Page 47 of Zinnia and the Zombie
The acolyte immediately dropped to his knees and pulled out a blade. Her stomach churned as he sliced it across first one wrist, then the other, deeply enough to send blood splattering to the stone, then began chanting.
The priest circled Jaxx then stopped directly in front of the golden statue.
“The prophecy speaks true,” he murmured, reaching out to touch the metallic surface. “A living key of gold, the last of its kind.”
Her heart hammered against her ribs. The priest was within easy reach and the kneeling acolyte had his back to her, completely vulnerable. They’d never get a better chance.
“Now!” she screamed, bursting from her hiding place as she flung the net with all her strength. It unfurled in the air like a deadly flower, spreading wide before dropping over the kneeling Grorn. The heavy, reinforced knots she’d woven into the edges provided just enough weight to carry it down over his massive form.
The acolyte roared in surprise and anger, massive limbs tangling in the fibrous mesh as he struggled to rise. He wouldn’t be trapped for long—already the vines were starting to snap under his strength—but she didn’t need long.
The leader whirled toward the commotion, momentarily distracted. That single moment was all it took.
Behind him, the golden statue exploded into motion.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Jaxx burst from stasis the moment Zinnia’s voice reached him, his consciousness surging through golden flesh that had been cold metal seconds before. The sensation was like breaking through ice into open air—painful, shocking, but alive with purpose. The energy that accompanied his awakening pulsed through him like liquid fire, heightening his senses and sharpening his focus to a lethal point.
Time slowed as he found the priest, the zealot’s face a mask of surprise. His hand started to reach for the ceremonial blade at his waist, but Jaxx was faster—infinitely faster.
He struck before the priest could complete his movement, golden fingers closing around the Grorn’s throat with crushing force. The reptilian male’s scales were rough against his palm, the pulse beneath them rapid with fear and fury. Black eyes widened, pupils contracting to pinpricks as Jaxx lifted him bodily from the ground.
“For my crew,” he growled, his voice raw with years of grief and rage.
The priest clawed at his arm, his claws drawing blood that glittered in the morning light, but he ignored the pain. He tightened his grip, feeling cartilage and bone giving way beneath his fingers. The Grorn’s struggles grew weaker, his legs kicking uselessly as his life ebbed away.
Behind them, Jaxx heard the acolyte freeing himself from Zinnia’s net, the vines snapping as the powerful male tore through them. The sound brought him back to the immediate danger. He couldn’t afford to savor this revenge, not with Zinnia still at risk.
With a final, vicious twist, he broke the priest’s neck and dropped the lifeless body to the ground. The sound echoed across the empty plaza—a dull, final thud against ancient stone.
The acolyte froze, his gaze fixed on his fallen leader. For a moment, shock rendered him motionless. Then his features contorted with rage and religious fervor, black eyes blazing with hatred.
“Blasphemer!” The word exploded from him, thick with venom. “The prophecy cannot be denied!”
The Grorn charged, abandoning all caution in his frenzy. It was a suicidal attack, born of desperation and zealotry rather than tactical thinking. Jaxx met the charge head-on, ducking beneath the male’s outstretched arms and driving his fist up into the soft underside of the Grorn’s jaw.
The impact sent shockwaves up his arm, but the acolyte barely staggered. The Grorn were built to endure pain, their religious conditioning pushing them beyond normal physical limits. The acolyte recovered quickly, spinning back toward Jaxx with surprising agility for his size.
They circled each other, the acolyte more cautious now despite his rage. Jaxx kept his stance low and fluid, conserving his energy. The stasis awakening had given him a temporary surge of strength, but he could already feel it beginning to fade. He needed to end this quickly.
The Grorn lunged again, feinting left before striking right. Jaxx recognized the maneuver—a common battle tactic—and caught the male’s arm, using the acolyte’s own momentum to throw him off balance.
As the acolyte stumbled, he found the vulnerable spot at the base of the Grorn’s skull, driving his fingers deep into the gap between scales. The male convulsed once, then collapsed, his massive body hitting the plaza stones with a thunderous impact.
Silence descended over the plaza, broken only by his ragged breathing and the familiar sounds of ruined city—the wind through empty buildings and water flowing through ancient pipes.
“Jaxx!”
Zinnia’s voice cut through his battle focus. She was running toward him, her face alight with relief and joy. She flung herself into his arms with such force that he nearly staggered backward. Her body was warm and solid against his, her laughter and tears mingling as she pressed her face against his chest. The feel of her in his arms, safe and whole, made his heart swell with overwhelming gratitude.
He captured her mouth with his, pouring everything he felt into the kiss—his fear for her, his relief, his love. Her lips were soft and yielding beneath his, her hands clutching at his shoulders as if she feared he might disappear again.
When they finally broke apart, both breathless, he rested his forehead against hers. “You were brave,” he said roughly, even as he traced the curve of her cheek, reassuring himself that she was safe and well. “But foolish beyond measure.”
She nodded, a tremor running through her body now that danger had passed. The adrenaline was wearing off, leaving behind the shaky aftermath of survival.
“You needed me,” she said simply.
