Death Series 08 - Death Blinks Read online

  DEATH BLINKS

  A Death Series Novel

  Book 8

  New York Times Bestselling Author

  TAMARA ROSE BLODGETT

  All Rights Reserved.

  Copyright © 2016 Tamara Rose Blodgett

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  www.tamararoseblodgett.com

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  Editing suggestions provided by Red Adept Editing

  Cover art: Willsin Rowe

  Synopsis

  Paxton Hart has used his ability to escape the grasp of the Sanction Police, who want him for the illegal import of the undead—from a parallel plane.

  Unfortunately, Pax has blinked the entire group to an earth more corrupt than his own, where the undead serve the living in illicit sex trade and cyborg-human hybrids are slowly taking over humanity.

  When Deegan and her zombie, Mitchell, become separated from Paxton during a blink, they find themselves in a world where soldiers have a form of blinking they call Reflection.

  Reflective Lance Ryan pronounces himself judge and jury as he discovers that Deegan has more than Affinity for the Dead—he also has the dangerous Atomic ability.

  Deegan just wants to find her family and return to their earth before the Reflectives can punish her for an ability she can't help having—and doesn't want.

  As the group finds one another, a new reality of fertility and danger rears its head. Do the women stay risk their lives and stay where they can conceive children, who are so rare? Or do they return to an earth where certain persecution and a lifetime of barrenness await them?

  Should Deegan put Mitchell to rest? Or will he become more than anyone, including Deegan, thought possible?

  [Main] Character Index:

  Paxton Hart

  Deegan Hart

  Caleb Hart

  Jade LeClerc-Hart

  “Jonesy” Mark Jones

  Mia Cote-Weller

  Bryan “Bry” Weller

  Tiffany “Tiff” Weller-Terran

  John Terran

  Lewis Archer

  Sophie Morris

  Gram/Ali Hart

  Gramps/Mac O'Brien

  Grandpa/Kyle Hart

  Mitchell “Mitch”- Deegan's zombie

  Clyde Thomas- Caleb's zombie

  Bobbi Gale-Thomas

  George & family- Paxton's zombie family

  Brad Thompson

  Clement “Clem” Thompson

  Jeffrey Parker

  Works by Tamara Rose Blodgett:

  The BLOOD Series

  The DEATH Series

  Shifter ALPHA CLAIM 1-6

  The REFLECTION Series

  The SAVAGE Series

  Vampire ALPHA CLAIM 1-6

  &

  Marata Eros:

  A Terrible Love (New York Times bestseller)

  A Brutal Tenderness

  The Darkest Joy

  Club Alpha

  One of Many (co-authored with Emily Goodwin)

  The DARA NICHOLS Series, 1-8

  The DEMON Series

  The DRUID Series

  ROAD KILL MC

  Shifter ALPHA CLAIM 1-6

  The SIREN Series

  The TOKEN Serial

  Vampire ALPHA CLAIM 1-6

  The ZOE SCOTT Series 1-8

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  DEDICATION

  Sylvia Mast Bernard

  I have not forgotten.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Deegan

  Fire and ice murder my skin with the pins-and-needles of a numbing sensation as we fall without landing.

  My eyes open after being closed so tightly, and the view is dizzying.

  The scene is like water skating over glass, where many worlds reveal themselves as though reflected in a room of funhouse mirrors.

  Images of many Deegans flash before me as I travel—everything else has slowed to a snail's pace.

  Pax blinked.

  But everyone hitched a ride. The Real Parker—and the Fake Parker.

  I cling to Mitchell, the last solid thing from my world, though he belongs to the bot world.

  Mitchell is inside my skull. He feels that he belongs to me. But Mitchell is a murderer. And avenging his dead family will not be the last murder he commits.

  Happy birthday, Deegan. Today, I turn seventeen, but as I roll into an alternate world, stuff doesn't feel very festive.

  In the next moment, we land hard with a sucking pop. Vertigo sinks its wily teeth into my balance—and my brain—as I tumble out of Mitchell's strong embrace.

  The world stops spinning, and I slowly take stock of my surroundings.

  No one greets me. No family. No crazy-ass Brad Thompson or his corrupt dad.

  Crickets chirp, and the lazy heat of the last bit of summer scorches a tired day into night.

  I sit up, looking at Mitchell.

  My zombie is much more awake than I am. He stands, and I take in his circa 2010 lumberjack look: scruffy short beard, as inky as the hair on his head, and eyes that rival the rapidly darkening skies that nip at the heels of daylight, chasing it to darkness.

  “What happened?” I croak, checking out our new environment.

  Mitchell shakes his head slowly, holding out a palm.

  I slap mine inside his large warm palm, and three of my fingers twinge.

  I wince, remembering that Brad broke them, to bring my family.

  Like dogs to heel.

  The torture worked—just like it had in bot world when the Brad of that world peeled off three of my nails as I screamed and begged for mercy.

  My inhale is shaky, uncertain, but I stand beside Mitchell. I try for calm despite the panic inside me beating like a bird trying to escape a cage.

