Free Opal by Jennifer L. Armentrout Page B

left?”
    Dawson raised his arm and two DVDs shot into his hand. “Uh, we have Diary of the Dead and Survival of the Dead .”
    “Great,” Daemon muttered.
    I rolled my eyes. “Wussy.”
    “Whatever.” He elbowed me, knocking a kernel of popcorn between my chest and notebook. I sighed. “Want me to get that for you?” he asked.
    Shooting him a look, I dug it out and then tossed it in his face. “You’re going to be grateful when the zombie apocalypse occurs and I know what to do because of my zombie fetish.”
    He looked doubtful. “There are better fetishes out there, Kitten. I could show you a few.”
    “Uh, no, thank you.” But I did flush. And there were a lot of images that suddenly polluted my brain.
    “Aren’t you supposed to go to the nearest Costco or something?” Dawson asked, letting the DVDs float back to the coffee table.
    Daemon turned to his twin slowly, face incredulous. “And how would you know that?”
    He shrugged. “It’s in the Zombie Survival Guide .”
    “It is.” I nodded eagerly. “Costco has everything—thick walls, food, and supplies. They even sell guns and ammunition. You could hole up there for years while the zombies are getting their nom nom on.”
    Daemon’s mouth dropped open.
    “What?” I grinned. “Zombies got to eat, too, you know.”
    “Very true about the Costco thing.” Dawson picked up a single kernel and popped it in his mouth. “But we could just blast the zombies. We’d be fine.”
    “Ah, good point.” I rooted around in the bowl for a half-popped kernel—my favorite.
    “I’m surrounded by freaks,” Daemon said, looking dumbfounded as he shook his head, but I knew he was secretly thrilled.
    For one thing, his body was completely relaxed next to mine and this was one of the first times that Dawson was acting…normal. Yeah, talking about zombies probably wasn’t the biggest step known to mankind, but it was something.
    On the flat screen, a zombie took a chunk out of some dude’s arm. “What the hell?” Daemon complained. “The guy just stood there. Hello. There’re zombies everywhere. Try looking behind you, douche canoe.”
    I giggled.
    “This is why zombie movies are unbelievable to me,” he went on. “Okay. Say the world ends in a shit storm of zombies. The last thing anyone with two working brain cells would do is just stand along a building waiting for a zombie to creep up on him.”
    Dawson cracked a smile.
    “Shut up and watch the movie,” I said.
    He ignored that. “So you really think you’d do well in a zombie apocalypse?”
    “Yeppers,” I said. “I’d totally save your butt.”
    “Oh, really?” He glanced at the screen. Then he faded out and something…something else replaced him.
    Shrieking, I jerked into Dawson. “Oh my God…”
    Daemon’s skin was ghastly gray and hanging loose from his face. Patches of decaying brown skin covered his cheekbones. One of his eyes was just…a hole. The other was glazed over and milky white. Clumps of hair were missing.
    Zombie Daemon gave a rotted, toothy grin. “Save my butt? Yeah, I don’t think so.”
    I could only stare.
    Dawson actually laughed. Not sure what was more shocking: that or the zombie sitting next to me.
    His form faded out and then he was back—beautiful, carved cheekbones and head full of hair. Thank God. “I think you’d suck at the zombie apocalypse,” he said.
    “You…you are disturbed,” I murmured, carefully settling down next to him.
    With a smug grin, he reached for the bowl and came up empty. Some of it might have been on the floor. Feeling eyes on me, I glanced at Dawson.
    He was staring at us, but I wasn’t sure if he was even seeing us. There was a reminiscent expression in his eyes, tainted with sadness and something else. Determination? I didn’t really know, but for a second, the green hue brightened, no longer dull and listless, and he looked so much like Daemon that I drew in a shallow breath.
    Then he gave his head a little shake