Over the next 12 weeks I will be sharing a chapter of my novel After The Virus each sunday. Warning: for coarse language and brutal content. This is a post-apocalyptic love story. I hope you enjoy getting a peek. Feedback is welcomed and appreciated. If you are so inclined, purchase links can be found on the side bar. – Meghan
Read Chapter 1 Read Chapter 2 Read Chapter 3 Read Chapter 4 Read Chapter 5
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WILL
Her sky blue eyes cut his soul, though then he instantly felt stupid for thinking so. He also thought he might know her, but dismissed that.
“About the same,” he drawled, glad, not for the first time, that his sister’s tendency to leap around corners had made him hard to surprise.
He glanced at the gun on her hip, the knife strapped to her leg, and slowly gained his feet. He didn’t want to stare, but couldn’t help it. She’d looked away to survey Main Street, so he could really only see the line of her jaw. She must be sweltering under all those layers.
“Where are all the bodies?” she asked and he noted that she had no distinguishable accent.
“I cleaned,” he replied, blunt but kind about it.
“Ah,” she breathed and then actually raised her perfect nose to sniff the air. “Bonfire,” she concluded.
“Seemed best,” he agreed.
She stepped away to look into the store. He’d been restocking the shelves, which, he was aware, might make him seem more than a little crazy.
“You alone?” he called her attention back, but then instantly regretted the tension his aggression evoked as she placed her hand on her gun.
“Just B.B. and me,” she answered, testily. The dog glanced at the woman, opened its mouth in a big grin and lifted its nose for another pat.
“Well, I imagine you’re both hungry,” he offered, and was confused when her jaw clenched and she looked out of town as if planning to leave.
“Just because you didn’t rape me at first sight doesn’t mean I’m your friend,” she finally sneered, and he caught the edge of fear in her.
“I never did make friends easy,” he spoke in a light tone, like he would with a wounded animal, which, he didn’t have to guess, she’d been. The woman looked at the dog, B.B., who hadn’t left his side and, then, suddenly, he could feel the utter weariness she didn’t let show.
She pulled a glove off and offered him her gun hand. “Rhiannon,” she said. Her skin seared his when he folded his callused hand around hers.
