d take what he wanted even if she begged for mercy like she did to the men in her nightmares.

He released his hold on her, stuttered, apologetic grumbles falling from his broken mouth. But Lelia’s tears just spilled over, and she let go of her cunt to grab one of his hands and bring it to the waistband of her trousers. His fingers pressed against her belly as she tried to slip them beneath the fabric, and for a second, and he admired the bit of plushness it had regained since he met her, sinking his fingertips into it slightly. Every gram of fat she had was proof that he was taking good care of his precious dove.

“Please,” she begged again, voice high pitched and desperate. “Please! N-need you i-inside…”

A garbled fuck escaped him at her plea, and he planted both hands firmly on her arse before scooping her up, saliva pooling in his mouth at the way her perfect tits bounced with the movement.

He ignored Lelia’s whines of protest as she wrapped her legs around his waist and tried to subtly grind against his stomach, huffing a laugh. Carefully, he laid her down just in front of the fireplace, the soft rug cradling her body. He leaned over and dipped his tongue into her mouth, needing to taste her again, before straightening back up and slowly sliding her trousers down her legs. He groaned when he saw the knickers she was wearing—pure white cotton with pink, scalloped lace edges and a dainty little bow at the center. Christ, but he couldn’t wait to make her ruin them.

Once her trousers were completely off, Simon caged her in with his body, ducking his head to swirl his tongue around her nipple as he slotted his thigh between her own. He wanted to talk her through it—to tell her to grind down on his leg, to get herself off and make a mess of her pretty panties. But he couldn’t. All he could do was press his leg against her cunt and scrape his teeth over her nipple, trying to make her feel as good as he possibly could with his cock still refusing to get hard.

His dove whimpered as she writhed beneath him, trapping his thigh between her own as she moved her hips urgently, like she’d die if she stopped. He propped himself up with a hand by her head, the other making its way down her body. It was a slow, reverent journey as he stopped over and over again to appreciate every inch of her. He started at her face, caressing her cheek and brushing his fingers over her swollen lips, still slick with his spit. She kissed them as he did, glassy eyes trained on his, the gesture so sweet it made his teeth ache. He thought about pressing his cold fingers into her mouth, wanting to feel the wet heat wrapped around them, warming them up the way only she could. Make her suck on them and imagine it was cock, satisfy his darker desires by ruining her intoxicating innocence, just a little bit. 

Instead, he dragged his fingers down the pale column of her throat, lingering over her pulse point, before cupping her breast and kneading it in his strong hand. He squeezed the soft flesh firmly as he teased her nipple with his tongue and teeth, and the noises she made had him wondering if she could come from that alone. He was tempted to try and make her, but she let out a desperate sob as she pleaded with him once again to fill her cunt, and there was no way he could resist.

Dragging his palm down her belly, he cupped her pussy through the soaked fabric of her knickers, looking straight into her eyes.

“Miiiinnnee,” he told her, and she shuddered, pupils dilating as she nodded rapidly.

“Yours! Yours, it’s yours, Simon, I’m yours, just p-please, please, please—” she babbled, humping his hand, fingers clenched into the fabric of his shirt. She looked so fucking pretty like that, helpless and needy and his. “Please!”

With a growl, Simon shoved her panties aside and plunged two thick fingers into her soaking cunt, his thumb pressed against her clit. She cried out, and for a second, he thought he’d hurt her. He froze, but the desperate whine she let out spurred him on, and he pulled his fingers out only to push them back in again. Her dazed, teary eyes locked on his as he fingered her, starting slow and gentle but quickly growing rough as he lost control. She was so fucking tight and warm and wet, and he wanted so badly to bury his cock in her. But infuriatingly, it didn’t so much as twitch. Encouraged by her moans, he took out his frustration on her sweet little pussy, rubbing fast circles on her clit as he pistoned his fingers in and out of her.

The wet sounds finally drew him away from her tits, his head settling between her thighs as they trembled with pleasure. He fit his tongue inside her next his fingers, and his eyes rolled back in his head from the taste. He was immediately ravenous, ripping his fingers out of her and sitting back on his knees so he could grip her thighs in both hands and pry them apart. He ignored the surprised squeak of protest that his dove let out, yanking her closer to him so her arse lifted off the floor. And then, he devoured her.

There was no other word for the way he ate her out—he shoved his face as deep as he could into her cunt, uncaring of the way his broken jaw creaked ominously, and not needing to worry about breathing. He lapped at her slit with the flat of his tongue like a stray dog being given water for the first time in days. He fucked his tongue into her, seeking more of her delicious nectar, the teeth on his bottom jaw digging into the swell of her arse while his top teeth scraped over her clit. His dove was sobbing and moaning, eyes screwed shut and little tits jiggling with the force of her pleasure. He couldn’t even be surprised that she liked it rough—he was far too focused on consuming her perfect fucking pussy.

He didn’t know how long he stayed like that, or how many times he made Lelia come. All he knew was that when he came back to himself, his dove was fucked dumb from overstimulation, cunt red and puffy, clit still swollen and throbbing against his tongue, her juices filling his mouth and running down her belly, all the way down to the valley of her breasts. Her lips were parted and her pink tongue was sticking out just slightly. He half expected to find bite marks on her pretty pussy, and he was sure the only reason he didn’t was because of his broken jaw.

With one last lick to her clit that made her whole body jolt, he carefully lowered her hips back to the floor and began to clean her up with his tongue, unwilling to waste a drop. He then stood up to grab the thick quilt from the couch, making his dove whine brokenly. He shushed her as best he could before draping the quilt over her and laying down beside her, cuddling close. His gut twisted unpleasantly when he realized just how rough he’d gotten. She couldn’t even speak, for fuck’s sake. But tasting her pussy… it was even better than when he’d eaten that fucker with the machete. It was like he’d gone into a feeding frenzy, and he swallowed thickly when he thought about how out of control he’d been. If his jaw wasn’t broken, would he have eaten her in a more literal sense? He’d wanted to. No, the virus had wanted him to. To consume her whole, starting with the most intimate part of her.

He shuddered at the thought, disgusted with himself. Disgusted even more that the image his infection-laden brain conjured up turned him on.

He whispered a garbled apology, stroking his fingers through her hair and nuzzling his nose against her temple. Lelia curled into his chest, body pressed against his through the quilt. Tear tracks ran down her cheeks, and she trembled in his arms. All he could do was hold her tighter as guilt threatened to swallow him whole.

Lelia floated along happily on a river of bliss, the water warm and pleasant as it lapped at her skin. Everything else was far away, too far to reach. All that she could think of was the hum of pleasure coursing through her veins and fogging up her mind.

It took a long time to reach the shore once again, but when she did, she realized Simon was holding her. She smiled up at him shyly, still a tad dazed. He let out a grunt of concern, leaning his forehead against hers as he cupped her face.

“Simon,” she whispered, words a bit slow and slightly slurred. “That was… wow. I didn’t know it could feel like that…”

Her cheeks reddened, and she reached up to cradle his broken jaw, thumb slipping into his mouth to gently touch his tongue.

“No one has ever used their mouth on me like that,” she admitted in a small voice. “I thought… well, I thought only men could experience that…”

She bit her lip and pulled back a bit, hesitating before she continued.

“Do you… do you want me to do that for you?” She asked. “Is that why you didn’t use your…”

Lelia trailed off, looking away as her blush reached the tips of her ears. She was a little wary of sucking Simon’s cock—but he wouldn't be rough with her like Andrew and the soldiers had, would he? He’d been rough just now, but not in a way that hurt her, not really. Simon would never hurt her.

Simon turned her to face him again, shaking his head.

