Sing for the Dead (London Undead) Read Free Page A

hunts limited to forays amongst the denser stands of trees and the wide-open lawns where hunters chose to pick off zombies.
    And yet, there was something...not right about the playground.
    It was pristine.
    All other part of the gardens had fallen into disrepair or gone wild with neglect. But the playground was swept clear of leaf litter and twigs. The walks were clean of ice and snow. Granted, this part of the isles saw little enough of either, but these pathways showed no sign of the cracks and holes the other walks had from being under a thin layer of ice all winter. The swings were in good working order, the hinges oiled and the chains free of rust. The great ship in the middle of the park was cleaner than it had probably been when children crawled all over it. Before the zombie infestation had changed the city of London.
    The playground was as perfect and welcoming as the day it’d been built.
    Well, and except for the pile of zombie parts littered around the wee mound to one end. He’d be guessing the woman was responsible. The swords strapped across her back gave him the first clue.
    She hadn’t noticed him yet—cradling a tiny body in her arms and singing as she was. A child? Even in cat form his chest tightened. No. Maybe? Hard to tell.
    He padded closer.
    The sound of steel sliding free of a scabbard should have been alarming. Stranger still, the woman hadn’t stopped singing as she drew her blade. An odd calm hung over the entire playground, wrapped it in a soothing blanket and hushed away all fear.
    Magic. And not of the human kind either. Human magic had a different scent to it. Aye, and a different feel to it as well. The power a human summoned for casting was drawn of sacrifice. No, this magic had a different flavor to it. It’d come of nature and the essence of living things. Harder to quantify, but then, the fae were uncanny in many ways.
    The woman watched him, ghost-pale under the faint light cast by the crescent moon. A ponytail held back most of her long, shining hair but a few long locks fell loose to frame her face. The color of moonlight, such a pale shade of blond as he’d never seen before. Probably soft as silk, as well. Why did he want to touch it? Rub his scent into her hair? He didn’t halt his approach, only slowed so she had plenty of time to assess the danger. He’d bet it was her singing keeping more zombies from coming. Without such magic in the air, half the zombies in the city would have followed the rich scent of blood.
    She’d done a fine accounting of herself, if he tallied the body count correctly. Body parts lay all around her, decomposing as he watched. It had been a pack of the undead she’d fought off. They’d not stood a chance against her, though it might have been too late for her friend.
    A wheeze and the small chest rose once.
    Perhaps not too late after all.
    This woman had a chance to save her small companion, and he’d be damned if he didn’t help her do it. Kayden shifted back to human form. It left him vulnerable if she chose to attack, but he was fair certain she wouldn’t. Mayhap it was folly on his part, but he didn’t think she’d leave her fallen comrade. Nae. She’d wait for an opponent to make the first move, finish him before he began. The precious minutes it took to change to human form were worth it, if he could help her save the life in her arms. And for that, he needed speech.
    His extremities were still finishing the change when he forced his vocal chords to shape human words. “Do ye need help, lass?”
    The singing stopped. She blinked, her posture relaxing a fraction.
    But her grip tightened around the pommel of her sword.
    Blast. No time for niceties.
    “I am Kayden.” He left out his full name. Giving your name to a fae was unwise. A true name had power over the bearer. Dangerous, especially in the hands of any fae old enough to know how to use it, some witches too. As young as she appeared, she could be centuries older than any of