My voice is shrill and a little hysterical. "What show, O'Malley?"

His gaze flashes hostile, and the lights in the room dim. I freeze as a server places two gla.s.ses of water on the table. He leans down and murmurs, "If you desire anything, I'm at your service."

I glance at him, startled to see the waiter is wearing only a few chains and a cup. Finn catches my gaze. I know he can see the shock there.

Then the stage comes into view, the silver pole. A girl is writhing on the stage to music that pounds in my blood like a spell. I lick my lips again, unable to look away.

The stripper teases for what seems like forever, long enough that I forget we're in a restaurant, surrounded by other patrons, long enough that I begin to forget that Finn is sitting beside me. She swings and sways, dancing, her head thrown back. And when she's finally naked, the man appears. He's naked, fully erect and carrying a pair of handcuffs.

I watch as she sinks to her knees and takes him in her mouth, her pretty blonde head bobbing while he keeps a hand tight in her hair. Until he finally pulls her away and secures her to the pole. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s are high, nipples tight and shiny from his mouth. I think he'll f.u.c.k her-I almost want him to-but then he drops to his knees, hooks one of her legs over his shoulder, and licks. She screams, a noise of sheer pleasure, and I finally look away, overwhelmed.

I look straight into Finn's eyes.

Burning, hungry, and something else that flicks away so fast, I ignore it. He's watching me, and I can't breathe, can't look away as the girl's screams increase, as the noise from the crowd tells me she's not alone in her pleasure. She keens, and even then, he doesn't look away. A large, heavy hand cups the back of my neck, and he drags me forward, until our lips are a heartbeat away, the heat of his mouth almost scorching against mine. There's a moment of silence, and I lick my lips as the girl shrieks, the man groans. The tip of my tongue brushes against Finn's lips, and he growls, jerking me forward into his mouth and a bruising kiss. His hands are hard and hot on my shoulders, fingers rubbing over the material of my dress as I writhe closer to him in the tiny seat. He makes an impatient noise, nips at my lips, and I whimper.

I f.u.c.king whimper.

Distantly, I can hear the couple having s.e.x on the stage, hear the slap of skin and the soft swell of breathing. But it's distant-so distant it could be another planet. Because for this heartbeat, this endless eternity, nothing matters but Finn, his lips on mine.

He sucks my lip into his mouth and bites down, hard enough that a lick of pain makes me jump. He shoves the table away from us. There's enough room for him to grab me by my arms and tug me into his lap. I settle against him, my legs on one side of his, my a.s.s pressed against his erection-and need explodes through me. I thought it was there before, but feeling him hot and hard against my a.s.s, teasing so close to where I'm aching for a touch-it drives me crazy. I grab his suit jacket and jerk him closer. He shoves his tongue in my mouth, all finesse and skill vanishing as l.u.s.t slams into both of us. I feel like he's devouring me, his hand sliding down my shoulder to grip my breast.

I groan into his mouth at the touch, my entire body tight and achy for more. My nipple is pebbly and pushing into his palm. I want his mouth there. I pull away, a little, to tell him that, and his lips immediately find my throat, skating over my pulse point, teeth nibbling, and then he bites down, hard enough that I shriek, mindless of our surroundings and the girl screaming on the stage.

Nothing exists beyond right now-right this second.

I reach for him, between our bodies, and he bucks, an almost involuntary movement as I trace over the hard outline of his erection under his pants. I smirk and nibble at his earlobe.

"G.o.d, Nurrin," he whispers, harshly.

It's a bucket of ice cold water being dumped on my head. I jerk back, staring at him, and he goes still, waiting-watching me and gauging my reaction. His eyes are still hot and hungry, but his face is blank as he catches me around the waist, stopping me before I can scramble across the tiny booth and bolt. His lips are against my ear, but the pa.s.sion is gone-his voice is icy cold and rough when he says, "Stay still-they're watching."