“Dddon’ woooorrkk,” he managed to get out, and her brows furrowed in confusion. A look that might have been embarrassment crossed his gaunt, pale face, and after a second, he took her hand and placed it over his groin, going slow enough that she could pull away if she wanted to. Though her heart began to race, she didn’t—but she let out a small noise when she found that his cock was completely soft. Simon shuddered, eyelashes fluttering nonetheless.

“Ddeead,” he continued, eyes trained on her hand. He tried to say something more, but she couldn’t understand, and he grunted before taking her hand in his own and moving it away, before repeating himself, refusing to meet her eyes. “Don’ wooorrkk.”

“Oh,” Lelia whispered, surprised. She never actually learned how cocks worked—just that they got bigger and harder right before they hurt her. She didn’t even know how lovemaking worked before she married Andrew… her wedding night had been a terrible way to learn.

She pushed away the memories crowding the edges of her mind, resting her head on his chest again, thinking.

“Does it still feel good, though?” She asked after a moment, her free hand creeping back over to his groin. He growled lowly, and she looked up at him to see him watching her through half lidded eyes. “When I touch you?”

Slowly, Simon nodded, and Lelia gave him a small smile.

“Then… I— I would like to suck your cock. Please?” she asked politely, shyly, cheeks flushed. Simon let out a groan, his hand on her back sliding down to squeeze her arse through the quilt. She squeaked, still mildly scandalized despite Simon having been nose-deep in her cunt a half hour ago.

Slowly, Simon sat up, shifting her so she sat in his lap. He cupped her face in his hands and looked deeply into her eyes, as if searching for a sign that she truly wanted to touch him, to make him feel as good as he had her.

“Please,” she whispered again, nuzzling her nose against his since she couldn’t kiss him properly—not sweetly, at least. She trusted Simon completely. He wouldn’t hurt her like Andrew and the soldiers had. He wouldn’t hold her down on his cock until she couldn’t breathe…

Simon sighed, deep and rumbling, and Lelia knew she had won. Her smile widened, and she crawled out of his lap and over to the couch, kneeling in front of it. Simon grunted, grabbing the discarded quilt and draping it over her shoulders once again. He grabbed a pillow off the couch as well, prompting her to lift her knees and then slipping it under them. Her heart swelled at his thoughtfulness, and the last of her nerves faded away, to be replaced by her earlier eagerness. If she couldn’t have Simon inside her cunt, perhaps having him in her mouth would soothe the aching emptiness.

Simon settled on the couch in front of her, legs spread wide. He was still completely dressed, and he stopped her when she reached for the hem of his shirt.

“Ugggllyyy,” he said quietly, and Lelia’s heart broke. She shook her head, pressing a kiss to the back of his hand.

“No,” she said firmly, staring into his sunken, cloudy eyes. “You’re not ugly, Simon. Not to me.”

The worried creases around his eyes softened slightly, but when she tried to lift his shirt again, his hands didn't budge. She sighed.

“I’ve seen you nearly naked before, Simon,” she pointed out. Her blush returned, and her eyes darted away from him as she continued, feeling shy. “I did just a few hours ago. And I would like to see it again.”

A growl reverberated through Simon’s chest, but his hands simply tightened around hers, then moved them away from his shirt, instead guiding them to his belt. She understood the unspoken command, and she shivered, core throbbing.

“Fine,” Lelia said, pouting a little bit as she slowly unbuckled his belt, and then undid his fly. She leaned forward, sneaking a kiss to the sliver of grey-tinged skin that was revealed. She let out a breathy noise when her lips brushed against a sparse trail of hair, and she looked up at Simon with half-lidded eyes. “You win. For now.”

Simon’s cloudy eyes narrowed at the implied challenge, his fingers winding into her hair and tugging slightly, just enough to pull her face away from his belly. A stuttered breath escaped her and her lashes fluttered at the slight, sharp pressure on her scalp. She should have been scared—a hand on her head, when she was in this position, was always followed by pain and fear—but she could never be scared of Simon. He was her protector. The only person who had ever cared for her, ever loved her. He would never hurt her. She knew that with her entire being.

He just stared at her for a long moment, holding her there. She didn’t fight him, letting him look his fill. It was strange—she had never enjoyed getting on her knees for Andrew or the soldiers, had found it humiliating, but kneeling in front of Simon was almost calming, in a way.

She didn’t pretend to understand it—but she did let herself enjoy it. She had never enjoyed lovemaking before, and though this wasn’t exactly that, it was still so very intimate. She wanted to savor every moment.

Eventually, Simon let go, his grip loosening as his fingers carded through her hair instead of holding it. She let out a soft, pleased noise, leaning into his touch as her hands slid up his thighs to grip the waist of his combat trousers and slowly pull them down. Simon lifted his hips a little so she could, stopping her once they reached mid-thigh. It seemed he was determined to keep himself as covered as possible. She was just glad he hadn’t put his mask back on. She never wanted him to cover his face again—it was a gift, getting to see it, one she would treasure for the rest of her life.

Lelia could see the outline of Simon’s soft cock in his briefs—it was large, despite not being even the slightest bit erect. She reached out and brushed her fingers against it, and Simon exhaled harshly. Her gaze flickered up to see him staring down at her hand, entire body tense. She rubbed his thigh soothingly with her other hand, and then gently squeezed his cock.

It didn’t throb or twitch under her hand like she was used to, but the growl Simon let out, low and throaty and hungry, told her he appreciated it nonetheless. She bit her lip to stifle a giggle, a little in awe that she could feel so relaxed while touching a man there. As much as she trusted Simon, and as much as she wanted this, a part of her still expected that she’d fall into a terrible memory the second she did.

Simon’s eyes darted to her face, and she blushed, knowing he’d heard her. She looked up at him through her lashes, and then began to tug his briefs down, gazing into his eyes the whole time. Only once they had joined his trousers did she look back down.

Lelia sucked in a breath, eyes widening. Simon’s cock was the same pale color as the rest of him, cast with a greyish pallor, but the veins on it were black. It was even bigger without fabric obstructing it, and thick. She was a little intimidated, thinking about how huge it would be when he was hard.

Simon grunted, concerned, his hand in her hair resuming its petting. She smiled at him and kissed his thigh, apologetic.

“I’m alright,” she reassured him, feeling bad she’d made him worry. “It’s just— it’s really big…”

Simon’s mouth couldn’t smirk, but she could see that he wanted to in the way his chest puffed up and his eyes crinkled at the corners just a tad. His hand moved to cup her chin, his thumb smoothing over her lips. She let her mouth fall open a little, her chest feeling warm when he hummed in approval. He gently guided her closer to his cock, slow enough that she could pull away if she wanted to.

She didn’t want to.

As always, Simon smelled slightly of decay, like rotting leaves in autumn. He didn’t sweat, being dead, so there was no salty, musky scent like she was used to. It made her wonder what he had smelled like, before. She imagined it had been something strong and heady. Perhaps slightly earthy.

She wondered if she would be able to taste it, still.

She shivered at the thought, her face hovering a mere inch away from Simon’s cock. She realized after a moment that he was waiting for her to close the distance, and she felt tears sting her eyes at how careful he was being with her. He knew so very little about what she had been through, and still, he was so gentle.

She loved him. She loved him so much.

Leaning in, Lelia pressed a sweet, lingering kiss to the head of Simon’s cock, gazing deeply into his eyes. He moaned, pale lashes fluttering, and, encouraged, she began peppering kisses all the way down his length. She even dipped her head lower for a moment to kiss his bollocks, smiling at the near-whine that pulled from her zombie. Finally, she took the tip of his soft cock into her mouth, suckling lightly. It was cold, but she had expected that, and she let her tongue rove over the soft skin curiously as she slowly took more and more of him, until half his length was sitting heavy on her tongue. Her eyes found Simon’s once again when he let out a ragged sob, and she let out a worried noise, quickly pulling off of him. He keened, fingers tangling in her hair once again, and her heart jumped into her throat for a split second when she thought he would push her back down. But he didn’t, only applying enough pressure to let her know that he wanted her to continue.

