Michael Joke hoisted his hand high, and under Billy Jean's desperate, hungry gaze, every last drop of blood splattered onto the floor.

  “Billy, you want it?”

  His coal-black eyes were lit with a crazy glimmer, and the corners of his mouth twisted up into a devilish smirk that could've put Satan to shame.

  Billy Jean hadn't had much grub in days.

  Right then, the coppery tang of blood filling the room kicked her zombie instincts – the ones she'd buried deep – wide awake.

  She was like a caged animal gone berserk.

  She kept ramming the cage, snarling at Michael Joke nonstop.

  “Roar roar... Michael Joke, let me outta here!”

  Michael Joke watched the frenzied Billy Jean in the cage with an eerie calm.

  “I'll spring you when you swear you'll hoof it to Sea-city with me.”

  Billy Jean fought tooth and nail to rein in the madness raging inside her.

  Her temple throbbed like a jackhammer.

  “You're despicable and shameless!”

  Michael Joke just shrugged off Billy Jean's insults with a cool smile.

  “When I played nice, you didn't give me the time of day. Kicked me to the curb whenever the mood struck.”

  “What you're pulling now? It's 'cause you can't stomach that I dumped you first. Michael , what gives? After all this cat-and-mouse, you really think you've fallen for me?”

  Billy Jean sneered, her lip curling.

  Michael Joke's face twitched ever so slightly.

  “What're you yapping about? What game? Spit it out.”

  “Michael , cut the act. It just makes you look phony as a three-dollar bill. Anyway, I ain't going to Sea-city. Just put me out of my misery.”

  Michael Joke's face hardened like steel.

  His fist clenched bit by bit, like he was wrestling with some inner demon.

  After what felt like an eternity of silence, he finally ground out,

  “Billy , you ain't got a choice.”

  Billy Jean blew her top.

  “Michael , you're a lowlife, a shameless creep, a brute...”

  She hurled every insult in the book at him.

  Michael Joke sat there, taking it all in stride.

  He even dragged over a lone sofa and plopped down, like he was front-row center for a show.

  With his towering frame, even seated, he oozed an overpowering air of authority.

  His long legs were crossed all suave, and he looked like royalty.

  His busted-up hand dangled casually over the sofa's edge, blood dripping from his slender, elegant fingers onto the floor.

  There was a dangerous allure about him, like a lit fuse.

  The red glow in Billy Jean's eyes flared even hotter.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  She eyed Michael Joke's bleeding wrist like a ravenous wolf.

  The smell of blood in the air was yanking her chain, and she couldn't help but let out low, guttural growls.

  She felt her soul quaking, a searing pain ripping through her.

  She threw herself at the cage like a madwoman,

  “Bang... Bang...”

  “Michael , let me out! Now!”

  Michael Joke's eyes darkened to a near-black.

  “Billy , you know what I want.”

  “It's just Sea-city. I promise.”

  Billy Jean caved so fast, Michael Joke did a double-take.

  Then he shot up from the sofa like a rocket.

  He couldn't believe his ears.

  “Say that again.”

  The pain tearing through her soul had Billy Jean's body shuddering out of control, her mind going fuzzy.

  “I'll go to Sea-city. I swear.”

  “Remember what you said.”

  With that, Michael Joke swung open the cage.

  The next second, he was flattened by a blur.

  A soft touch pressed against the gash on his wrist.

  That familiar scent, the icy body temp.

  Michael Joke gently stroked Billy Jean's sleek hair and murmured,

  “Drink slow.”

  The madness in Billy Jean's body ebbed away, and her trembling soul found some peace.

  As her foggy brain cleared, Billy Jean snapped back to reality and realized what she'd promised.

  In a flash, she grabbed his collar, fuming, and slugged him in the face.

  “Good one, you played me like a fiddle, didn't you? Let's see if you've got the guts to take it.”

  One punch, two punches, three punches...

  Billy Jean didn't hold back, unloading on Michael Joke.

  Oddly, Michael Joke didn't lift a finger. He just took it.

  Billy Jean was wheezing from the effort.