Relief floods me, and I almost sag into his arms-it was a show. A way to catch the Order's attention. Just like that kiss on the boat meant nothing, was just a way to make me take the neural inhibitors. This is the exact same thing.

"Are they coming?" I ask, and his gaze darts past me, searching the crowded room.

A grim smile turns his lips. "One more, Nurrin. Make it look real."

He kisses me again, before the warning settles, and I freeze as he plunders my mouth, sweeping in and exploring every crevice, rubbing over my tongue and flicking at my teeth, with just enough thrust and retreat that I can't help but think of s.e.x. And thinking of s.e.x with this man in my arms is dangerous-stupid in so many ways.

A soft noise jars my attention, and I peer up. I know how I look as I stare blankly at the waiter-my gaze sleepy and s.e.xed-up, my lips swollen from kisses, my dress and hair in disarray.

I look freshly f.u.c.ked, and I know it. The gleam of appreciation in the waiter's eyes makes me want to preen. "The Priest would like to invite you to his private rooms, sir."

"Thanks, but we're happy here," Finn says, drawing me closer.

The waiter makes a slightly pained face, and I smile, slip out of Finn's lap. "Come on, babe."

Finn frowns, but lets me tug him out of the booth. The waiter beams, a slightly idiotic expression, and turns to lead us through the club. The other patrons are lost in their own private worlds, watching, or f.u.c.king, or being watched while they f.u.c.k. I ignore them as I let Finn guide me through the room, now reeking of s.e.x, and into the hall.

Chapter 3.

Tangled Webs The waiter leads us to a bank of elevators and keys in a quick code before offering us a final smile and retreating back down the hall to the pounding music of the dinner show. I shiver as the elevator doors swoosh closed, and at my side, Finn is tense and waiting. His arm is wrapped loosely around my waist, but his attention is turned away, and I'm glad. I need the break, however brief.

Being constantly under Finn O'Malley's scrutiny is exhausting work. We glide up into silence, and I stare out the window at the darkness of the ruined desert city.

"Have they killed her yet?" I ask, and Finn's gaze darts to me. He hesitates-Finn. He never hesitates.

"No. Not yet. Soon, though."

I shiver, and the elevator slows. With a deep sigh, Finn gathers me close, fixing an appropriately c.o.c.ky and disdainful expression on his face. I stare, fascinated by the change, and he pulls me tight to him, my entire body pressed to his side as the elevator stops and the doors open.

The night sprawls before us-twinkling stars and darkness as far as I can see. On the very edge of the horizon, the sun is teasing still, a deep twilight cloaking the edge of the world.

A light brightens when we step into the room. It takes a heartbeat or two to realize we're in an apartment-the kind of apartment I've never seen, but still.

"It's the penthouse," Finn murmurs, surveying the wide area. It's clean and spa.r.s.e, the decor and furniture clearly expensive.

The room appears empty, but there's a charge to the air that makes me nervous. I shift closer to Finn, instinctively twisting to give him my back as I sweep the room.

And that's how I see the priest first. He's in black robes, a shadowy figure in the dark room. His head is bare, the cowl pushed down. And he's watching us, an amused, calculating gleam in his black eyes. I squeeze Finn's arm, and he twists, staring at the priest.

And curses.

I jerk, startled, away from Finn. There is anger and annoyance in his face, and a recognition that makes me sick. What did I just walk into? What did Finn walk me into?

"I didn't expect to find you so far west, O'Malley," the black priest says, stepping away from the wall.

Why does everyone say his name with such familiarity? Is there anyone who doesn't know this man? How did I ever think he was just an orphan Walker?

"You underestimate me, Omar. Always have," Finn says easily.

Omar shrugs. "it's easy to underestimate what you don't see. It's been a while since you were in Haven 1."

Finn's gaze hardens. "Why are you here? And in those robes?"

