Page 41 of Zinnia and the Zombie
He shrugged but her admiration pleased him.
“Another thing I was taught as a child, although I’ve had little use for it until now.” He smiled down at her as she yawned. “You should rest. Tomorrow will test us both.”
She nodded but she didn’t leave. He sighed and put his arms around her, pulling her close.
“I can hear you thinking.”
“I’m scared,” she whispered.
“Fear is appropriate. It sharpens the senses, heightens awareness.”
“That’s not very comforting.”
“I’m not trying to comfort you with platitudes,” he said seriously. “I respect you too much for that. The threat is real. But our preparations are also real, as is our resolve.”
She looked up at him, her face troubled.
“Why are they hunting you, Jaxx? What do they want?”
He was silent for a long moment. “I don’t know for certain. My memories of the attack on my ship are still fragmented. But the Grorn are not pirates. They believe they’re following a divine mandate.”
“A religious crusade?”
“Something like that. I believe they may have decided that a Zathix warrior is essential to that quest, although I don’t know why.”
She shuddered, and tightened her arms around his waist. “I won’t let them take you, my zombie.”
“I should be the one protecting you.”
“We protect each other,” she said firmly. “That’s what partners do.”
The golden gleam of his skin brightened as he returned the rug.
“Yes, my Zinnia,” he agreed. “Partners.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Jaxx stood motionless on the balcony, his eyes fixed on the distant glow that punctured the darkness. The Grorn had lit a ceremonial fire, its flames casting long, grotesque shadows. He had pulled the vines back down around the balcony, leaving just enough space to peer through—a concealed vantage point from which to observe their hunters.
He’d sent Zinnia to rest, but he wasn’t surprised when she rejoined him only a short time later.
“I can’t sleep,” she said quietly. “What’s happening?”
“Their preparations have begun,” he said, keeping his voice low despite the considerable distance between them and the Grorn. Old combat habits died hard.
“What exactly are they doing?” she asked, squinting at the distant light.
“In addition to the sacrifice? Purification rituals. Weapons consecration.”
She nodded, but he felt the tension running through her body—a fine tremor that hadn’t been there during the day’s preparations. While setting traps and weaving nets, she had been focused and determined. Now, the scent of her anxiety caused his protective instincts to surge, his skin warming in response. He understood her fear—shared it, in fact—but not for himself. For her. The thought of her in danger made his heart pound in a way no personal threat ever could.
“Come,” he said softly, taking her hand. “There’s something I want to show you.”
She allowed him to lead her away from the balcony, back through their apartment. They moved silently through the corridors and up the stairs that connected their floor to the rooftop garden. As they climbed, he noticed her gaze flicking to the weapons they’d stashed at strategic points—a last desperate line of defense.
The garden was different at night. During the day, sunlight streamed through the cracked dome, illuminating the vibrant colors of fruits and vegetables. Now, with only starlight filtering through, the plants were rendered in shades of black and silver. The air was heavy with moisture and the rich scent of growing things.
He guided her past the food-bearing plants and beyond the crystalline fruits that had cut her skin weeks ago. She followed without question, her hand warm in his, her pulse gradually slowing as they moved deeper into the arboretum.