  “Shh… Deegan,” Mitchell says, pushing my head against his chest.

  “Where are they, Mitchell? Where is my family? Mom, Dad—Pax?”

  His dead heart beats against me with a healthy steady rhythm.

  “I don't want to make you more upset. But I admit… I don't care.”

  I pull away, and he lets me. I'm steaming pissed. “Listen, you—those are my family!” I sputter into the still forest, my fearful memories receding for the moment.

  “Be quiet, Deegan,” Mitchell says, his face darkening.

  “I will not!” I bellow.

  He slaps a beefy hand over my mouth. The edges of his fingertips tickle my earlobe. And I hear the music of a necklace swinging forward from underneath his flannel shirt.

  Mitchell's dark eyes are pockets of shadow in his hard face. “Do you want to be discovered by those bot creepers?”

  I haven't heard that last word in years. Tears leak, breaching the dam of his fingers, and I shake my head.

  He cautiously lifts his hand. “I would never hurt you, Deegan. You have to know that.”

  Of course I know that. No zombie an AftD raises can hurt us. There's never been a reported case in all the years there've been zombies.

  But my ego is bruised. I turn away from Mitchell and watch the sun sink, waiting impatiently for the night so I can
see better.

  The red ball of the sun sinks like an angry scarlet eye below the Olympic Mountains of this world, spilling its color like discarded blood. The sunset soaks the landscape, spreading tendrils of deep scarlet and orange, with a thread of pink. When the curls of light drown us, the night becomes an ocean of blue. The pungent smell of the forest becomes less as the world cools with the loss of day.

  I blink in relief.

  My second, thin eyelid covers my eyeballs, and the night comes alive. Everything in my periphery springs before me as though it's daytime, and I see as well at night as I did just before the sun set.

  I don't realize I'm holding my breath until it squeezes out of me in a tight sigh.

  Mitchell takes my hand. “You can blink?”

  I nod. “Not like Pax—of course. Just see better.”

  “That's not a bad thing.” His gravelly voice is gentle in my ears.

  I smile, and he does too, making me forgive his extreme actions of before. It's a zombie's way. They’re natural protectors of the AftD who raises them. I catch sight of something glowing softly inside his mouth.

  “What is that?” I point to his lips.

  He smiles and leans forward, kissing the finger I pointed with.

  “Oh?” I jump back, laughing, my skin heating. “It's a filling? How barbaric!” I whisper-shout.

  Mitchell grins broader, and the filling winks in the last vestiges of light. He heaves his shoulder in a shrug. “So? Are we worried about my mouth when we should be looking for the others?”

  Yes. I'm pretty distracted by his mouth. Especially his lips. I'm instantly glad it's too dark for him to see the blush I'm sure is making my face red.

  I punch him on the arm. “Yes—we should be looking. Yes, I should be worried.” I flutter my fingers. “But my fingers aren't broken, and me not being with anyone but you means my family is relatively safe. Because Brad Thompson and company want me. Those asshat Helix Complex guys want me and Pax, too.” But I'm not in my world right now, so at least I don't have to deal with the HC.

  Mitchell nods. “Maybe. But your dad—what did he say?”

  I fold my arms, tears burning behind my eyelids. For all my talk of their assumed safety, I'm not a hundred percent certain of their fate. Speculation isn't an absolute. It's just a fancy guess. “He said that the HC no longer exists. But those recruiters….”

  “The suits whose hands disappeared.” Mitchell smirks.

  The burn behind my eyelids intensifies, and I burst into tears.

  “Whoa,” Mitchell says softly, pulling me against his body. “I didn't mean anything by that, Deegan. I think it's great they got the black hole amputation. Handy little talent.”

  I nod quickly, but a lifetime of not using my black hole ability has caused me debilitating guilt about finally using it. No matter how necessary it was.

  “You did what you had to do.”

  Then why do I feel like shit about it?

  Mitchell tips my chin up, making me look at him, his finger a brand of heat against my jaw. “I might be the zombie guy you keep telling me I am, but I know a few things, Deegan.”

  I swallow. Can he make me feel less bad about my ability? Can Mitchell do that?

  As though he read my mind, Mitchell says, “I can't take away this disappearing limbs thing you can do”—his lips twist in a smile of irony—“but I make a kickass bodyguard.” His dark eyebrows jump. “Or zombieguard.”

  I burst out laughing.

  Mitchell grins, and the expression softens his hard edges.

  “Besides,” he says with great care, “we're not even in the bot world anyways.”

  I blink rapidly and step out of his arms. “What?” I ask, going numb.

  Mitchell spreads his muscular arms away from his body, and the flannel overshirt he wears stretches over his broad chest.

  I zero in on the plaid material. Red. Black. A fine thread of green doesn't escape my perfect night vision.

  “Where?” I sputter.

  He snorts, though I fail to see anything vaguely humorous. “Somewhere not bot.”

  I move close to him again. “First, how do you know? Second, why don't you know where?”