“Pllllleeeeasssse,” he begged, a desperate look in his eyes that she had never seen before. “Wwaaarrrrmm…”

Lelia melted, heart aching, and kissed his cock once more before taking it back into her mouth. Simon’s shoulders shook as he touched her face reverently, mumbling praises she couldn’t understand. But the love in his eyes was evident, and it spurred her to take him deeper, ignoring the discomfort and slight fear she felt when his tip hit the back of her throat. The need to give Simon the comfort only her warmth could bring him was far more pressing.

She sucked softly on his cock as she warmed it with her mouth, slowly caressing the underside with her tongue. It was easier to take more of him since he wasn’t hard, but she had to be extra careful not to let him slip out. She held one of Simon’s hands in her own and hummed sweetly, trying to reassure him as he grew more and more emotional. He moaned loudly, and she would’ve smiled if she could. She was content to stay there for as long as he wanted her to, if it meant he would keep looking at her like that. Like she’d hung not just the moon, but the stars too.

And stay there she did, for nearly half an hour. When her neck grew sore, she just laid her cheek on his thigh, lips still wrapped around his cock, and gazed up at him with sleepy eyes. Simon was still running his fingers through her hair, and his other hand let go of hers and moved to cup her face, his thumb tracing the shape of her eyebrow over and over. It was relaxing, and she nearly drifted off right then and there.

Suddenly, a distant gunshot from outside startled them both, and she pulled off of Simon's cock with a wet pop and a little bit of drool sliding down her chin. She stared at the door with wide eyes, heart in her throat, but her zombie was already up and investigating.

“Simon,” she whispered, wrapping the quilt tighter around herself as she shakily got to her feet. “What was that?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he went straight to the hearth to put the fire out. Lelia watched with mounting fear, fear that grew larger with every second that passed in silence.

It was only when Simon grabbed her hand and began pulling her urgently towards the bedroom that she dared to break it.

“Simon,” she repeated, eyes wide. “I’m scared.”

Simon stopped in front of the bedroom door, then leaned down to press his forehead to hers, their noses brushing.

Lelia had just turned nineteen when she was married off by her father. He was a politician, and her hand in marriage to some rich and powerful CEO’s son had been traded for monetary support of his campaign. Lelia’s husband was not kind, and the end of the world hadn’t changed that, when it happened three months later.

They had been evacuated to a military safe zone early on, early enough that Lelia had avoided seeing the complete and utter carnage the virus wrought upon the world. That had been why, after finding herself whored out by her husband to the soldiers in charge for better rations and amenities, Lelia decided she would be better off on her own. She’d run away, escaped the base and disappeared into the woods.

She lasted less than a day.

After hours of running, fueled by pure adrenaline and an overwhelming need to finally be free of Andrew’s casual cruelty, Lelia found herself alone in the woods, surrounded by the ravenous, snarling zombies she’d only heard of in other survivors’ stories. She’d never actually seen one of the undead, at least not while they were still alive… for some sense of the word.

Out of options, Lelia scrambled up a tree—and how she’d managed that, as unathletic as she was, she once again chalked up to adrenaline and some recently unearthed instinct to survive—perching on a thick, sturdy branch as high up as she could get. A clawed hand grabbing her foot nearly spelled her demise, but with a frantic kick, she shook the moldering limb off and hoisted herself up.

She stared down at the mass of walking corpses beneath her, and then briefly closed her eyes, letting out a shaky breath. There were at least a dozen, though it was difficult to count them in the darkness when they kept moving around. For all she knew, there were more. Either way, she was done for. She wouldn't have been able to fight back against even a single one. She was foolish to think she could survive out here, on her own. But she found that she didn’t regret leaving—at the very least, she got to taste freedom before her inevitable demise. The only thing she regretted was the painful, gruesome way in which she would go, once she ended up on the ground. And she would end up on the ground, she knew. Whether she simply tipped over after passing out from exhaustion, or lost her grip on the tree trunk… well. If Lelia was lucky, the fall would kill her instantly. She desperately hoped that God would grant her that one mercy, after all she had been through.

She knew there was no point in delaying her death. That she was only prolonging her own fear and suffering. And yet, she couldn't bring herself to let go. Her hands stayed stubbornly locked together as her arms hugged the tree, the toes of her shoes—ballet flats, since she owned no trainers or hiking boots, even months into the apocalypse—planted firmly on two slightly lower branches to help keep her balance. She stayed like that for hours, until her limbs locked up and her muscles burned. She pushed her body to the limit, eyes dry and irritated from refusing to fall asleep, knowing exactly what would happen if she did. It was an exercise in fruitlessness, in needless agony, and yet Lelia bore it as stoically as she could, the only sign of her terror the silent tears dripping from her eyes. Because despite it all, despite knowing it would change nothing, Lelia didn’t want to die.

“Please,” she whispered, the first words she’d spoken since escaping the base. Her voice was hoarse from disuse and thick from her tears, and the small sniffle that followed it sounded clogged. She didn’t know who she was talking to—God, maybe, or perhaps a figment of her imagination, just so she didn’t feel so alone—but she knew no one would hear her. No one ever heard her. No one ever listened. “Somebody please help me… I want to live.”

***

Ghost tilted his head to the side as he examined the woman in the tree. He had been drawn by the loud snapping and snarling that had plagued the forest for hours now, signaling a gathering of the undead. The only thing that brought so many to the same place was the promise of a meal. And so, after waiting a while to avoid having to actually do the killing of innocents—something that bothered the vestiges of humanity that rattled around in his infected brain—he’d headed in the direction of the noise, hoping to find some leftover scraps.

Instead, he found her. A tiny slip of a girl, trembling in a tree and looking for all the world like a fragile little bird, too weak to fly away to safety but not yet resigned to her gruesome fate. Ghost found himself unusually curious, and he studied her for what could have been minutes or hours. He wasn’t sure—time had lost all meaning not long after he turned. Sometimes, weeks would go by without him noticing, the only indication that any time had passed at all being the changing colors of the leaves. The small part of him that was still able to feel emotions worried about how he would be able to mark the passage of time when it was no longer autumn. He tried not to think about it, in the rare moments that he could form semi-coherent thoughts. He preferred to spend that time reminiscing on happier days, trying to recall the names and faces of family and friends from before. He had already forgotten most of them. Only a few memories lingered—bright blue eyes, a deep Scottish burr, the scent of clean soap, and, much fainter, whiskey.

When Ghost came back to himself, he realized he had drifted closer to the girl in the tree, now standing right at the base of it, staring up at her like all the other infected. The only difference was that he wasn’t scratching at the bark and growling like some rabid animal. He was still, milky white eyes trained on her face. Round cheeks, big brown doe eyes, pretty pink lips, and a small, upturned nose, framed by loose, auburn curls that went down to her waist. She was beautiful, the part of him that was still human noticed. The part of him that was driven by an unceasing instinct to rend and consume flesh, on the other hand, was drawn in by her scent. Light and floral, with a hint of something sugary, she smelled like she would taste incredible. Saliva pooled in his mouth and dribbled out, his broken jaw hanging uselessly.

“Please. Somebody please help me. I want to live.”

Her voice was angelic, despite the fear in it, and Ghost perked up at the sound. It was as small as her and as sweet as she smelled. Everything about her screamed of an innocence he’d long thought purged from the world, from her voice to her scent to the tear tracks on her face that glistened silver in the moonlight, her pale skin nearly glowing. She reminded him of a dove—small and frail and pure. Easy to break and easy to kill.

