Lightning Strikes: A Reverse Harem Paranormal Romance (The Storm Book 1) Read online

  Lightning Strikes

  The Storm #1

  Rebecca Royce

  Ripley Proserpina

  Copyright © 2018 by Rebecca Royce & Ripley Proserpina

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Content Edited by: Heather Long

  Copy Edited by: Jennifer Jones, Bookends Editing

  Cover Artwork by: Syneca Featherstone

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Foreword

  Foreword

  Preface

  1. Whitney

  2. Nick

  3. Brandon

  4. Dante

  5. Whitney

  6. Carson

  7. Whitney

  8. Isaiah

  9. Whitney

  10. Brandon

  11. John

  12. Whitney

  13. Dante

  14. Whitney

  15. Brandon

  16. Carson

  17. Isaiah

  18. Whitney

  19. John

  20. Whitney

  21. Dante

  22. Whitney

  23. Brandon

  24. Whitney

  25. Isaiah

  26. Whitney

  27. Dante

  28. Brandon

  29. Whitney

  30. Nick

  31. Whitney

  32. John

  33. Carson

  34. Whitney

  35. Nick

  36. Dante

  37. Brandon

  38. Whitney

  Afterword

  About Author Rebecca Royce

  About Author Ripley Proserpina

  Also by Rebecca Royce

  Also by Ripley Proserpina

  Foreword

  Dearest Reader,

  Thank you so much for picking up Lightning Strikes, the first book in The Storm series. This will be a trilogy. If this is the first time you are reading either Ripley or myself then welcome, or if you are a long time reader, we thank you so much for joining us again.

  Writing this book has been some of the most fun I’ve ever had writing. You may not know this but Ripley is more than just an amazing writer, she is my critique partner and one of my very best friends. She is by far one of the most talented authors I’ve ever had the privilege to read. I feel so lucky she wanted to work with me.

  So I dedicate this book to Ripley. With my love and thanks.

  Rebecca Royce

  Hello!

  How do I follow a dedication like that? First of all, thanks for taking a chance on this story. Lightning Strikes has been a whirlwind experience. I’ve never gasped or laughed so much when writing. At each turn, Rebecca managed to surprise me with her story ideas. Of course, the biggest surprise was when she mailed me the first bit and said, “Your turn!” What we thought might be a one-off, has morphed into a three-book series, and thank goodness for that, because I’m not ready for the fun to be over!

  This book is for Becca, who patiently let me mess with characters and actions and gave me free rein to science the heck out of the story.

  And for the reader. I hope you enjoy the twists and turns in Whitney’s story as much as I enjoyed writing them.

  Ripley

  Foreword

  How do I follow a dedication like that? First of all, thanks for taking a chance on this story. Lightning Strikes has been a whirlwind experience. I’ve never gasped or laughed so much when writing. At each turn, Rebecca managed to surprise me with her story ideas. Of course, the biggest surprise was when she mailed me the first bit and said, “Your turn!” What we thought might be a one-off, has morphed into a three-book series, and thank goodness for that, because I’m not ready for the fun to be over!

  This book is for Becca, who patiently let me mess with characters and actions and gave me free rein to science the heck out of the story.

  And for the reader. I hope you enjoy the twists and turns in Whitney’s story as much as I enjoyed writing them.

  Ripley

  Preface

  “But I am a blasted tree; the bolt has entered my soul; and I felt then that I should survive to exhibit, what I shall soon cease to be—a miserable spectacle of wrecked humanity, pitiable to others, and intolerable to myself.”

  ― Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley, Frankenstein

  1

  Whitney

  Darkness had fallen and I knew better than to be out and about.

  It wasn’t that the zombies weren’t a problem during the day. They were. But at least I could see them. Running into a horde in the darkness was a death sentence, whereas bumping into them in sunlight at least gave me a fifty-percent chance that I might walk away alive.

  As opposed to walking away dead. Zombie joke. I was probably the only one who thought that was funny.

  If I was honest, maybe I had more like a thirty percent chance I’d get away. I was really bad at killing zombies. I wouldn’t have reached twenty-five years old if I hadn’t lived surrounded by the best fighters in the world. Sometimes survival was just a question of being lucky. I’d heard my mom say that a million times when she’d been alive.

  But then again, she said a lot of things a million times. It came with being the wife of the leader of our township. She spoke. We all stopped to listen.

  And yet here I was. Crossing out of that township into the night all on my own. I had no business being unaccompanied, but the problem was I couldn’t let anyone know what I was doing. I had promised Brandon, and I’d never broken a promise to him. Not while he was alive and not now that he was—I could hardly think it—changed. Oh, stop it. Dead. He was dead.

  Zombie. Horde. My best friend. Gone.

  Tears threatened, but I refused to shed them.

