She kinetically unlocked the window and eased it up. The zombie closest to her stirred. She froze, hoping the gentle breeze playing in her hair didn't take her smell to it.
It turned then began to snore. She swung the pack off and carefully dug out the four golf ball-sized bombs. They were warm against her palms, their feel almost jellylike. She tossed one into each corner of the cabin, listened for the gentle plop that indicated the outer skin had broken, and watched as pale fingers of red smoke began to ease across the floor. She closed the window and glanced at her watch. They'd have to wait five minutes for the mist to do its stuff, making it safe enough to enter.
She squatted on her heels and leaned back against the cabin wall. Thunder rumbled overhead, a warning of the storm clearly gathering. The smell of rain sharpened the air but didn't quite erase the smell of the dead. She hoped the storm didn't break until after they'd explored whatever it was the zombies protected. If those clouds were anything to go by, the storm was going to be a doozy. Maybe enough to wake the sleep-spelled dead.
She let her gaze roam across the tree line until she found the shadows in which Ethan hid.
What in hell was she going to do with him?
He kept insisting he wasn't capable of loving her, and yet his touch and his eyes and the emotions that sometimes surged between them suggested otherwise.
Could a wolf lose his heart more than once?
She'd ask him, except for the fact she'd promised to drop the subject and didn't want to risk alienating him completely. Maybe it was a question Gwen could answer.
She hoped so. Because she very much suspected she was falling in love with the damn man.
She hugged her arms around her belly. She'd find out tonight if she was pregnant or not. And if she was, there was one thing she was suddenly certain of.
Her child would know its father.
She'd grown up without that knowledge and knew the pain it caused. If he didn't want any part of his child's life, then fair enough, but her child would know who he was, what he looked like, what he did and where he lived. They would have the sense of history, of belonging, that in many respects she never had, no matter how much Gran had loved her. Four simple pieces of information could have made her childhood seem a whole lot less of a mistake.
And perhaps most importantly, her child would never be in doubt that her mother not only wanted her, but loved her. Or him, as the case may be.
She glanced at her watch again then rose and looked inside. The red mist had almost dissipated. It should be safe enough now to enter without waking the zombies.
She signaled to Ethan, then carefully opened the window. A heartbeat later she felt the warmth of his presence wash over her senses.
"What, no masks?" Ethan asked, voice low and annoyed as she clambered inside.
She hid her smile and met his gaze. "Don't need them with the mist almost gone."
He snorted softly. "Wouldn't be a ploy to keep me at a safe distance while you explored, would it?
"Of course not," she said absently as she looked around, trying to sense the presence of anything else other than the sleeping zombies.
"That's what I figured." He stepped carefully over a zombie. "What are we looking for?"
"I don't know. You check that door." She waved a hand at the door to their left.
"And I'll look around here."
He made his way toward the door. She stayed where she was, hands on her h*ps as she studied the floor. The air gently caressing her face was damp and smelled slightly musty. It wasn't the staleness of a cellar, rather that of an old cave. Suggesting, perhaps, there was another access point here besides the window and the front door. One that went down rather than out.
She stepped over a dead man and followed the caress of air into the shadows. And found a trap door. One that had a zombie sleeping over the top of it.
"Nothing in this room," Ethan said quietly. "You found anything?"
"Yeah, a zombie in the damn way."
He stopped beside her. "So why not kill it?"
She gave him an annoyed look. "Contrary to popular opinion, I do not run around killing zombies willy-nilly. Besides, if I kill any of these things right now, the person who raised them would know."
"Then let's move it, so we can check out the door." His voice held an edge of impatience. Or maybe it was annoyance.
"I'll move it. You touch it, and it might just wake."