"I joined the Blessed Order when we lost the Virginian border," Omar says. I blink-that was almost ten years ago, one of the last major defeats in the Battle for the East. Has it really been that long since he's seen this man? And if it has, how does Omar still remember Finn?

"I never took you to be a religious man, Omar."

"I never thought we would concede the East." There is a hint of accusation in Omar's voice that makes no sense.

Finn's eyes go frosty, and he says, quietly, "Wait for me in the other room."

"No," I answer, and he twists to glare at me. "You can't just kick me out of the room whenever someone brings up something you don't want me to know.

Finn's expression tightens, and Omar laughs, the noise odd coming from a giant priest. "She's feisty. As spirited as Kelsey was."

"Don't," he snaps, and the word is harsh, savage. A knowing gleam flicks in Omar's eyes, but I'm hung up on the name-the same name I'm supposed to be using here. "Who is Kelsey?" I ask, my voice shaking.

Omar doesn't answer. Whatever issues are between the two, he won't give me information.

"Shouldn't you be at the sacrifice?" Finn says, and Omar shrugs. "I would think the High Priest would want to be there for the miracle."

"The miracle is nothing more than mindless beasts following their limited nature. Finn O'Malley arriving in my casino with a lovely Kelsey lookalike in tow-that's something else entirely. Why are you here?"

"I'm running an errand for Priestess Lori."

Omar frowns. "What does she want?"

"It's your Order, man. You tell me why I'm here."

Omar's eyes skate to me. "Perhaps it'd be best if we discussed alone."

Finn's shoulders relax. I glare. "You're both shutting me out? Good to know the Order and you have something in common."

Finn doesn't respond. Omar eyes us, as if he's trying to decide what the dynamic is and what to say-but he's made it clear he stands with Finn.

"I'll have her escorted back to your suite."

"Don't bother," I snap, stalking to the elevator. I can feel Finn's gaze following me, and as I turn in the empty elevator to stare daggers at him, he takes a half step toward me. For the first time, I see indecision on his normally blank face. Then the doors slide shut, and I'm left on my own, without answers. Again.

Chapter 4.

Searching for Truths I'm supposed to go to our room-I know that's where he wants me. And I swore to go nowhere without him. But f.u.c.k Finn and his demands and vague promises, his refusal to answer questions and his kisses-especially his kisses. f.u.c.k it all.

Without letting myself think through the wisdom of it, I stab the ground level b.u.t.ton, and the elevator glides into motion.

As I descend, I think about the conversation that just took place. Omar knew him. From before the fall of the East.

When the zombies rose, there were some places that fared worse than others-Atlanta fell first, in a wave of dead and the ash of bombs. New York City and Boston, Pittsburg and Philly all fell quickly-the infection hit hard and spread fast in the urban environments, and no one knew how to combat the rampant spread of it. There weren't enough weapons to make a dent in the cities.

The United States government evacuated DC first-moved them all to Haven 1, a fortress-like max security prison in Idaho. Over the first two years, they evacuated as many as they could, building Havens as quickly as possible, with what was left of the Army defending the construction. When the civilians were as safe as the government could make them, attention turned back to the northeast-and the battle that would become a war, a war that would last for ten years, began. Every time we gained ground, the zombies would push us back. We'd kill a horde in Pittsburg, and a week later, another would dart in, driven by hunger and drawn by the stench of death.

I'd heard of wartime converts-the military who fought and lost the East when we eventually waved the white flag and retreated to the safe zone.

Not that it was-not really. Even the safe zone had the Wide Open, and that was undisputedly the zombies' land. We only traveled through it, and all of us were living on borrowed time.

The Order thrived when we lost the East. They grabbed the military up faster than anyone could believe. Before the East was declared unrecoverable, the Order was just a fringe group that was annoying and a little dangerous. But with the backing of so many military, they became something else-something everyone was afraid of.

By then it was too late. The Havens were fractured, the government was in shambles, and when the Order retreated into what was left of Vegas, everyone breathed a collective sigh of relief.

