Page 84 of Conner's Luna

Velia lets out a soft expulsion of air,"assholes. Now I have to bring her home. Where did you park your truck, B?"

"Over in the orange lot. Keys are in the usual place."

"See you in a few hours. Jerks." Velia ends the call abruptly.

Braxton starts to laugh quietly. He stops when I reach back and slap him across his head. "Ow. You are an asshole. And, shit, you're stronger already. See what being away from-"

"Stop, Braxton," I interrupt him. My brother and I used to be closer, but he wholeheartedly disapproves of me chasing Lydia so hard.

"You're done, right? You're not going to go running back to her? Bailey-"

"I'm not," I interrupt him again. "Besides, my wolf..." I pause, hesitating as I look at a deeply-sleeping Bailey, "he's so possessive of her."

"Really? That's fucking awesome, Con."

"Yeah," I trace Bailey's cheek, smiling.

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Bailey

Welp, drinking isn't as much fun as I remember it being. Then again, I always only had rum and coke a few times, heavy on the coke. Whatever Velia made for me was way heavy on the rum.

Oh, my God, Dad is going to birth kittens. I really hope Conner has a good cover story. Or he can just hide me for the weekend. I'm warm and moving. Distantly I can hear the rumble of men's voices, so I figure I'm in Conner's truck and not being kidnapped in a white van.

Oh, bad joke, Bailey. I force my eyes to open. I see Conner's lucky rabbit-foot charm dangling from his rearview, first. It's a really big foot. Like, from bunny-zilla, and not one of those cute but disturbing knick-knacks that you can buy from a cheesy souvenir shop in brightly fluorescent colors.

The second thing I see is the flashing light, too bright to be anything but another set of headlights, strobing across the dashboard. My eyes follow it, naturally, to the window my feet are curled up against. The biker outside turns his head at just that same time, meeting my eyes.

They glow like an anime cat's in the dark. Yellow and too bright. My eyes drift back shut and my mind goes with it. It's just too hard to stay awake.

The statistical probability of angels existing is 67%. The statistical probability of a human having cat-eyes is practically nil. When human eyes reflect light, the glow appears red, like red-eye in photographs when the flash is on.

I took a selfie with Velia tonight. My eyes were red. Her's were white. White reflections are present in animals that have a reflective layer behind their retina, called the tapetum lucidum. I've never heard of yellow reflections. Conner has had it, too. So has Braxton. Only when they're angry or upset.

Do they have some sort of genetic foible? An odd reflective layer, perhaps? But... the statistical probability of the biker outside having the same genetic anomaly is... practically nil.

My hand strokes over the blanket covering me. It's one of those fuzzy ones, faux animal fur, meant to look real with its blend of grey, white, and brown tones, just like nature designed.

Like the backs of Braxton's hands tonight when Luis made him angry, or Conner when he confronted Trey. The statistical probability of sprouting fur on your skin is... practically nil.

But angels have a statistical probability of 67%.

"Hey, gorgeous. How're you feeling?" Conner gently stroked back my hair. My head is pillowed on the seat, just next to his thigh, as he drives. He feels so warm. I run warm, too, so why does he always feel so much warmer? Yes, his larger mass would transfer more heat to his surroundings, but not in any significant amount, and not all the time despite the surrounding air temperature.

"Conner?" my voice is a raspy husk.

"Yeah, baby? Do you still feel sick?"

"Conner," I repeat his name. I take a big breath and struggle to sit up despite my aching head and the ice-cold trickle of foreboding running down my spine.

"What's wrong, Honey?" he murmurs, looking at me with those bright green eyes. The light reflects off of his eyes, appearing white.

"What are you?" I whisper my question. It's so quiet, but I know he heard me when his eyes widen and his face goes completely stark white.

"Bailey," my name emerges in a rush of expelled air. There's so much in that one word. It's not just my name, I can hear a plea in there, too.

"Conner," I say his name, and my voice contains a demand. I can't stop thinking about it, now that it's there, between us. All of those little inconsistencies, those strange occurrences.

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