So that got me thinking, what other "monster" could morph into something more alluring?
Ahh yes, ZOMBIES.
Now, zombies as we know them are not, in any shape or form, sexy. But the cool thing about the mythology is the zombie virus itself. Viruses evolve. So what if, over time, it became harder and harder to tell the living from the cannibalistic undead?
The Last Bit
I could smell her blood, a ghost of a scent teased through a razor slice on the underside of her wrist. A cutter. That’s what she was. And it was the reason I was there with her. Monsters like me couldn’t resist the smell of fresh blood.
She tilted her head, the sun catching the highlights in her hair. My stomach growled.
“It’s nice out tonight,” she said and I nodded, resisting the urge to take a nip.
Anyone with the virus would have found her not just pretty, but appetizing. I was no exception, even if us walkers had been banned from the real shit a long time ago.
It was only the synthetic stuff now.
Some days it was enough to drive me mad.
“What did you say your name was?” she cooed, the reedy tone of her voice plucking at my hunger.
I wanted to bite into her more than I’d ever wanted anything. At least it seemed that way, in the moment. “It’s Ethan.”
“I like that name.” She leaned forward. The hair at the nape of my neck saluted and I crushed my eyes shut.
“What’s wrong?” she said.
Get your act together, dude. I pasted a grin where it was supposed to go. Looked down at her. “You’re so hot.”
She giggled. My insides clenched. “What, are you nervous?”
My tongue found the dry crevices of my lips. She pressed closer, her hand running up and over my buzzed hair, sending shock waves down my spine.
I couldn’t take it anymore.
I couldn’t fucking take it.
I opened wide, felt the stretch of muscle and tendon in all the right places. I bit into her. She screeched. Bucked. But I had the virus, and she didn’t. I was stronger.
My arms contracted. The blades of my shoulders jutted out as the sheep flailed.
She tasted like I thought she would, tangy in the back of my throat. My kind might have stopped eating the real shit three years ago, but I was too damn weak to fight the cravings.
When the girl slipped from my arms in a tangle of limbs and hair and gore, I ran a tongue around my teeth, getting the last bit before the regret settled in.
The sky darkened. The air smelled like pine trees and fresh rain. The first drop hit my forearm and left a clean trail in the smear of blood.
I hoisted the girl onto my shoulder and started for the shovel hidden in my truck.
Three days later, she Returned.