Don’t let her die, Simon’s voice said in his head, like a distant echo. She doesn’t deserve to die, not now, not like this.

Ghost, who had not heard Simon’s voice in a long while, shifted uneasily. He had helped the living often, in the beginning, when he'd realized he still held some measure of sentience, of control over his new, cannibalistic instincts. In return, he had been shot at, stabbed, slashed, skewered, and otherwise attacked. The human part of him had understood, and the first few times it happened, he’d simply retreated, despite his growing desire for companionship to chase away the terrible loneliness of his cursed existence. Most people had been confused by the zombie not trying to eat them, but far too relieved to try and chase him down to finish him off. They had simply accepted their strange good fortune and ran the other way while they still had the chance.

The last human he had tried to save had not been so smart.

After scaring away the horde of undead chasing the man, he’d remained, still and silent so as not to seem like a threat. He had known then how foolish it was, had known he should have left right away, that his decaying body would only be damaged further by a vicious hack from the man’s gore-covered machete—but the loneliness was killing him. He was already dead and somehow it was killing him. For every day that passed with only the other undead for company, Simon’s voice grew more and more quiet. He was desperate. Desperate for an anchor to the humanity that kept slipping through his cold, stiff fingers.

The man had charged at him, nearly taking Ghost’s arm off, and dejected, he had turned to leave. But this man was different from the others, stupider—or perhaps a little mad. He had pursued Ghost brutally, intent on ending his miserable existence. Part of Ghost had wanted to let him, but another part refused. This was not much of a life, not a life at all, really, but it was his and he wouldn’t let anyone take it away from him.

And so, after the dozenth swing, he’d snapped.

The man had been no match for his strength, wouldn't have been even before the virus had enhanced it. Ghost had batted the machete away like it was nothing but a toy, and then sunk his claws into the vulnerable flesh of the man's exposed throat, ripping it out. Hot blood had sprayed across his face, blood that was still there to his day, as Ghost had devoured a human for the first time, stuffing clumps of flesh into his mouth, manually moving his broken jaw up and down in order to chew. The process had been long and repetitive, but every second of it had been utter bliss.

Ghost had methodically stripped every inch of flesh from every piece of bone on the man’s torso, gorging himself on the delicious meal. He’d eaten the organs with vigor, surprised to find that each had tasted a little different. His favorite had been the liver.

Simon’s voice had stopped insisting he helped people, after that day. Though whether that was because he was afraid of snapping again, or because feasting on a person had degraded his humanity that much more, Ghost was unsure. And sometimes, when he had those brief moments of clarity, it unnerved him that he didn't particularly care either way.

But there was something different about this little dove. Simon had spoken up again, for her, for some reason that should have been unknowable to Ghost and yet wasn’t. He didn’t want to see her torn to shreds by the other undead, either—though in truth, he couldn’t fully tell if that was because he wanted to protect her, or if it was because he wanted to eat her himself. She smelled so sweet, after all, he just knew biting into her flesh would be the closest he ever got to seeing heaven.

No, Simon snapped, and Ghost grunted, shaking his head as he tamped down on his beastly urges. Then, he turned around, facing away from the little dove in the tree, and snarled viciously at the other undead. A little more than half fled immediately, but those that remained crowded closer, snarling back. Ghost swiped a massive, gloved hand at them, knocking two of them over, and screeched, the sound blood curdling. All but one backed down, shambling away with a chorus of agitated hisses.

The only one left, a zombie that had once been a man only slightly larger than Ghost, roared a challenge and flung itself at him. He caught it easily and slammed it into the ground, its bigger size no match for his greater strength.

The thing that used to be a man growled and groaned as it tried to get back to its rotting feet, but Ghost didn’t give it a chance, stomping down hard on its skull. It gave easily with a slight squishing sound, brain matter splattering over his black, grime-covered combat boots. Ghost snarled once more in victory, then looked back up, towards the girl he had done all this for.

She stared down at him in pure terror.

Ghost felt an unexpected pang of hurt at that. For a second, he wondered if he should leave her before she pulled out a hidden knife and hurled it at his head, but the thought was quickly discarded. He didn’t want to leave the little dove. She would never survive on her own.

So instead, he backed up several steps, giving her plenty of space to climb down without getting close to him.

She didn't move.

Ghost could be patient, though, vaguely recalling long hours spent silent and still, peering down the scope of a rifle. So he remained standing there, quiet and unmoving, for as long as it took.

It turned out that that was a very, very long time.

Half an hour passed—and the fact that he was aware enough to know just how long had gone by was quite unusual—before the little dove moved. It was her legs, finally giving out on her as her feet slipped off the branches below her. She wobbled slightly, and Ghost rushed forward with a growl that almost sounded concerned, ready to catch her. He heard her let out a frightened whimper when he moved, and he tried to coo at her to let her know he wouldn’t hurt her, but it just came out sounding like a small, off putting gurgle. He quickly went quiet, knowing the disgusting sound was the opposite of reassuring. He cursed his past self for breaking his jaw after he’d been bit—a last, desperate attempt to stop himself from biting and infecting anyone. He didn’t know if he would be able to talk, even if it was intact, but he’d at least have been able to try.

“Please,” the girl whispered, forehead leaned against the rough bark of the tree as she shook like a leaf in a windstorm. “Please go away.”

Ghost swallowed, hesitating. He didn’t want to leave her. She would die if he left her. And that was rapidly becoming an intolerable outcome for him. He didn’t understand why. It just was.

But she could also die if she fell from the tree and Ghost’s ruin of a body failed to catch her in time. And she would fall, if she didn't come down soon. He could see that all the strength had left her frail body, and that she was only holding on through sheer willpower. Or maybe fear.

Ghost let out a soft groan that he hoped she would somehow understand was an agreement. Then, he turned around and walked stiffly back into the forest, until he was hidden in the darkness. He could still smell her, though, tantalizingly sweet, and if he squinted, he could see her silhouette. The pale pink, ankle length skirt and matching jacket she wore—Ghost groaned quietly in frustration at the impracticality of it, wondering where she had come from to be so clean and still wearing such fancy clothes—was practically a beacon as it reflected the light of the full moon.

Several more minutes passed before the little dove finally began to fly down from her nest. Ghost was tense the entire time, relearning the feeling of fear as he watched her climb down, half expecting her to fall and break her neck. And she did fall—but only after she'd made it most of the way, only a couple feet left between her and the ground. He could hear the small, startled oof she let out as her bum hit the dirt, and he twitched, ready to run back to her—but she stood up on shaky legs a few seconds later, dusting off her skirt and quickly glancing around before seemingly picking a direction at random and beginning to walk in it. Her movements were almost as stiff as his, and he hissed a little in displeasure at the thought of her being in pain. This was why she should have come down when he was there. He would have carried her somewhere safe, and she wouldn't have to limp around aimlessly in the dark, tired and hurting.

For such a large man, Ghost could be incredibly quiet. And he was, as he tailed her for another two hours, never any more than ten steps behind her. She didn’t even look over her shoulder once. She may have been a little dove, but she had the survival instincts of a newborn kitten.

She finally collapsed from pain and exhaustion, crawling into a hollowed out tree trunk that only someone as small as her could have fit into. She was out in seconds, he could tell from the way her breathing changed from panicked to steady, though still labored from exertion. It wasn’t a horrible spot to hole up in, but she was far too exposed for his liking.

He approached her with silent footsteps, careful not to wake her. As he did, he scanned the area with his senses, since she had neglected to. There were a few infected shambling through the brush about twenty or so meters away. If they got any closer, they were bound to smell her. But that was alright, because Ghost had no intention of leaving her alone while she was so vulnerable.

