Page 46 of Junk Magic

“Lia? I’m making coffee. You want some?”

No, I thought, slowly getting back to my hands and knees, a snarl on my lips. I don’t want any damned coffee and you know I don’t. I want to be left alone!

“Lia?”

“No, thanks, I’m good!” The words came out surprisingly normally, even cheerful. But Cyrus hesitated, probably because they’d also come from somewhere near the floor, and normal people with lilts in their voices don’t crawl around the bathroom tile!

But it was too late to do anything about it now, so I just held my breath, hoping he couldn’t hear that, too, and would just go away. Go away and let me deal with this. Go away before you feel like you have to take measures that somebody isn’t going to like. That somebody might just fight you over, and I don’t want to fight you!

Please, please go away.

And, after a moment, he did. I could hear the previously silent footsteps on the carpeted floor getting fainter and fainter, along with the worried breaths he was taking—because he hadn’t bought that, hadn’t bought any of that. But he was back in the kitchen, rustling around making coffee, because he had to cover his story.

We were going to pretend that everything was normal, that I wasn’t clawing at the walls and that he wasn’t playing the part of my jailer. But he was. The kitchen was just on the other side of the wall from the bathroom, because they shared water lines, and he’d grab me before I got halfway across the living room. And he’d hear if I tried the window—

Damn it! I wasn’t going to try the window! I wasn’t trying anything! I was going to get a bath, before my lover decided that I really was mad!

And before I decided that I agreed with him.

I stood up, jerked off my shirt and bra, and tossed them on top of the commode, because there weren’t a lot of options. The bathroom was as tiny and dated as the rest of this place, with Pepto Bismol pink tile and coordinating accessories, and a mirror that must have been original, because a quarter of the silver film had worn off. But there was plenty left to show me back my face, and while it was pale and my pupils looked like twice their usual size, there was no other difference.

At least, none that I could see.

But I could feel it, like I could feel the blood running through my body. Not just in my heartbeat or the pulse in my throat, but everywhere, every inch of veins or capillaries, all the way down to my fingertips. They pulsed oddly, like I’d just run a marathon, even though I hadn’t done anything but to cling to Cyrus as we tore through town. My toes, too, throbbed in my boots, hard enough that it felt like they might tear through the leather.

I took my footwear off and felt somewhat better, then stripped down the rest of the way and—

And stopped abruptly, at what I saw when I peeled off my jeans.

My legs were bruised and battered up, but I’d had road rash that was worse after forgetting to wear my leathers. There was nothing that looked serious—except for a gauze pad the size of my hand on the outside of my left thigh. I frowned at it.

I hadn’t noticed it at HQ, because I hadn’t been in the head space to notice much of anything, but now I wondered how I’d missed it. Or how I’d gotten my jeans on over the thing, because it was held on by a metric ton of medical tape. I unwound it, taking much of the gauze along for the ride except for the bits soaked with blood and clinging to my flesh.

But eventually, they came off, too, and—

And then I stood there, staring at an ugly, raised wound in a very familiar shape.

I let my fingers trace the raised flesh as another shock radiated through my system. And tried to tell myself that I was wrong, that it was just a coincidence, that it wasn’t what it looked like. But there was just no doubt about it. It was a bite, and not one made by a human mouth, but by something much bigger and more savage.

A Were bite.

Someone had bitten me.

Chapter Thirteen

Blood stained the fabric of the bandage, colored brown now with oxidation, but still fresh enough that I could smell it. It was recently spilled and yet the bite looked weeks, maybe months old. But it hadn’t been there yesterday. And neither had the rips in my jeans right over top of it.

I guessed it shouldn’t have surprised me. The Weres at the grow farm had wanted me to Change. And my rogue status—the name for clan-born who chose not to turn—was common knowledge. So, they bit me to ensure that I’d become the monster they’d wanted me to be.

But Neuri had saved me. For the first time in my life, I felt a swell of genuine gratitude for my life-long affliction. Followed quickly by a wash of sadness and longing so hard that it almost threw me to my knees.

“Lia? Sure about that coffee? It’s almost ready.”

I jerked and looked over my shoulder at the closed door. Cyrus was back again, and probably wondering why he wasn’t hearing any water yet. Or if I’d gone completely crazy and was shivering in a corner, wild-eyed and slavering.

Which, frankly, wasn’t that far from the truth.

“No, I—I’m fine. I’m starting the shower now.”

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