S. W. Clarke - 03 Bloodbound by S. W. Clarke & Ramy Vance

Author:S. W. Clarke & Ramy Vance [Clarke, S. W. & Vance, Ramy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Keep Evolving Studios
Published: 2019-08-26T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

The next morning, an unfamiliar face appeared over me in the predawn darkness. “Ready?” came the low voice.

I tried to bolt off Ananda’s couch—my sleeping spot—but a hand shot out and gripped my wrist. “Don’t wake the others,” she rasped. “It’s just me.”

I blinked. “Ana? Why are you so …”

She half-smirked, the nasolabial lines around her mouth deepening. “Unattractive? Is that what you’re too polite to say?”

“No.” I rose from the couch and followed her into the kitchen. “Older.”

Coffee was brewing on the counter. Ananda filled a mug and passed it to me; I could see the tendons sticking out on the back of her hand from natural loss of fat. She had shifted into a woman in her forties. “Drink. It’s going to be a long day.”

“Are we still going to the morgue?”

She folded her arms. “Why do you think I burned two months off my life to take on this illusion? For shits and gigs?”

Two months of life. In the grand scheme of our new life spans—probably sixty or seventy years—it didn’t seem like a lot. But just imagine, with every new illusion we took on, we burned another two months. Another two months. Another two months.

It only took six new illusions to burn a year. And given how much we loved shapeshifting, six illusions were nothing. But a year to take on six new faces? A year felt pivotal. It felt like inviting death.

That human saying—her saying—floated into my mind again. “Live fast and leave a beautiful corpse.”

I wondered how many times she’d burned two months off the end of her life in the four years since we’d become mortal. I really had no way of telling, but I did know one thing.

It was a big deal that she had done this for me. It meant she considered this trip to the morgue important. Really important.

“Thank you,” I said. “For taking on that illusion.”

“Don’t thank me.” She passed me a little milk container for my coffee. “It had to be done.”

I poured the milk, surveying her as I did. I didn’t even know she owned clothes like that: loose-fitted, covering all her limbs, shoes without heels. “Who are you supposed to be?”

“Johnny’s first wife.”

I lowered the milk container and mug to the table. “You know what she looks like?”

She lifted one shoulder. “I slept over at his place a few times. The poor minotaur hadn’t gotten over her—all he did was tip the framed portraits on their faces when I came over.”

“That must have been hard for ...”

She raised a finger to stop me. If there was one thing Ananda hated, it was hollow sympathy. “Drink. We’re leaving in fifteen.” Then, “Oh, and you need a different face.”

A different face. “About that.” I paused, breathing deep. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

She stopped mid-pour into her own mug. She set the coffee pot down and turned. “Please don’t stop with the vague ominousness.”

I came forward. “Ananda, I’m pregnant.”

Her dark eyes flitted from my face down to my belly and back up in one instant.

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