He gazed down at her, milky white eyes taking in her shadowed features. She looked young, painfully so, at least compared to his forty years of age. Or was it forty-one, now? He was sure his birthday had passed, it was at the end of summer, but he didn’t know if it counted as getting older, since he was no longer alive.

He pushed the thought away, focusing on the girl again. She couldn’t be more than twenty, that much was certain. And he was watching her sleep like some nasty old perv.

The thought had him turning around, placing his back a mere foot away from the opening in the tree trunk. He didn’t want to make her feel trapped if she woke up, but he wasn't willing to leave enough space for something to slip in and attack her, either. He would keep her safe tonight. And maybe, just maybe, if she saw that he was useful and wouldn't hurt her, she wouldn’t shoo him away like a stray dog in the morning. Though he knew that even if she did, he wouldn’t leave entirely. He would be her shadow, her Ghost, a benevolent specter haunting her every step, and tearing apart any that dared to threaten his little dove.

Your little dove? A voice asked in his head. He didn’t know if it was Simon’s or his own or someone else’s. But it was his that answered.

Ghost’s dove looked so peaceful in his arms, swaddled in her blankets like a little tyke. He watched her as she slept, petting her hair and playing with the drying curls. He had a vague memory of doing the same to someone else, before, though their hair was far shorter beneath his fingers. His brows furrowed as he tried to remember who else he’d touched like this—but before he could, the memory slipped away, and he was left feeling strangely empty.

He held Lelia tighter, burying his face in her hair and breathing in her scent. It soothed the ache in his chest, like she always did. His dove was his everything. She brought him back from the brink, she gave him purpose again and a will to go on. His past was gone to him, but Lelia was his present and his future. As long as he had her, he would be happy.

As for the Scottish accent and the blue eyes that haunted his mind… he couldn’t mourn what he didn’t remember.

And he didn't remember Johnny, not really. Just his eyes, his voice, his scent. Not his face or who he was to Simon. For all he knew, the man was dead and rotting, whether in the ground or wandering above it.

The thought made his heart twist unpleasantly. The image of those bright blue eyes as cloudy as his felt viscerally wrong. But then Lelia stirred in her sleep, murmuring unintelligibly, and Ghost focused back on her, grateful for the distraction.

She squirmed lazily in his lap, murmurs devolving into soft whimpers. At first, he thought she was having a nightmare, and he cooed at her to calm her down—but then he smelt it for the second time that day. Her arousal, subtle at first but growing more potent. He suddenly realized her noises were ones of pleasure, and he growled deep in his chest, staring down at her hungrily.

He wondered what—who—she was dreaming about. He wondered if it was him. Christ, he fucking hoped it was him.

Slowly, so as not to startle her awake, he slid the hand in her hair down to her nape, squeezing lightly. She shivered, whether at the slight pressure or the chill from his bare skin against hers, he didn’t know. Whatever it was, her squirming grew more desperate, and he had to fight the urge to reach between her legs and help her out.

Down, dog.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, reigning himself in. He moved his hand away from her nape, carefully rearranging his grip on her before standing up. She whined, eyes darting about beneath closed lids, a wave of her delicious scent rising up and crashing into him, taunting. He groaned, ducking his head and breathing in deeply. He was fucking dizzy with it, and so god damn hungry.

He shook himself out of his trance after a long moment, carrying his dove into the bedroom and tucking her in. He smoothed her hair back and out of her face, but when he caught his gaze lingering on the thrum of her pulse in her neck, he pulled away and left the room quickly. He needed to hunt, inhuman hunger gnawing at him, his twisted desire for her only making it worse. He wasn’t risking it by waiting for her to wake up or going back in to do it himself, either. Not when she smelled like a seven course meal, decadent and mouth-watering, laid out on the bed for him like a proper feast…

Bloody hell. He needed to leave.

Simon’s hands were all over her body, caressing her softly as he nuzzled his face against her neck. She could feel his drool pooling in her collarbones as he licked at her skin, teeth grazing her pulse point. She mewled, fingers tangled in his hair as the ache between her legs grew and the not-nerves squirmed low in her belly.

“Please,” she whimpered, tears in her eyes. But they weren’t from fear—they were from overwhelming desire. “Simon, please! I need you…”

Suddenly, Simon was inside her, and Lelia’s eyes rolled back as that terrible emptiness finally disappeared. She let out a sob of relief, clutching onto him tightly as he began to rock his hips up, forcing his cock deeper and deeper, filling her perfectly. His mouth found her nipples and she moaned, the drag of his tongue against the sensitive buds making her see stars.

“Simon…” she mumbled aloud, before her voice was lost to her dreams once again. “I love you.”

When Lelia awoke, it was light out. She yawned, opening bleary eyes and automatically reaching for her zombie—only to frown when she realized she was in bed, alone. She huffed, trying not to feel hurt that he’d left her, and dragged herself out of bed, wrapping a quilt around her shoulders to keep warm.

When she opened the door, Simon was standing outside her room, his back to her. As much as she’d rather have woken up in his arms, it did make her feel warm all over that he stood guard over her all night. It made her feel like she was a Princess, and he was her sworn shield. Her loyal Knight…

She blushed, pulling the blanket tighter around herself as Simon slowly turned around.

“Good morni— oh my days!”

Simon was covered in blood, and after her initial, instinctive panic, she realized he must have gone hunting. Her frown returned and she jabbed an accusatory finger into his chest, ignoring the tacky redness that got under her nail.

“What did I tell you about not waking me up when you get back from hunting?” She scolded him, even as she grabbed his hand and dragged him towards the loo. He let her, despite his grumbling, and she nudged him to sit down as she rummaged through the medicine cabinet for his toothbrush. She let out a little aha! when she pulled it out, before diving back into locate their toothpaste. Instead, she found a small first aid kit hidden in the very back of the drawer. She was about to put it back when Simon grunted and snatched it out of her hands, rifling through it. He let out a pleased grumble when he found a tube of antibiotic ointment, but what caught Lelia’s attention was the needle and thread. She didn’t have time to grab it before Simon shut the first aid kit and put it on the shelf above the toilet, but her gaze lingered on the unassuming white box for a moment before she forced herself to focus on the task at hand.

A moment later, she cradled Simon’s broken jaw in her hand as she brushed his teeth, humming as she worked to free a stubborn tuft of bloody fur from his mouth.

“Do animals still taste different?” She asked him curiously. “Like how chicken and steak taste different.”

Simon huffed in amusement, lifting his hand from her hip to make a so-so gesture. She tilted her head to the side, thoughtful.

“Do you have a favorite?” She continued. He hesitated, but then shook his head. She narrowed her eyes, about to press him further, when she was distracted by the matted fur finally coming unstuck from between his teeth. She let out a small, triumphant noise, grinning. Though her smile didn’t last long. She wrinkled her nose as she dropped the fur in the rubbish bin and then quickly wiped her hand on a towel before turning back around. Simon’s eyes were crinkled at the corners, and she lightly smacked the back of his head. “Don’t you laugh at me, Mister. That was gross.”

Despite her complaints, she went back to cleaning him, giving his teeth another once over with the brush before setting it aside and grabbing a washcloth. Only then did she realize she didn’t have anything to wet it with, and she tsked, shuffling into the kitchen to grab a bowl of water and carry it back to the loo. Simon hadn’t moved, waiting patiently for her, and she set the bowl down on the edge of the sink before dipping the towel into it and beginning to clean his face.

“I need to wash your clothes, after,” Lelia said as she focused on wiping the dried blood from his skin and mask. She cast a furtive glance at the tub, and then swallowed thickly, unconsciously leaning closer to Simon. His hands tightened on her hips, steadying her. “I can do them in the kitchen sink.”

A smile slowly spread across her face, and she brightened up again.

“And you can finally wear that new outfit I found you!”

