Sing for the Dead (London Undead) Read Free

talent lay in the dying, not the living.
    Tears sprang to her eyes. Her stomach lurched.
    He was full fae—of the wee folk. And he’d valiantly kept the small playground taint-free until tonight. Every corner showed his care, from the upkeep of the huge wooden pirate ship to the clean white of the teepees nearby. The sensory trails were clear of ice and snow, leaf litter and most importantly, no hint of tainted magic lingered.
    His breath caught, and he struggled in her grasp.
    “Peace. No. ’Tis not the end. We will find help.”
    Where, she did not know, but she sent out a silent plea to the magic around them. Please , help him where I cannot.
    But his struggles would draw more of the undead. She needed him calm. She could carry him, but they’d be vulnerable to more attacks with her hands full. And where would she take him? There were no strong fae nearby.
    No, the Court of Light had sent her , a half blood, into London instead.
    Bitterness flowed across her tongue but she clenched her jaw. No time for selfish distractions.
    At a loss, a part of her magic reached out to the brownie, sensed his hold on life weaken, felt his fear shiver through her veins. She parted her lips and Sang the fear away.
    If death was coming for him, that much was in her power to do.
    * * *
    Something had stirred up the zombies. Kayden’s nightly patrol took him along the borders of Kensington Gardens, checking the scents for signs of idiots headed into the park to loot the remains of other idiots.
    It wasn’t just the stupidity of humans, nay. They were opportunists. And it spoke to their survival through the centuries. The walking dead in London, they brought out the darker side of human nature and somehow, the zombies’ numbers were increasing. Shape-shifters were finding themselves outnumbered.
    Shape-shifters weren’t common anywhere, and as a were-leopard, Kayden was rare amongst the uncommon. Unlike the werewolves, were-leopards didn’t gather in packs or prides. The largest gathering was a small family unit and then, only long enough to raise young. Leopards were solitary as adults. And though he’d come to London and allied himself with the London wolf pack, he still ran his patrols solo.
    Tonight, he’d managed to head off several bold street urchins and one so-called hunter before they’d made it too far into the park. It should have made him feel better, afforded him some relief from the ever-present guilt he carried.
    It didn’t.
    Kayden disarmed the man, more a scavenger than any hunter, and escorted him to one of Seth’s patrols. The werewolves wouldn’t tolerate those kinds of humans anymore, the ones who tempted starving kids into heading into the park as zombie bait. Lambs sacrificed to make it easier to steal from the dead.
    What the hell was wrong with people?
    The walking corpses all over the place suddenly seemed less horrific.
    The winds changed direction, carrying with them information in sound and scent. A low sound tweaked his ears, below the range of human hearing. Odd. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it unsettled him. If he’d been in his animal form, he’d have tried to shake the feel from his coat.
    Mournful, aye, a song to tug at the soul.
    Who was daft enough to sing in a park full of monsters?
    He shed his jacket and shirt, stowing them in the branches of a tree alongside one of the paths. His pants followed, then the rest of his clothing. Crouching down to make the change easier, he shifted to leopard form. Joints popped and muscles stretched.
    No matter how quick or slow, the change still hurt.
    He panted as he let the last bits of the shift settle into place. Ready to hunt, he padded through the shadows, following the song through the otherwise-silent trees.
    It was as if the entire park had paused to listen.
    He didn’t have far to search. The Princess Diana Children’s Playground was just within the bounds of the Kensington Gardens. He’d not been inside over the course of the winter—his