The elevator dings pleasantly, and the doors slide open on a s.p.a.cious, quiet hall. I can hear the soft murmur of the gaming room, and I turn toward it. I have no real interest in the games, but maybe I can find a drink-getting drunk seems like a brilliant idea, suddenly.

After the dinner club and what I saw in Haven 18, I'm not sure what to expect from the Order's casino. I've seen films of them before the change, when they were brightly lit and filled with glittering people playing at velvet-lined tables and sitting in front of rows of slot machines, drinking and smoking and winning.

It's nothing like that. A few guards in Order robes patrol the edges of the ma.s.sive room, and tired looking men and women loiter around dirty, scratched tables, piles of chips in front of them as blank faced dealers pa.s.s out cards and collect money. A waitress, wearing a sedate uniform instead of the chains and strategically placed cups, pauses near my arms. "Are you wanting to play, miss?"

I look at her, at the startled respect in her eyes. I don't fit in here-not wearing this dress that Finn put me in. I can feel the spark of interest from the men at the tables, the disdain from the women watching their men. I am distantly aware of the attention of the guards and the realization that this might not have been my most intelligent move ever.

The waitress is still waiting, a hopeful look on her face. "No," I say, shortly. I'm not here to gamble away what little I have-the Order is dangerous enough to me without lining their pockets and selling my freedom. "I only want a drink."

A small smile turns her lips and she motions. I follow her deeper into the casino, aware of the eyes chasing me and the soft murmur of conversation that swells behind me as I make my way to the bar. It's a pitted, pockmarked thing of oak, rounded and smooth from hands rubbing against it, and time. I rest my arms lightly, and the bartender, a boy who looks younger than me by a year or so, approaches. His eyes are tired, but his smile is bright. "What can I get you, lovely lady?"

"A beer," I say. He nods and turns to the tap, and I wonder why I didn't just keep my mouth shut. I don't want a beer-I don't even like beer. And there is the small matter of this dress still.

"Do you know where a girl could get a little privacy and quiet?" I ask as the bartender places the beer carefully in front of me.

"How much privacy?" he asks, seriously.

I motion to my dress. "Somewhere I won't be stared at."

He hesitates for a long moment, and I give him my most beseeching eyes. Finally, he cracks the barest of smiles. "Come on then-I don't want you to be stared at either. The girls don't like it when something competes for their tips."

I give him a hostile smile and he takes a half step back.

"Sorry, miss." His head drops, respectfully, as he comes around the oak bar and leads me past the edges of the casino. The deeper in we go, the odder the games become-a cat chases a mouse in one cage. I stop, half appalled when it catches it's victim and rips into it. The watchers cheer, and a few fistfuls of chips change hands. But most are still, waiting, as the cat paces its cage, yowling and hissing.

"What are they waiting for?" I ask, and the bartender glances over. Something flickers across his gaze before he looks away.

"The change." He says shortly, striding away. I glance back, my stomach twisting as I realize the mouse had been infected. The cat is slowing, stumbling. As I stare, it screams, falling over.

The mouse had been dosed with ERI-Milan, heavily-there's no way the cat could change that fast without something to instigate it. I shudder and hurry after the bartender, almost tripping over my heels in the process. "Why?" I ask, my voice low.

He glances at me and shrugs. "Blood sport is a paying game, miss. And the Order needs money to run."

I don't respond. For a moment, I had managed to forget where I was-the beast whose belly I traipsed through. Now, I can't help but think of it, and I feel a slither of cold fear-maybe this is a bad idea. Maybe going back to the room is the best idea I've had all night.

"In here, miss."

I look up, startled out of my thoughts, and gasp as he leads me into a large ballroom. It had to have been an events room, before the change-it's wide, with high, heavy walls and a vaulted ceiling soaring above us. My heels clack on the marble as I step inside, staring around.

It's a ma.s.sive library. The walls are lined with books, tables ordered nearly with stacks of newspaper clippings.