Simon groaned dramatically, and she giggled, wiping a way a bit of drool on his chin and taking a step back.

“There. Very handsome. But you’ll look even more handsome in that turtleneck,” she wheedled. Her cheeks grew pink when she realized what she’d said, but she didn’t take it back. It was true, after all.

“Very handsome.”

If Ghost could still flush, his whole face would be red as a damn tomato. He knew his touch turned his dove on, but that was worlds away from her thinking his ruined face was handsome. He was half convinced he’d misheard her, but then she repeated it, and Christ, he’d do anything for her to keep saying it. Keep believing it. Even if it meant letting her dress him up like a bloody doll.

So while Lelia went to fetch the clothes from the closet, he stripped out of his own, hesitating at his combat trousers. She’d never seen him without them before, unless she’d peeked at the river. But they were covered in blood as well, and he knew she’d throw a fit if any got on the clothes she’d picked out for him. So he shucked them off and shoved them into the corner of the room with the rest, leaving him in nothing but his skivvies.

Lelia’s blush immediately darkened when she came back, pretty pink lips parting and a soft gasp falling from them, eyes raking up and down his form. His nose picked up a hint of her tantalizing arousal, and he licked his teeth to keep from growling, letting her look her fill. He didn’t know how the hell she found him attractive, as destroyed and disgusting as he was, but he couldn’t deny that it made him feel a little less like a monster. A little more human.

Finally, she tore her eyes away, clearing her throat. They lit up when they landed on the shelf above the toilet, and she hung his new clothes on the towel rack before grabbing the first aid kit.

“I’m going to stitch those up,” she said, gesturing at him. He looked down at the numerous open gashes all over his body. But when she stepped up to him, he shook his head, placing a hand on the first aid kit and gently pushing it back towards her.

“Yyyoursss,” he reminded her, tapping the little white box. “Yyouu nneeed.”

“I’m not the one with open wounds,” his dove replied, already pulling out the supplies and threading the needle. When he reached for it again to stop her, she dodged his hands, notching her chin in the way he knew meant she wouldn’t back down. At the same time, she dropped to her knees in front of him, bracing her arm against his hips. His ruined brain faltered, trying to process the tantalizing sight before him, and he didn’t even notice when she began to stitch up a gash on his stomach, not until she was halfway done.

“Stay still,” Lelia scolded when he finally stopped swimming in his filthy thoughts enough to try and move away. He grumbled but obeyed, letting himself just enjoy her touch. “You’re lucky Ulyana taught me how to sew. She hated it—I had to beg her for weeks to give me lessons, you know. She always complained that she’d wanted to leave sewing behind with the USSR.”

Ghost snorted at that, and his dove looked up at him, a proud, sly smile on her face. She tied off the last stitch, and then immediately went to work on another wound, this time on the inside of his thigh, a few centimetres above his knee. He couldn’t help but wish it was higher—maybe then her small hand would brush against his cock. He wondered what her fingers would look like, wrapped around it. Would they even be long enough to touch? He doubted it, and the thrill that sent through him made him growl.

“Are you still pouting?” Lelia teased, and that only made the phantom ache in his prick all the worse. Christ, she had no idea the things she did to him. Giving him blue balls when his blood couldn’t even flow. “We’ll find another first aid kit, I’m sure. We haven’t even searched half the village. Besides, you protect me too well for me to need stitches, don’t you?”

Her words were accompanied by a chaste kiss to his knee, and the noise Ghost let out was utterly pathetic. He was a right pervert, getting off on her tender care for him, her innocence. But he couldn’t help himself. So he looked up at the ceiling, trying to think of anything other than how bloody wonderful it would be to feel those soft, warm lips on his cock.

All too soon, she finished up the stitches on his leg, and stood up to begin sewing up the gash over his unbeating heart. Lelia hummed as she worked, and he found his gaze drawn back to her, like a moth to a flame. The comparison was accurate, at least—he sought out her light and her warmth greedily, coveted it all for himself. And she gave it to him, let him touch and hold and taint her. He wondered if she would let him finger her, if he asked nicely…

He grunted, jerking his head sharply, ridding himself of the thought. He wouldn’t do that to her. He promised to protect her, not take advantage of her. He refused to be like her ex-husband. He would never give Lelia a reason to fear him.

“There,” his dove said, smoothing her palm over her handiwork, a proud smile on her face. “Front side is all done. I should have gone to medical school.”

Ghost snorted, wishing he could joke back and forth with her. There was something familiar about the idea, like banter was something he was used to. Maybe he had been, Before.

By the time she closed up the gashes on his back and one on his calf, the thread was completely gone. She stepped back to put the first aid kit away, and Ghost grabbed the clothes she’d picked out for him, staring dubiously at the turtle neck. He’d look like a bloody wanker wearing it, he just knew it, so he slipped the slacks on first. As he fumbled with the fly, Lelia batted his hands away and took over for him. Damn buttons still gave him trouble—but that was the last thing he was thinking about with his dove’s hands so close to his cock again. If he shifted just a little bit, she’d touch him…

Before he could do something stupid, she got the button sorted and grabbed the jumper, gesturing for him to put his arms up. He raised a brow beneath the mask and did as she asked—and then snorted when she climbed onto the closed toilet so she could slip it over his head.

“Shooorttt,” he teased, and she pouted dramatically, her expression barely hiding her smile.

“Rude,” she shot back, jabbing his bare chest with her pointer finger before trying to smother him to his second death with the jumper. At least that was what it felt like when she yanked it over his head. He howled dramatically, and was rewarded with the sound of her sweet giggles. “Stop squirming around! You’re only making it worse.”

Ghost grumbled but stilled, and soon enough, he was staring at himself in the mirror after helping his dove down from her perch. He was a sight to behold—a decrepit monster wearing such posh clothing. But Lelia’s eyes were bright and the scent of her arousal flared stronger, and that was all that mattered to him—not how ridiculous he looked.

“I was right,” she said, her small hand clutching his bicep as she gazed at his reflection. “You look even more dashing, now.”

A low rumble sounded in his chest, and he bit it back to keep from scaring her. But the way she said it, sweet voice sounding almost sultry… Christ, he’d be hard as steel if his prick worked.

“Come on,” she finally said, sliding her hand down his arm to lace their fingers together. She grabbed his dirty gear from the corner and pulled him over to the kitchen. He let her push him into a chair, glancing at her arse when she turned back around to carry the laundry to the sink. He wouldn’t hurt her just by looking, right? She’d looked at him, after all. “Keep me company while I clean this, hmm?”

Ghost grunted his agreement, watching her wash his clothes as she hummed. She looked like the perfect little housewife. All she was missing was a pair of oven gloves and an apron.

Nearly a week had passed, and the snowstorm still hadn’t let up.

Ghost scavenged for supplies everyday, clearing more and more of the village as he did. On the fifth day, he found a cottage that was in nearly perfect shape, with an actual working fireplace. He’d given into Lelia’s begging a few nights ago to try and light a fire in the current cottage they were holed up in, unable to stand seeing her shiver constantly, only to find that it had been sealed off. She had been devastated, but hadn’t complained. The only reason he knew she was still freezing was because she couldn’t keep her teeth from chattering all night. She’d tried to muffle the sound by pressing her face into the fur of the teddy bear he’d found for her the day after she’d told him about the one her ex-husband had thrown away—her face had sort of crumpled in on itself when he presented it to her, but she’d hugged him for hours without letting go, and snuggled with it every night since then, so he was sure she liked it—but it didn’t make much of a difference, not with his enhanced hearing.

But in this new cottage, there was even a clawfoot tub that his dove could take a hot bath in, if they warmed some buckets of water on the wood burning stove first. It was perfect, and he couldn’t wait to show her.

