Page 23 of Ghosts of the Dead

The food isn’t good. Not even close. It tastes like someone boiled regret and despair, but I eat it anyway, because I need to. Because they need me to. Because Summer needs me to stay strong enough to find her.

And maybe, just a little, because they make me feel like I’m not completely unraveling.

The guys fall into familiar bickering about spoon hierarchy and whether Caspian’s turn to cook is actually going to happen. Their voices blur as something shifts in the space between broken walls. I glance past the campfire, through the gaps in the wall, and spot a shape outside the storefront where a German Shepherd stands partially hidden behind a rusted support beam with ears perked forward. Her coat is patchy with dirt and leaves, and she’s watching me.

She’s been trailing me for days, staying out of reach but never far. Now she’s close again, but still watching me from a distance. Her nose twitches, and when I lift another spoonful to my lips, she licks hers.

My gaze flicks toward the others, but they’re too busy arguing to notice me move. I rise and take slow steps toward the dog, crouching low to avoid spooking her. This time, she doesn’t run.

I settle a few feet away and set the can beside me. The smell isn’t much, but maybe it’ll entice her.

She inches forward, and sunlight catches a small metal tag on a faded red collar beneath thick fur. I lean in to read it.

“Luna?” I whisper.

Her ears twitch and her head tilts. She steps closer.

“That’s your name, isn’t it? Luna. Such a pretty girl,” I coo.

I keep my fingers relaxed with my palm down near the can while she sniffs the rim. I don’t touch her, don’t move. Only wait. She laps up the remaining soup in desperate gulps. Her ribs are visible with every breath she takes. Something aches in my chest that isn’t about Summer or rotters or even the guys. It’s her, Luna, doing her best to survive alone. Like me. She’s licking the remnants off the bottom of the can when we’re interrupted.

“Autumn?” Mars’s voice cuts through the space.

Luna whirls around and vanishes down the street before I can breathe her name again.

“Shit.” I stand.

Mars jogs up beside me, scanning the trees. “Are you okay? You disappeared, and I wasn’t sure if something happened.”

“I’m fine.” I stare at where Luna vanished, then shake my head and walk with him to rejoin the others. Mars doesn’t pry. He only hovers.

We sit in a loose circle beneath by the fire at the front of our little gutted storefront shelter. Sunlight bleeds through overhead cracks, casting long shadows across broken concrete. The air smells like rust, ash, and smoke.

It’s not peace, and it’s not safety, but for a few minutes in the quiet between storms, surrounded by men who are clearly as broken as I am but still fighting, it almost feels normal.

Almost.

A thought creeps in. What if we never find her? What if Summer is already gone and all I’m doing is dragging these men through hell for nothing? The possibility sends a shiver down my spine that has nothing to do with the temperature.

“You cold?” Mars asks, already shrugging out of his dark gray and black flannel shirt before I can answer. His eyes catch on the torn hem of my shirt. “And that thing’s barely hanging together.”

“I’m fine.”

Despite my feeble protest, he’s already draping it over my shoulder, and the warmth hits me in an instant. The fabric is soft and well-worn, and it carries his scent. Something clean and masculine mixed with woodsmoke and a hint of whatever soap he found. It’s comforting in a way that makes my chest tighten. Safe. Like being wrapped in his arms again when I tried so hard not to fall apart.

“I tore a piece off the bottom to press against your head,” I explain, tugging at the ragged hem of my shirt. “When you got blown backward by your own molotov. You were bleeding, and I was trying to stop…um…”

“You were trying to keep me from bleeding out,” he finishes quietly, his black, cold eyes softening. Something shifts in his expression. Before I can respond, he leans over and presses a gentle kiss to my cheek, his lips warm against my skin. “Thank you,” he murmurs against my hair. “For not letting me die.”

My breath catches, and heat floods my cheeks.

“Better,” he says, settling back down beside me now in only his black tank that does nothing to hide the sculpted lines of his body and those arms that held me together this morning.

I pull the flannel closer around me, breathing in that distinctive scent that’s purely him. My cheek still tingles from his kiss. “Thanks.”

“Anytime, purple,” he says, then continues talking with Jace about something I can’t focus on.

I glance at Mars again. It’s meant to be quick, but my gaze lingers. He’s focused on his food, sitting with one leg bent and his elbow resting on his knee. His black tank clings to his chest and arms, his sleeves high enough to show off biceps that make my brain skip. Those same muscular arms held my pieces together this morning. His jet-black hair pulls into a low bun that somehow brings out the darknessof his eyes. He licks the soup from his thumb with a quick swipe that doesn’t totally kill the moment. Not until he opens his mouth to speak.

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