IN LOVE WITH A ZOMBIE

New Orleans, Louisiana - 11:47 p.m.

The first time Isabella Hayes kissed a dead man, she didn't know he was dead.

She only knew that his lips were cold, his eyes held a sadness she couldn't explain, and when he whispered her name, it sounded as though he had been waiting a lifetime to say it.

But that night was still weeks away.

For now, Isabella was running through the rain, clutching her purse against her chest while the heels of her boots splashed through puddles on Bourbon Street.

"Perfect," she muttered. "Absolutely perfect."

Her phone had died. Her car had broken down three blocks away. And the man she'd caught her boyfriend cheating with had turned out to be his fiancée.

Yes, his fiancée.

Apparently, Isabella had been the other woman for eleven months without knowing it.

She wanted to scream.

Instead, she walked into the nearest bar, ordered a glass of water, and tried not to cry in front of strangers.

That was when she saw him.

He sat alone in the darkest corner of the room, wearing a black shirt beneath an expensive coat. His dark hair fell slightly over his forehead, and his face was so striking that Isabella forgot what she had been thinking.

He wasn't smiling. He wasn't drinking.

He was staring at her.

Not in the ordinary way men stared at women they found attractive.

He looked at her as if he recognized her.

As if he had seen her before.

As if she was someone he had lost.

Isabella looked away first.

"Don't do it," she whispered to herself. "You've had enough trouble with mysterious men."

Five minutes later, she found herself walking toward his table.

Apparently, her common sense had gone home without her.

"Is this seat taken?" she asked.

The stranger glanced at the empty chair opposite him.

"No."

His voice was deep, smooth, and strangely familiar.

She sat down.

"I'm Isabella."

"I know."

Her smile disappeared.

"I'm sorry. What?"

For the first time, something changed in his expression. He looked almost frightened.

"I mean..." He paused. "You look like an Isabella."

She narrowed her eyes.

"That's the worst excuse I've ever heard."

A faint smile touched his lips.

"Then I suppose you hear terrible excuses often."

"You have no idea."

"I'm Damien."

"Damien what?"

"Cross."

"Well, Damien Cross, do you always sit in dark corners staring at women?"

"Only when they walk into places they shouldn't be."

Isabella raised an eyebrow.

"Is that supposed to be a threat?"

"No." His gaze moved toward the rain-streaked windows. "It's a warning."

Before she could ask what he meant, the lights flickered.

Once.

Twice.

Then the entire bar went dark.

Someone screamed.

A glass shattered nearby, followed by the sound of chairs scraping across the floor.

Isabella reached for her phone, remembering too late that its battery was dead.

"Hello?" she called. "Can someone turn on the lights?"

A hand closed around hers.

She gasped.

"Stay here," Damien whispered.

Something about his voice made her obey.

She heard footsteps approaching their table.

Heavy footsteps.

Then a man's voice cut through the darkness.

"Damien Cross."

Damien went completely still.

"You're supposed to be dead."

Isabella's stomach tightened.

The stranger beside her slowly released her hand.

"People keep saying that," Damien replied.

There was a sharp sound.

A struggle.

Someone crashed into a table.

Then silence.

When the lights returned, the room erupted into frightened conversation.

The man who had approached them was gone.

Damien stood beside the table, adjusting his coat as though nothing had happened.

Isabella stared at him.

"What was that?"

"Nothing you need to worry about."

"Nothing? A man just walked up to you and said you're supposed to be dead!"

"And yet," Damien said quietly, "here I am."

She should have left.

Every sensible thought in her head told her to collect her purse and run straight out of that bar.

Instead, she noticed the small cut across his palm.

"You're bleeding."

Damien looked down.

For a moment, he seemed genuinely surprised.

Then he closed his hand.

"It's nothing."

"Let me see."

"Isabella."

The way he said her name made her stop.

"Please," he added.

She didn't understand why that single word sounded so desperate.

But she let it go.

Outside, the rain had softened to a drizzle. Damien offered to walk her to her car, and although she knew accepting help from a stranger was probably a terrible idea, she agreed.

They walked beneath the streetlights in silence.

"So," Isabella finally said, "are you going to explain what happened back there?"

"No."

"At least you're honest."

"I try to be."

"Do you have a girlfriend, Damien Cross?"

He glanced at her.

"Why?"

"Just curious."

"No."

"Boyfriend?"

That earned her the smallest laugh.

It was a surprisingly beautiful sound.

"Neither," he said.

"Good."

The word escaped before she could stop it.

Damien turned toward her.

"Good?"

Isabella covered her face with one hand.

"Oh, my God. Please forget I said that."

"I've been trying to forget many things for a very long time."

Something in his voice made her lower her hand.

For a moment, he looked unbearably lonely.

She wanted to ask him what had happened to him, why a stranger had called him dead, and why he looked at her as though she mattered more than she should.

But they had reached her car.

"Thank you for walking me," she said.

"Isabella?"

She turned.

"Yes?"

"Whatever happens, don't trust anyone who tells you they knew me before I died."

Her smile faded.

"Before you what?"

He stepped closer.

The streetlight above them flickered, casting shadows across his face.

"Good night, Isabella."

Then he walked away.

She watched him disappear into the mist, her heart beating faster than it should have.

Only when she reached for her car keys did she realize something was wrong.

She had never told him her surname.

She hadn't even told him her first name until they sat down.

Yet he had looked at her as though he had known her for years.

Shaken, Isabella unlocked her car and climbed inside.

Her phone had somehow switched back on.

Three notifications appeared on the screen.

The first was from her best friend, Emma.

EMMA: Girl, please tell me you're home. I just found something online that you need to see.

The second was a missed call from an unknown number.

The third was a photograph.

Isabella frowned and opened it.

The picture showed a young man standing outside a grand mansion, dressed in a black suit. His face was unmistakable.

Dark hair.

Sharp jaw.

Those same impossible eyes.

Damien Cross.

Beneath the photograph was a short newspaper headline:

LOCAL HEIR DAMIEN CROSS FOUND DEAD AFTER MYSTERIOUS MANSION FIRE.

Isabella's fingers went numb.

She read the date.

Three years ago.

"No," she whispered.

She zoomed in on the photograph, searching for some explanation.

A trick. A coincidence. Anything.

Then she noticed the small caption beneath the image.

Damien Cross, 27, was pronounced dead at the scene. His body was never recovered.

Her phone rang.

Unknown number.

She answered slowly.

"Hello?"

For several seconds, nobody spoke.

Then a man's voice whispered, "You met him, didn't you?"

Isabella's blood ran cold.

"Who is this?"

"Listen carefully. If Damien Cross has spoken to you, you are already in danger."

"How do you know I met him?"

"Because he hasn't looked at another woman in three years."

Isabella stopped breathing for a moment.

"What does that mean?"

The stranger's voice dropped to a frightened whisper.

"It means he has been waiting for you."

The call ended.

Isabella sat frozen behind the steering wheel, staring at the photograph.

Then another message appeared on her screen.

This one came from Damien.

DAMIEN: I'm sorry you had to find out this way.

A second message followed.

DAMIEN: Whatever you do, don't look behind you.

Isabella's fingers tightened around her phone.

Slowly, she lifted her eyes to the rearview mirror.

Someone was sitting in the back seat.

A pale face.

Dark, hollow eyes.

And a smile that stretched far too wide.

Before Isabella could scream, the figure leaned forward and whispered-

"He told you not to trust the living. But he forgot to tell you what happens when the dead fall in love."

END OF CHAPTER ONE