It was dark by the time he got back, though, so the move had to wait until morning. Like hell he’d risk her stumbling around outside in the dead of night. Lelia was none too pleased when he woke her up early to brave the cold, but she followed him regardless, muttering under her breath about ‘stupid zombies and their stupid ideas.’ He tried bloody hard not to laugh when he heard her, knowing it’d only piss her off more.

He failed.

Thankfully, it didn’t take too long to get to the new house, though they were both soaking wet by the time they got there, and Lelia was shaking like a leaf from the frigid temperatures. He gestured at the fireplace, silently letting her know it worked. She grinned and rushed over after digging out the matchbook from their supplies and shedding her wet layers, setting about to light the fire, just like he’d taught her. He felt a flush of pride at the sight. His dove was a quick learner.

He stripped his own wet layers before joining her, watching her blow gently on the little flame to coax it higher. The firelight flickered across her delicate features, bathing them in a soft, orange glow.

Fucking hell, he would never get over how beautiful she was.

He grunted in approval when the flames in the hearth began to crackle loudly, and a pleased grin spread across her face. He knew she liked the praise. Made him wonder how she’d react to being lavished with compliments in bed.

Such a good girl for me, Dove, takin’ my cock so well. Look at you, you gorgeous little thing, gonna fuck all the thoughts outta that pretty head of yours, hmm?

Ghost didn’t need to breathe, but he sucked in a rattling breath anyway to clear his head. This was a hunger that he couldn’t satisfy with the flesh of some furry creature. He'd eaten just yesterday—but not before he’d banished himself from the house for a couple days. The blizzard had kept him from being able to hunt before Lelia started looking irresistibly delicious—in a less human way. She’d been loud about her displeasure of having to watch him sit on the stoop of the house like a stray dog, surrounded by snow drifts, white powder covering him in a blanket every morning when he came out of his nightly almost-meditation. But he hadn’t budged, and she hadn’t pushed—though she’d insisted on him joining her in bed last night, layers of blankets between them so she could cuddle up to him.

He hadn’t protested, of course—with a full belly, he’d get as close to Lelia as she let him. She didn’t always want him in the room while she slept, but he no longer took it personally, knowing what he did about her past. Just felt honored when she did pull him close and let sleep steal her away.

Like now, when she laid down on the floor in front of the fire, resting her head in his lap. He didn’t twitch, too well trained to let his surprise show. This was a new position for them. For once, he was glad his cock didn't work. Wouldn’t want to scare her if she woke up to it poking her cheek like an overeager mutt.

He kept his hands planted firmly on the plush rug beneath him—at least until Lelia huffed and grabbed the one closest to her, lacing their fingers together and placing their joined hands on her belly. Simon went very still, but his mind ran wild.

Lelia, no longer skin and bones with a concave stomach, but plump and healthy with a round belly, their child snuggled safely inside her, just below her heart.

Lelia, cradling their baby to her breast as it nursed, a soft, adoring smile on her face as she gazed down at the little bundle of joy in her arms.

Lelia, a toddler in her lap as Simon sat behind her, listening attentively as she taught both of them how to read.

Ghost closed his eyes, trying to rid his mind of the bittersweet images. He never hated that zombies couldn’t sleep more than he did then. If he could, then maybe he'd at least get to live that life in his dreams.

The days settled into a routine, now that he’d found a true place for his dove to nest in and wait out the winter. There was a hiccup when he tried to surprise her with a hot bath one morning, only for her to immediately start sobbing and screaming the second she saw the tub filled up with steaming water. It was worse than the episode with the leather jacket, worse than her panicked state after her nightmare. The terror on her face was closer to that of when he first found her—she’d looked like she thought she was going to die.

It had taken hours to calm her down, and though she hadn’t exactly told him why she’d been so afraid—for as much as his dove liked to talk, she was surprisingly good at keeping secrets—he didn’t need to be a genius to put two and two together. Her wariness of the stream all those weeks ago, her downright fear at the river, and her reaction to the bath… it painted a picture that had him tearing apart his next kill far more viciously than usual, imagining it was the people who hurt her.

Other than that, things were surprisingly calm. The snow storm abated only a couple days after they’d moved into the new cottage, and she could join him again on his daily hunts for supplies. With a more permanent base, he no longer had to say no to the less useful—”They’re not junk, Simon!”— things she wanted to keep. The house was soon filled with little animal figurines, make-up, even small, framed pictures of random people. Lelia liked to think up stories about them. They always ended happily, despite both of them knowing those people had probably died gruesome deaths.

But this… this was new.

A delighted squeal from the room across the hall caught his attention. They had been scavenging for around half the day already, but hadn’t yet turned up more than a single can of soup. Ghost was familiar enough with his dove’s excited noises to know that this one didn’t mean she’d found something useful like food or water, but another pretty thing to add to her rapidly growing collection. Rather than being annoyed, though, he kicked his arse into gear and hustled over to her, wanting to see the happy look on her face for himself.

Except at the threshold of the room, he was met by a shifty Lelia, her hands outstretched to stop him.

“Wait,” she said, as if he wasn’t reeling from embarrassment at being so predictable that she knew he’d come running. Bloody hell, the things she did to him. Had him acting like a school boy with a crush rather than a highly trained soldier. “I want it to be a surprise.”

Simon raised a brow beneath his mask, but backed up into the hallway. Lelia giggled before closing the door in his face. He could hear her moving around in the room, the rustle of fabric, and the soft clack of what sounded like beads.

A moment later, his dove opened the door. Backlit by the weak winter sun streaming in from the window, she was a vision as she stood there wearing a big smile and a dress that made his mouth water.

It wasn’t even all that revealing, but somehow, that just drove him crazier. Pale blue and silky, it left Lelia’s shoulders and collarbones bare, but everything below that was covered. At the center of the neckline sat a swirl of white, glowy metal, so delicate-looking Ghost was sure he’d break it with a single touch. Three strands of pearls were draped over the middle of her upper arms, like useless, sexy sleeves.

“Isn’t it just the most gorgeous thing you've ever seen?” Lelia asked, doing a little twirl for him. He swallowed a hungry growl, but he couldn’t help but reach out to run his fingers over the fabric at the small of her back. His dove jumped, but then went still, looking over her shoulder at him, loose auburn curls spilling tantalizingly over her bare skin as big brown doe eyes gazed at him hopefully. “Do you like it?”

Simon knew he should pull away. Instead, he flattened his palm against the base of her spine as he nodded, staring down at her intensely. He stepped closer, crossing the threshold, and his chest burned with arousal as he remembered the sounds of rustling fabric. She’d been naked just a moment ago, the only thing separating him from her was the thin wood of the door—and he hadn’t even known.

His hand slowly dragged up the length of her back, until it finally met bare skin. Lelia shivered from the chill of his skin, but he could see her nipples were stiff beneath the silk, and her sweet, musky scent filled the air. She liked this. She liked how he touched her. And he knew he could make her feel so fucking good…

“‘rrrreeetttyyyy…”

The mangled word came from deep in his chest, rumbling out in a low, gravelly voice. Lelia’s cheeks grew rosy and she bit her lip, trying and failing to hide a smile. Simon’s hand smoothed over her bare shoulder and down her arm to clumsily play with the delicate pearl sleeve. He could break it so easily—could tear the dress off of her in a second and throw her onto the bed, have her naked and vulnerable beneath him. She would be his to claim. His to devour.

With a grunt, he lowered his hand and stepped away, cock aching even though it didn't so much as twitch in his trousers. Christ, this was the worst fucking case of blue balls he’d ever had, and he couldn't even rub one out to make it better.

He was still half tempted to try.