  He was dead, controlled by something, or someone, outside himself. One of the mindless, senseless undead who would try to eat our brains.

  So who in the hell had sent me a note signed in his name, with the code word only the two of us knew?

  Whit, please meet me. Please, Whit. We promised each other we’d never let each other down. Come alone. You’ll be safe. Trust me. Touchdown. Spin Around. –Brandon

  The last bit made me believe it wasn’t a cruel joke or someone pretending to be my friend. Only Brandon knew those words.

  It wasn’t like we were destined to meet. My family was in charge, and his was tasked with keeping the township under repair. If it were up to my dad, our paths would have never crossed.

  But they did. And one thunderstorm and a spin-around game later, we were best friends for life.

  He’d pretty much been my person ever since. I’d even hoped that maybe someday… but what did it matter?

  Now, someone was using our code. Had Brandon told it to someone before he died? If he had, it was a person he trusted. Didn’t I owe that individual the chance to tell me whatever was so important he had to drag me to the middle of the woods?

  That was what I told myself as I crept through a secret exit out of the township. Tall walls were meant to keep the Zombies out. With few exceptions, no one left the township and certainly no one left unaccounted for.

  I guessed the darkness was a double-edged sword. I had cover, and I’d be more hidden than with the blazing sun highlighting my every move. Whoever had sent the note would know where I was go
ing, but they wouldn’t know the ways that Brandon and I had taught each other to hide in plain sight. If, somehow, it really was Brandon, he’d know how I’d approach. If it wasn’t him, they’d never see me. I was good at keeping myself hidden.

  The bridge was right ahead, the lights long since broken, but it seemed to me as if it was somehow illuminated. I glanced up at the sky. It was a full moon—the sort of night when the crazies came out.

  I would have to be crazy to do this. It could be the end of my life.

  But Brandon… If there were a chance this message had come from him, I’d made the right choice risking it. I’d do anything for him. It was what friends did. I didn’t care if he was dead. It didn’t stop the way I felt, didn’t make me want to be there for him less. If anything, it increased my desire to do so. I might never have another chance to be there for him.

  The bridge over the Roanoke River was crumbling, like the rest of the roads and bridges from before the Infection. I shimmied over the guardrail, careful not to catch myself on the rusty edges. Sepsis was not the way I wanted to go.

  Of course, I didn’t want to go into the hungry mouths of zombies either, but here I was.

  I slipped down the incline, the rocks tumbling obscenely loud beneath my feet. The Roanoke gurgled nearby, oddly comforting. Some things: the moon, the rush of water in the river, the tide in the Atlantic, never changed.

  It was much darker here. The bridge cast a shadow on our spot, and as much as I squinted, I couldn’t see anyone.

  One of the things I’d learned in this post-Infection world was that the human body had ancient fears. In my old life, I’d merely shine my cell phone light into the dark places. Or if I couldn’t do that, I’d reason my fears away.

  Now, though, I had to listen to those instincts. And right this minute? Every hair on my body lifted. Goosebumps blasted up my arms, and my brain screamed, “Run!”

  But I didn’t. I couldn’t.

  Canting my head, I shut my eyes and focused on the sounds of the night. Crickets, the river, the leaves rustling in the wind. No groans. No shuffling. No snapping teeth.

  Brandon wouldn’t have liked me here alone. He would have been so angry if he’d known I’d snuck away from Roanoke to come.

  Brandon was all about safety. Safety in numbers. Safe locations. He planned and strategized and never made a move without thinking ten steps ahead. It just went to show that not even the best laid plans could save you in this world.

  I took a deep breath, counted to ten, and opened my eyes. “Brandon?” My voice sounded unfamiliar to my ears. I wasn’t much of a talker, and in the time he’d been gone, I’d rarely opened my mouth except to give one-word answers. As his name echoed through the night, I realized how long it had been since I’d spoken.

  The only answer was the river. I stepped into the darkness. Even with my eyes wide-open, I couldn’t see anything. Out of habit, I regulated my breathing. It was quite a trick. Adrenaline flowed and my heart pounded, but I made myself breathe slow and steady. All my concentration, all my focus, was on the spot I knew was right ahead of me.

  One quiet step.

  Another.

  Wait.

  A bird called into the night. Its clear whistle had me thinking of porch swings and games of tag at dusk. I blinked. It was rare to hear the sounds of birds.

  Or maybe I just never got out of Roanoke anymore—which was certainly the case since Brandon’s death.

  “Whit?”

  I froze beneath the avalanche of hope I hadn’t allowed myself to have. His voice was home, the most familiar, comforting thing in the world.

  “Whit.”

  I jumped a foot in the air even though I’d just heard him, my hand instinctively going to my mouth to stop myself from screaming. The sound of his voice had never been dulcet, always rough like he might need to clear his throat. I’d missed hearing it so much that it brought tears to my eyes. But I wouldn’t let myself cry.

