Michael Joke caught sight of the misery smeared all over Billy Jean's face and asked,

  “What's eating you?”

  "I forgot my munching gear."

  Michael Joke:??

  "Ugh... my wine glass, cutlery, thermos, red dates, wolf-berries, and codonopsis!"

  Michael Joke squeezed the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache brewing.

  “Alright, quit your bellyaching. They're just cheap knickknacks. If they're gone, they're gone.”

  "How am I supposed to chow down without them?"

  “Aren't you zombies supposed to just dig in with your bare hands?”

  Billy Jean shot him a look that could curdle milk.

  "I'm a refined zombie. Do you even get refinement?"

  Michael Joke:...

  He'd never been at such a loss for words in his life.

  The smell of blood was like a siren song to Billy Jean, and the hunger for flesh made the wild side in her rear its ugly head.

  She was scared she'd go off the rails if she didn't fill her belly soon.

  "Forget it, I'll just make do with this grub today." She caved.

  She crouched down next to the corpse and reached out her pale, icy hand to grab the still-warm mitt of the dead guy.

  Michael Joke's brow wrinkled a bit as he watched, a glimmer of annoyance flashing in his eyes.

  Billy Jean dipped her head and took a whiff of the corpse's wrist.

  The blood smell hit her nose.

  Hmm, it should be tolerable.

  She had no clue the guy beside her was turning green with envy.

  A faint red glimmer sparked in Billy Jean's eyes as she leaned in to sink her teeth into the wrist.

  “Ding...”

  Suddenly, an iron rod shot out, and Billy Jean's teeth clamped down on it instead.

  Billy Jean's gaze slowly slid sideways, and there was Michael Joke, the troublemaker.

  Her eyes blazed with fury.

  Michael Joke's eyes darted around as he tried to explain,

  “I don't know if it's washed or not. It's better to sip from a cup.”

  He didn't know what had gotten into him, but the thought of Billy Jean's cold lips on his wrist the night before, her tongue gliding over his skin and sending shivers down his spine, made him all prickly and possessive.

  The idea of her doing the same to someone else made him see red.

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  “Chugging it down like this might make you sick. How about we use a cup?”

  Michael Joke said softly.

  Billy Jean spat the iron rod out of her mouth, turned her head, and hacked up a mouthful of blood-tinged spit.

  Seven or eight pearly whites lay there in the bloody mess.

  Billy Jean:!!

  Michael Joke:!!

  "Michael Joke, you owe me my teeth!" Billy Jean howled in rage.

  Billy Jean hunkered down on the ground, cradling her teeth in her hands, heartbroken and miserable.

  "Boohoo... my teeth. How am I going to munch now? It's all Michael Joke's fault. I'm never talking to him again!"

  Just then, an even stronger whiff of blood filled the air, and a flash of red streaked across Billy Jean's cloudy eyes.

  So delicious.

  A bleeding, tempting wrist was thrust in front of Billy Jean, and a deep voice said,

  “Drink up. Your teeth will grow back.”

  Billy Jean didn't have time to wonder why he was willing to let her suck his blood this time.

  Her pale hand snatched up his bigger one, her ashen lips parted slightly, and she dove in.

  The sweet, rich blood flooded her mouth in an instant.

  She was like a parched desert wanderer who'd stumbled upon an oasis, gulping it down like there was no tomorrow.

  The blood slid down her throat, juicing up every part of her body.

  Her busted teeth started to regrow, popping up like baby carrots in spring.

  The stitches on her neck also started to heal, and in a few short moments, they were as smooth as silk, not a scar in sight.

  Billy Jean's usually dull face even got a touch of pink in it, looking almost rosy.

  Blood she couldn't swallow fast enough dribbled down the corners of her lips, giving her an otherworldly allure.

  Michael Joke's face went a bit pale from losing blood, but he didn't rush her.

  He gently stroked her hair, waiting patiently for her to finish.

  He knew he shouldn't spoil her rotten, but when she said she'd give him the cold shoulder, he got all impulsive and slit his wrist.

  He also knew he should stop her, but seeing her contented expression, he just couldn't bring himself to shoo her away.

  Thank goodness Billy Jean came to her senses in time.

  Otherwise, Michael Joke was afraid she'd drain him dry.

  Her tongue lapped over his wound, and in a flash, it healed up, not a trace left.

  Billy Jean could clearly feel that sipping Michael Joke's blood was a whole different ballgame from slurping anyone else's.

  It was something she'd never experienced with other folks' blood.

  Michael Joke's blood pumped energy into her limbs like a power-up, making her feel reborn and raring to go.

  Her stiff limbs felt looser than ever, her oozing wounds were shrinking, and even her ashen, lifeless complexion seemed a bit perkier.

  All these changes were as plain as day.

  She didn't know that while she was guzzling his blood, she was also soaking up Michael Joke's special powers.

  This was why she couldn't feel a lick of energy from regular people's blood—they didn't have any superpowers.

  Michael Joke had cottoned on to this phenomenon the night before, which was why he brought her to this power-wielding superhuman today.

  Part of the reason for seeking revenge was also to help her evolve.

  He just didn't expect that, in the end, he'd be the one ponying up his blood.

  Billy Jean cracked her knuckles, standing up with a self-satisfied grin.

  The Michael Joke she'd found so annoying just a moment ago now looked as appealing as apple pie, no matter how she sized him up.

  "Michael , I'm sorry I was such a grouch just now. Don't take it to heart, okay? We're tight, after all. Losing my teeth was no biggie. It won't mess with our friendship."

  “You didn't say that before I bled for you,”

  Michael Joke shot back mercilessly.

  "Huh? What did you say? Wait a minute, I need to powder my nose."

  Billy Jean hotfooted it out of the warehouse like she was being chased by ghosts.

  Michael Joke shook his head and chuckled helplessly at Billy Jean's flailing, retreating figure.

  Huh, wait a minute.

  Do zombies even need to use the john?

  Of course, zombies don't need to use the john.

  So Billy Jean's excuse to scram was really to mooch around the shopping mall.

  She'd sometimes bump into a fellow undead and shoot the breeze.

  Just then, a female zombie lurched toward her with a gaping hole in her gut, her intestines dragging on the ground and painting a bloody trail.

  Billy Jean jumped in to offer a helping hand, all eager-beaver.

  “Roar... "Hey, sister, your guts are spilling out. Need a hand? I'm a whiz at sewing up wounds."

  “Roar... "No, thanks. This look scares the bejesus out of enemies."

  “Roar... "It sure does." Billy Jean nodded.

  “Roar... "But are you sure you're okay?"

  Billy Jean's stomach did a flip-flop watching the rats scurrying around inside the female zombie's stomach, chowing down.

  They were fat as butter.

  “Roar... "I gotta go feed. I've been starving lately."

  The female zombie hobbled past Billy Jean with her spooky shuffle, and the rat inside her stomach poked its head out and squeaked at Billy Jean, its fur crawling with maggots.

  Billy Jean got the heebie-jeebies and scooted away pronto.