Be Careful What You Wish For: A Zombie Apocalypse-Chapter 463: Peace And Quiet

When I woke up, the first thing I noticed was that the house was quiet.

Not dead, not cold—just... quiet.

Like it was holding its breath, too afraid to disturb what lay at the heart of it.

I blinked slowly, not quite ready to move, the scent of firewood and skin clinging to the sheets like perfume. My body ached in the best possible way—sore in places I didn’t know could feel good. But more than that, I felt safe... clean... not dirty.

Which was weird.

Safety was never something I chased. It was something I resented. Everyone else seemed to take safety for granted, but I had never experienced it. I hated those people who had what I never could.

But here—here with them—I finally felt cared for.

I felt held.

The more I shook off the aftermath of sleep, the more I realized a few things.

Someone’s fingers were laced with mine. Another arm was flung over my waist. My leg was tangled with a much larger one. A head rested against my ribs. One of them was breathing against the back of my neck.

I didn’t even have to look to know who was where, I already knew where each individual was sleeping.

Salvatore had me from behind, curled like a shield at my back, his fingers absentmindedly tracing the curve of my hip.

Dante was sprawled beside me, expression softer in sleep than I ever thought possible, one hand gripping my wrist like a man afraid to lose it.

Luca was at my feet, his head resting on my shin like a content hellcat. freēwēbηovel.c૦m

Eric was curled up at my other side, one hand resting gently on my stomach, breathing slow and even.

Ronan was above me, practically draped over the headboard, one of my curls twisted around his finger.

Beau was still snoring at the foot of the bed as he cuddled with Désiré, each one thinking that I was the other.

Dimitri stood at the window, the early morning sun shining off his chest as his eyes scanned the outside world, making sure that we were all kept safe.

Chang Xuefeng sat beside the fireplace, sharpening a blade that probably didn’t need sharpening. His gaze flicked to me every few seconds—silent, constant, steady. As if making sure that I was still where he had put me.

And Tank—Tank wasn’t here.

I frowned at that, only a little.

He always did his own thing. Never one to fight for attention. But the absence still felt like something missing from a song I didn’t realize I was listening to. And since he was always lurking in the shadows, his absence was even more noticeable.

Stretching carefully, I disentangled myself from the boys slowly. No one stirred. Not really. Salvatore sighed, pulling the blanket higher. Luca grunted and rolled onto his side. But they let me go.

I padded out of the room in one of Dante’s shirts—massive on me, practically a dress—and headed downstairs.

The house had already brewed my coffee the way I liked it.

Of course it had; I expected nothing less from a dimension that I created for myself.

Sipping from the oversized mug, I leaned against the kitchen island, just starting to enjoy the hum of a peaceful morning when a knock came at the front door.

Narrowing my eyes, I paused mid-sip.

This was not a polite knock. More like someone was trying to politely deliver something horrific and didn’t know how else to say "Hey, good morning, here’s trauma!"

Not bothering to wait for the guys, I opened the door with one hand still holding my coffee.

On the porch: a wooden box. Smooth. Stained black. No hinges. No inscription. Just a single wax seal pressed into the top.

I didn’t need to open it to know what it was. But what was the fun of keeping it closed?

Inside lay a severed head—neatly preserved, eyes open, lips curled into something between agony and reverence. A demon brand had been carved into the forehead, still fresh.

"Hello, Mother," I sighed, happy that the head was well and truly dead. I really didn’t need a repeat of Lilith and her talking head. "I must say, you’ve never looked better."

Letting out a soft chuckle, I added her head right beside Père’s on my shelf of curiosities. Now they had the rest of eternity to spend together. I’m sure that they could come up with unlimited things about me to complain about.

Shaking my head, I walked barefoot out the front door toward the jungle fog curling over Tink’s moat.

That’s where I found Tank.

He stood waist-deep in the water, shirtless, skin gleaming with humidity and light. Snowflake was resting her chin on the bank while Tink floated nearby, both of them eerily calm.

Tank didn’t speak when I walked up. He just looked at me.

Like he always did.

Like I was the only thing that existed.

"You missed the puppy pile," I said, nudging a rock with my foot.

"I know," he replied. "I didn’t want to crowd you."

"You could never crowd me."

He shrugged, coming closer. "You needed them last night. Not me."

"Not true," I murmured. "I just needed all of you in different ways."

Tank climbed onto the bank, water rolling off him in sheets. He didn’t bother with a towel. Just reached for my hand and pulled me into him, his heat radiating through Dante’s shirt like sunlight.

"I don’t need much," he said, brushing his fingers down my back. "But I need this."

I tilted my head. "This?"

"You. Mornings. No one watching. Just... quiet."

His lips met mine—not rushed, not needy. Just firm. Present. Real.

Tank never kissed like he was trying to prove anything.

He kissed like he already had everything and just wanted to remind me.

His arms wrapped around my waist, lifting me off the ground as my coffee sloshed dangerously close to spilling.

I laughed into his mouth. "You almost made me drop my coffee."

"I’d bring you another."

"You don’t know my order."

"I do," he said. "Milk and sugar. Just enough coffee to make it count."

Damn him.

He did know.

And that made me press my forehead to his chest and close my eyes.

For a moment, everything was quiet; and I wouldn’t give that up for anything in the world.