Lelia’s face fell a little, but she quickly recovered, giving him a sheepish, slightly strained look. She said something about needing to focus on finding supplies, then shut the door in his face. The sounds of her getting undressed reached his ears, and he swiftly walked downstairs so he didn't try to take a peek.

Back at the house, Lelia wiped herself down with a clean rag, a bar of soap, and a bowl of water heated on the stove. There were several layers of towels piled below her on the toilet’s tiled floor, as she couldn’t bear to stand in the tub even if it was empty. She had to work quickly, as the air was chilly even with the fireplace lit, and she didn’t want to catch a cold. Even a little case of the sniffles could spell her death in this new world.

Washing her hair was the worst part, and she always saved it for last incase it sent her into a panic. She took a deep breath, screwed her eyes shut, held her head over the sink—not the tub, never the tub—and dumped a second bowl of lukewarm water over it. She kept her lips clenched tightly together as the world went foggy, but when she finally let out a breath, unable to hold it any longer, she began to calm when water didn't suddenly rush into her mouth and fill her lungs.

With shaking hands, she worked a little bit of the rose-scented shampoo she’d found through her locks, careful to conserve as much as she could. Who was to say when they’d stumble upon another bottle? Especially one that made her hair all shiny and soft like this one did.

Lelia sighed and mentally prepared herself for the second rinse. Once it was done, she wrapped her wet hair up in a fluffy towel and dried her body off with another before changing into an oversized set of flannels she’d designated as her sleepwear after finding it a week ago. She was tired of sleeping in dirty clothing. She was tired of wearing dirty, ugly clothing in general—she’d picked up a few new shirts and even a new pair of jeans since she and Simon had truly settled into the village, but none of them were her style. Not until the dress today.

Lelia blushed at the memory. She’d been so excited to find such a stunning piece of clothing—but even more so to model it for Simon.

His reaction had taken her breath away. For some reason, the feeling of his bare, cold skin against her own had made her feel hot all over. And the way he’d looked at her…

It had been similar to the way he looked at her when he hadn’t eaten in too long—but not quite the same. There was something more human to it. She almost thought it might have been lust, but there was no cruel glint in his eyes. Lelia had learned that that always came hand in hand with a man’s desire.

The shameful part was that Lelia would have welcomed it. The aching emptiness inside her got worse everyday. She was anxious most of the time now, even more so than usual. Like she was just waiting for someone to stumble across her and take away her choice again. She thought perhaps that was the crux of it—she couldn’t truly bring herself to believe it would never happen again, and so her body was making her crave it. It was telling her to get it over with and have sex, so at least for once, it would be her choice.

None of that made her feel like any less of a whore, though.

Lelia sighed, moving over to the bedroom door and knocking on it to let Simon know she was done. He always hid himself away in there when she bathed, so she could keep the toilet door open and let in the heat from the fireplace. The first time she’d done it, he’d tried to wait outside, but she hadn’t let him. Just because he didn't feel the cold didn't mean he needed to get soaked through with snow.

A moment later, Simon stood in front of her, eyeing the towel on her head warily. She giggled a little. Simon had found out the hard way that her hair was wrapped up in it—she’d fallen asleep with it on, and he’d tried to pull it off to her, only to wake her up as she yelped in pain. He’d been horrified, but once the instinctual fear left her, she’d just found it funny.

She’d also enjoyed him cradling her in his arms and gently petting her hair for an hour straight, like he was trying to apologize to the very strands themselves.

Lelia took Simon’s hand and led him over to the couch, picking up her poetry book and sitting down on the soft cushions. Simon piled several blankets on top of her before joining her, throwing his arm over the backrest so she could curl up against his side.

She paged through the book before she found the poem she’d been looking for. Reading to Simon had become a part of their daily routine since that first time, and they’d gotten through the little book twice now, including the poems in Russian.

The only ones she hadn’t read to him were her own.

She paused, looking up at Simon. He tilted his head in a silent question. She raised a hand to tap her fingers nervously against her lips, but then spoke.

“Would you… would you want to hear a poem that I wrote?” She asked, voice whisper-quiet. “None of mine are very good, but at least it will be something new…”

Simon let out a grunt of agreement, eyes crinkling a bit at the corners and he leaned in closer to her, eager. Lelia blushed, turning back to the book and then flipping to a new page.

“This one is called Springtime,” she started, but then stopped, embarrassment already creeping up on her. She set the book down and pulled the towel off her head, tossing it on the floor and beginning to fiddle with her damp hair. “It’s stupid, I should just read one of the real poems, you don’t want to hear this drivel—”

Cold fingers gently gripped her chin, turning her to face Simon. Lelia’s heart skipped a beat and she looked up at him with wide eyes. He lightly shook her head, like he was trying to shake some sense into her, before letting go. He pointed at her, then at the book in her lap, and then her again. The message was clear. Read the damn poem.

Lelia had never heard Simon swear, but some of his frustrated growls sounded suspiciously close to curses, so she figured that he would if he could.

“It’s very short,” she continued trying to stall, but when Simon growled at her, she raised her hands in surrender. “Okay, okay! I’ll read.

“Into the abyss of love we dove,” Lelia recited, cheeks already bright red, “headfirst; there was no sun for you are my sun. My love, my vision of springtime.

“I told you it was bad,” Lelia muttered, refusing to look at Simon as she burned hotly with humiliation. She’d written it after watching a particularly sappy romance film, when her head was still full of dreams in which the man she married would cherish her rather than destroy her.

“No. Ss’ggoood,” Simon said. He was getting better at speaking—or maybe Lelia was just getting better at understanding him. “Lll— llliike iit.”

Lelia was quiet for a long moment, picking at her cuticles. Simon shifted next to her, placing a hand on top of hers to halt the anxious habit. She let out a deep breath, taking his hand in hers.

“Do you really think so?” She asked softly as she played with his fingers. They were still cold, but they weren’t nearly as stiff as they used to be. They were almost as quick as hers, nowadays.

“Mmmm,” Simon hummed, the sound throaty and a little off-putting. She knew that meant he was trying to soften the noise for her, and her lips tugged up into a small smile. Simon cupped the back of her head with his free hand, and guided it to rest against his chest as he pet her wet hair. Her breath caught in her throat, and he stilled, but she quickly snuggled into him, not wanting him to stop. “Ss’ggoood, Dddoove.”

“I’ve never shown anyone my poems before,” she admitted in a whisper, staring at where their joined hands rested in his lap. “You’re the first.”

Simon’s petting paused for a moment before starting up again, and Lelia realized that she’d surprised him. She huffed a laugh, wiping away an unwelcome tear. It was just that there was a reason no one had ever heard her poems—no one had ever cared enough about her to want to.

Lelia lifted her head, gazing into Simon’s cloudy eyes. The shadows from the flickering fire almost made it seem like there were swirls of onyx dancing in the white irises. Lelia couldn’t help but think that the color suited him.

“You’re the first person to make me truly happy, too” she confessed, voice soft. “I wish I had met you before—” before the world ended. Before you died. Before I was forced to marry Andrew and a part of me died, “Well. Before everything, I suppose.”

Simon stroked her damp hair, and she could see the skin around his eyes tighten and his jaw quiver, a sign that he wanted to say something but wasn’t able to with his limited words. She just smiled at him, reaching up to cup his cheek, absentmindedly using her flannel to wipe away a bit of drool.

“It’s alright,” she soothed him, before yawning and laying her head on his chest once more. She snuggled even closer to him, so she was half in his lap, the fire in the hearth keeping her warm despite Simon’s lack of body heat. “You don’t have to say anything.”

Simon grunted, frustrated, his arms wrapping around her and pulling her into his lap fully. She let out a pleased sound, letting her eyes flutter shut. She was just on the cusp of sleep when he finally spoke, the words making her smile even as they escaped the grasp of her memory.