  Finally, she punted him in the gut, sending him flying.

  He crashed into the wall hard and slumped to the floor.

  “Puff...”

  Michael Joke spat up a mouthful of blood, beads of cold sweat popping up on his forehead.

  He was black and blue, and it was clear Billy Jean had gone all out.

  Just then, a low chuckle slipped from Michael Joke's lips.

  Then he let loose a wild cackle.

  “Hahaha...”

  Billy Jean:!!

  Was he off his rocker?

  He was still grinning like a fool after getting pummeled.

  Billy Jean stared at Michael Joke, sprawled on the floor and howling with laughter, like a full-blown lunatic.

  With his bruised-up, handsome face, he looked like some deranged super-villain.

  She felt a twinge of fear.

  Damn it!!

  Could Michael Joke really have lost his marbles?

  “Billy , Sea-city's rolling out the red carpet for you.”

  Michael Joke's voice rang out, still chuckling.

  "??“Billy was caught off guard, then gritted her teeth and Roared,

  “You're crazy.”

  “I'm nuts, and you're my sanity.”

  “Scram.”

  Another round of riotous laughter...

  At that moment, a crew strolled into the hotel lobby – four guys and two dolls.

  Their backpacks were bulging at the seams, stuffed to the gills with supplies.

  “It's downright spooky today. This is smack dab in the city center, and there ain't a single zombie.”

  A guy with a notch in his eyebrow scratched his head, looking perplexed.

  “Nobrow, why overthink it? It's a godsend. Look at us, hauling in supplies like bandits for the first time.”

  A yellow-toothed fella with a cigarette dangling behind his ear grinned.

  “Gaby's right. Why sweat the small stuff? Even if the undead show up, I'm an ability user, ain't I? What's there to be scared of?”

  A red-haired peacock preened.

  “With what Bro Ling said, I feel a whole lot better.”

  Nobrow paid lip service, but in his head, he scoffed.

  How dare this joker claim to be an ability user?

  He was always MIA when the going got tough.

  Total deadweight.

  If it weren't for Ivan, they'd all be zombie chow by now.

  Nobrow glanced back at Ivan.

  It was weird. He was quieter than a church mouse on this trip.

  The two ladies had also been eyeing Ivan 'cause he was easy on the eyes.

  He had a sleeveless T-shirt on, showing off his chiseled arms.

  His black cargo pants made his legs look like they went on for miles, and the cuffs were tucked into his combat boots.

  He was pushing twenty-seven, twenty-eight, with a ruggedly handsome face, a sun-kissed complexion, and enough testosterone to make any gal's heart flutter.

  Even though he wasn't packing any superpowers, he was a beast in a brawl and didn't think twice about taking down zombies.

  Ivan was as silent as the grave.

  There was an odd flush on his cheeks, and his breathing was faster than a freight train.

  A gal with shoulder-length bob noticed and asked, her voice laced with worry,

  “Ivan, you feeling under the weather? You don't look so hot.”

  The second she said it, Ivan keeled over like a felled tree.

  The gang was on high alert in a heartbeat.

  The two ladies rushed to his side, eyes wide with concern.

  “Ivan, what's wrong with you? You okay?”

  “Oh my god! He's burning up.”

  A long-haired brunette yanked her hand back after touching his forehead.

  The bob-haired gal reached out too, but yanked it back even faster.

  He was hotter than a jalape?o. This was way above normal body temp.

  The other three guys huddled around.

  “What's wrong with Ivan?”

  “He's got a sky-high fever. Anybody got some Tylenol? Hurry up and give it to him.”

  The bob-haired gal was frantic.

  “I remember Bro Ling's got meds in his bag.”Nobrow said.

  Austin Ling looked at Ivan, sprawled on the floor, his face beet red and his eyes glazed over.

  A glimmer of something – was it calculation? – flashed in his eyes.

  “I do, but this ain't your run-of-the-mill fever.”

  “Bro Ling, if it ain't a fever, what is it?” Gaby asked.

  “zombification.”

  Austin Ling dropped the bombshell.