  Mitchell catches his chin between his bent pointer knuckle and thumb. Seconds pound by.

  “I'm a zombie, right,” he says finally, like an explanation.

  I can only nod. I raised him. Our irrefutable connection thrums between us like an unseen force.

  “I guess the best way to describe it is—the place where I died?” He gives me a sharp glance, clearly wondering if I'm following his train of thought.

  “Yes,” I say slowly.

  “Well, it's like a homing beacon. My body knows where it belongs, and even if I could find the exact place in this world where I died, the ground wouldn't ʻreceiveʼ me.”

  Oh shit. Heat floods my skull.

  I tumble onto my ass and struggle to put my head between my knees.

  Mitchell sinks to his haunches behind me, stroking my back while I hyperventilate.

  “Oh my God,” I whisper.

  “What? Deegan, the suspense is killing me.”

  I glance up, and his smile is sly.

  My zombie's got a sense of humor.

  I frown. “Maybe I did too good a job raising you, huh?” I grump.

  His smile fades, and I'm instantly pissed I chased away his bit of happiness.

  Mitchell begins to rise and I grab his hand, stopping him, though he could easily get away from me.

  “I'm sorry. I'm being a bitch.”

  He doesn't say I'm not.

  Ouch.

  I recap, trying to move past the awkwardness I accidentally inserted. “What this means is Pax either blinked me somewhere different to protect me.” I bite my lip, unable to say the next words.

  “Or”—Mitchell takes my hands and soothes me with his undead touch, the absolute salve to a person with Affinity for the Dead—“you have what he does.”

  I feel my forehead tighten into a frown.

  Mitchell chuckles, pressing a stray hair behind my ear. “Deegan, I heard someone say your name in the same sentence as genius.”

  I open my mouth to make a smart remark, then press my lips into a tight line. His theory is plausible. I just don't want it to be. When we all figured out that our abilities were not necessarily the same on these other parallel dimensions, it was scary. The unknown.

  Black hole and blinking?

  I could make worlds disappear.

  Mitchell's face is serious as he studies my expression. He knows when I get the implication because I cover my face with my trembling fingers.

  “I don't want to be more. I'm already too much.”

  He wipes a stray tear off my face with his thumb, and his hand falls from my face. “I know, Deegan. But sometimes it is what it is. We have to deal even when we don't want to. And cheer up—let's find Pax and the others and send that guy Parker to wherever everyone goes when they get sucked into your black hole.”

  I peek at him between my fingers, and he's grinning again. Great. I have to raise someone whose glass is always half-full.

  Mine is usually half-empty.

  “You're talking about killing people, Mitchell.” My eyes roam over his face, searching for sincerity.

  His face goes tight, darker than the night that surrounds his expressive features. “Maybe,” he nods slowly, putting a thumb dead center on his muscular chest. “Again—zombie.” He raises his hand like a student asking to speak. “I can feel only one directive.”

  He draws my hand forward, spreading each one of my fingers over his heart. “I know who I must protect—and what happens to those who try to cause harm to my mistress.”

  My fingers tingle with his words, his touch.

  Then Mitchell leans in close to my lips, all heat and breath—the promise of a kiss. “And they'll all die if they touch you, Deegan.”

  I shake with his nearness, though I'm not cold.

  Dad had told m
e what being AftD entailed. Zombie love wasn't for the faint of heart.

  I thought Clyde and Bobbi were an exception. I believed eventually there would be someone for me. Even though men my age were scarce in my world since the Helix Complex sterilization implementation, which happened before I was born.

  The very thing I hate being gave me Mitchell.

  Now I have to figure out how to save my family and survive this new world long enough to find out how to get to the world my family's in.

  I forget it all, though. My thoughts. My speculations. They leave me like smoke through a crack as Mitchell finishes what he began, pressing his lips to mine.

  They're warm—alive.

  Though he's dead, he's more alive than anyone I've ever known.

  Hands that murdered before he died splay at my lower back, pressing against the dimples that Dad calls angel kisses, and Mitchell groans, his soft lips hard on my mouth.

  I open to him.

  Mitchell's tongue caresses me. My mouth. My heart.

  My soul.

  When a disembodied voice cuts through our heat, I stumble backward.

  Mitchell whirls me around behind him, protectively standing in front of me.

  A weapon fires with a soft twang.

  Mitchell growls, and time stands still.

  A rod with a feathered end zooms toward us, and my gasp is a surprised wheeze.

  The sharp end pierces the moist lichen and moss of the forest floor we find ourselves standing in.

  The tip isn't an arrow tip. I jump as the end breaks apart, and the half dozen splinters unfold, grabbing the earth. A seventh flicks backward, and a small round mirror, roughly double the size of what a girl might carry in her purse, slips open.

  The glass winks, and I see Mitchell and me in the dim reflection it casts.

  A tall man with light hair stands five meters away in a dark uniform.

  “Who the fuck are you?” Mitchell shouts, dividing his attention between the weird arrow and the man who sprung up out of nowhere.

  “At least he's not a bot,” I whisper.