  Shoving my hope back into the dark where it belonged, I straightened. My fingertips grazed the knife I’d brought. I had to be ready for what was next, because I’d watched Brandon die. Whoever it was speaking my name now couldn’t be Brandon, not as I’d known him. This being was what was left.

  But most zombies didn’t go around talking. They kind of grunted and drooled, and they never called a living person by name. They didn’t recognize their family or friends.

  “Brandon.” If that is your real name. I sucked in a breath, trying to keep it together. “I got your note.”

  “I didn’t know if you’d come. For your safety, I sort of hoped you wouldn’t. You shouldn’t have. But I asked you to trust me and you still do which is… everything.”

  It was exactly the sort of thing Brandon would say. The lump in my throat got thicker. This wasn’t fair! I wanted to rush to him, to throw my arms around him, to hold onto him as the lifeline he’d always been. I planted my feet instead. “Why are you doing this?”

  “That’s the thing, Whit. Things aren’t exactly how we thought. Some of them are. Some of the Controlled are just as they seem, but some of us—we’re still in control of our own minds.”

  The sound of footsteps echoed off the concrete pile of the bridge. One smooth motion took me back a pace as the steps shuffled forward. I prepared myself to be horrified as Brandon stepped into a sliver of moonlight.

  My brain took in the way he’d changed since I last saw him. I looked at him. Really looked at him. He’d changed his clothes. Gone were the heavy work pants and shirt he’d been in when he’d been grabbed.

  Killed.

  Changed.

  It was the worst memory of my life, and every detail was burned into my mind for all time.

  He wore dark jeans and a t-shirt. Perhaps it was just the light, but his skin had taken on a silvery-blue cast. Both of us were pale in the rays of the moon, but his skin was paler, and… off. His blond hair and blue eyes had always been set off by bronzed skin. There had been times when the sun seemed to reflect on his hair.

  And his eyes always sparkled. Even on rainy days.

  “I don’t understand. You changed. The same as all the other Infected. I watched.”

  He nodded. “I don’t remember it. I know it happened, but… I guess it was sort of a blessing. All I can tell you is that I woke up.” He snapped his fingers. “Terrified. Alone. Or so I thought.”

  “You were never alone.” A voice called out in the darkness, and I gasped, backing away from the new threat. Brandon darted toward me to grab my arm and stop me from leaving. I struggled, but he held my wrist firm.

  “You’re not in danger. I promise. I would never hurt you. That’s Carson. And I told you to let me talk to her alone.”

  Appearing out of the darkness, a dark-haired man in a leather jacket shrugged his shoulders while he walked. “None of us are very good at taking direction.”

  I twisted my arm toward the ground, using a move Brandon had taught me. A gleam of pride and a half-grin flashed across his face before he stepped closer.

  “Stop.” Grip firm on my knife, I held it in front of my body. “Brandon. I don’t want to hurt you. Please stop.”

  Someone snorted. “As if you could, mouth-breather.” It was hard to tell what color this man’s hair was. As he stepped into the light, I thought it might have been a deep red. He wore it slicked back from his face. Like Carson and Brandon, his skin was unnaturally pale. “It’s hard to hurt someone who’s already dead.”

  Aaaannnnd I was done. Spinning, I sprinted toward the incline. It may have been months since I’d found myself running away from the Infected, but it seemed when properly motivated, I had some speed. My foot slipped on the loose rocks and I pitched forward. Forehead slamming into the ground, I had a second of pain, felt a trickle of wetness, and then the night surrounded me.

  2

  Nick

  “Get away from her,” Brandon growled as he pushed me aside to get to his girl. I’d hurried toward her when I saw her bean her head
off the rocks. She’d hit hard, forehead knocking into the ground before her entire head snapped back from the force. A line of blood trickled from a cut at her hairline.

  “Stop her bleeding or we’re going to have every mindless Controlled drooling and limping over here,” I retorted.

  “Such a jerk,” Carson said, shoulder knocking into mine as he went to Brandon. “She’ll be concussed,” he said to our friend. “Support her neck as you roll her.”

  In the distance, I heard the telltale groan of a Controlled, and I sighed. Fighting a horde of zombies wasn’t what I had in mind when I agreed to finally approach the girl Brandon had been whining about for six months. But this was what I got for helping a buddy out.

  Which was why I didn’t have buddies.

  “I got her feet,” I said as Brandon carefully turned her over. She was much prettier than he’d intimated. Or maybe I hadn’t been paying attention. He said she had bright red hair and freckles, but he hadn’t explained how her hair had every shade of blond and red in it, or that the moon would turn some of those blond strands white. Great. I was noticing hair glints, what the hell was wrong with me?