Fire and Bone (Otherborn #1)(52)

I didn’t even know his mouth tipped that direction. I think I just accomplished the impossible.

I smile back at him, and in a flash his dimple disappears. He looks away. “Try not to take too long getting ready. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover.” And then he walks into the greenhouse, leaving me standing beside his nest, alone.





TWENTY-ONE

SAGE

Amazingly enough, my closet isn’t just a smaller version of Aelia’s; it’s actually got stuff in it that I like. There’s edge and grit, and not a pink thread in sight. It’s still all completely overpriced label wear, but at least it’s not Kardashian chic. I can’t let myself get used to it, though. I never stay anywhere long, and I doubt this time’ll be any different.

I pull out a bra, a T-shirt, and jeans, and I’m shocked when the jeans fit kind of tight, and so does the bra. I don’t even remember the last time my clothes weren’t baggy. I check the sizes and they’re what I would’ve thought fit me. But the hips and butt are pretty snug in the jeans, and the elastic on the bra is digging in under my arms.

I move to the full-length mirror.

My face . . . is something wrong with the mirror? My face looks rounder.

My hair is damp from my shower, but it seems longer, thicker at my neck now, and hanging farther past my chin in the front—is that right? I step closer to my reflection, touching my cheek and combing my fingers through my hair. I study the jagged silver scar on the side of my neck, marveling again at the fact that I should be dead. And then my eyes fall to my bra.

Holy B-cups, Batman. I have tits.

Right there, in the mirror, I can see them. They’re small, but—oh my freaking God, I almost have cleavage. Actual cleavage. Whoa.

I don’t want to put a shirt on. These things are amazing.

But how did they get there?

Could this be an Aelia magic thing? How does a person’s body change so much in a day? I doubt the two meals I’ve eaten since getting here put ten pounds on me. Not normal, and completely weird—but, then again, what hasn’t fallen into those two categories in the last two days?

I decide that I must be extra bloated from PMS or something, and pull my shirt over my head as I wander over to look at the bookshelf.

Everything is exactly how it was the first time I came in here—before I turned half of it to ash. The yellow gauzy curtains, the fluffy chair, and the countless books filling the shelves around the window and along the walls. And that bed. It’s so comfortable, so dreamy. I’d marry it if I could.

But I’m not even a little tired right now. And I’m actually starving.

I go into my small kitchen and open a few cupboards. There are coffee grounds and spices in one, breakfast stuff in another: a box of steel-cut oats, some dried fruit, and a bag of granola. I grab the granola, take a bottle of water from the fridge, and pluck an apple out of the fruit bowl on my way out the door.

As I walk into the yard again, the late-morning air curls around me, the smell of moss and water and night jasmine tickling my nose. It’s so gorgeous here. So alive. And this is where I’m living, with a full closet and a full belly. It’s like I won a weekend at a five-star resort. With deadly creatures and mayhem, but still . . . it’s pretty.

I close my eyes and take in a long breath through my nose, letting a smile fill my lips.

There’s a prickle at the back of my neck. I turn to see Faelan watching me from a side doorway that leads into the greenhouse. His arms are crossed over his chest, and he’s leaning on the frame, gaze intense, unnerving.

When he realizes I’ve caught him staring, he straightens, his hands fidgeting with a leather strap around his neck. “We should start,” he says. “We don’t have a lot of time.” And then he disappears inside.

The greenhouse is cluttered with plants—wisteria in purples and pinks drip from the trellised ceiling, and white roses climb the glass walls. There are several trees crowding the edges of the room too, with twisted branches and bright green leaves. It’s a chaotic garden in here, just like his bedroom, but this space is open in the center. Stones and moss carpet the floor, and there’s a rough-hewn wood desk on the other side, covered with open books, stacked books, and books lying like fallen dominoes.

Faelan obviously doesn’t use the desk much. He shuffles a larger book from the bottom of a pile and opens it to a page in the center, saying, “I guess step one before the Introduction tonight will be helping you connect with your power, to feel it for what it is.” He focuses intently on the page in front of him. “This talks about some of the science of it. Maybe it’ll help us move through the first stage of training more quickly.”

I move to his side. It seems like he’s trying to avoid looking at me, so I study his profile as I set the bottle of water down on a clear corner, noticing he’s squinting a little and his jaw muscle is twitching. My gaze falls on the small medallion hanging from the leather strap around his neck. It’s really intricate, a twisted design of green metal, probably oxidized copper. It could almost be a tree. A piece of amber is embedded at the base. It must have been tucked in his shirt before, because I hadn’t noticed him wearing it.

“What’s that thing around your neck?” I ask.

He gives me a sideways glance. “It’s a torque.”

“Really? Don’t only demis wear those?”