Page 53 of Awry
He’s not wrong.Of-age prostitution and most recreational drugs might be legal in Cascadia, but the darker aspects of both will always be out there.“The prez?”I ask.“Presh’s uncle?”
He nods.“The boys’ uncle too.”
Presh’s brothers, I presume he means.I grin at him, not quite certain why I feel comfortable in his presence.I’ve lived my life among casual acquaintances and useful contacts.Friendships have always felt … too indulgent, even for me.And a true friendship would require that the other person value me for more than … well, my abilities.
This degree of comfort can’t just be about Grinder having known my aunt.In any other scenario involving my recent death, I would have put as much distance between me and anyone else remotely connected to that death as soon as possible.But I didn’t even think about slipping out of the motel room, didn’t bother plotting an escape route or giving Grinder a little bit of apushto slip by him.
“And you?Are you all legitimate?”I say, teasing.“Every day, every hour?”
He chuckles, tucking the phone away.“Well, a biker has to be a biker.”
“Shifters need to be shifters,” I counter.
He flashes me a wide grin, then he touches my elbow lightly.
I wait a moment to see if my essence reacts to his touch, to see if there’s something I’m supposed to know about him — something that might explain this comfort I feel.But there’s nothing.And I’m relieved that it’s nothing more, nothing that requires something of me, some piece of me.Which is an odd reaction, so I write it off to my exhaustion.
“Do you want a tour?”he asks gently.
“Milkshake,” I say.Firmly.
He snorts again, touching the small of my back and gently guiding me toward a corner diner a couple of buildings away.
In my next blink, the threads of all the people just going about their regular lives around us are woven through and around the streets and buildings, superimposed across my entire field of vision.
I stumble.
Grinder’s hand shifts to my elbow, his grip firmer this time.“Just a few more steps,” he murmurs.His big body curves toward me as if he’s protecting me, as if he’ll pick me up if I fall.Or even try to stop me from falling.
I’m not sure anyone has ever actually done that before.Not while I’ve been conscious, at least.And I’m not sure the gesture counts when it was just moving me out of … necessity.
I’m not sure of anything right now.Which means I really shouldn’t be on my feet yet.
I pause for a moment, blinking rapidly and looking up at Grinder instead of trying to take in the entire town.His threads aren’t numerous or overly tangled, not like Presh’s multilayered, multi-tiered destiny.But they are vibrant, balanced.
“Just tired,” I say, inhaling deeply.
Under his predator musk, Grinder smells of evergreens and bonfires.More pure comfort.Though why those scents would be comforting to me, I have no idea.
“Aren’t you a little high up to be assigned babysitting duty?”I ask.
He grins easily, though his gaze is sharp and concerned.“I’m high up enough that even the boys can’t deny my … requests.”
It’s obvious he means orders.“But it wasn’t you sleeping in the other bed.”
“No.It wasn’t.”
I wait.
He doesn’t elaborate.Not even when I level a glare on him.
My stomach rumbles.
Loudly.
Keeping hold of my elbow, he picks up the pace until he’s practically dragging me the last few steps to the diner.The contact doesn’t bother me, though, because I have my own sight back.I usually have to look closely to see someone’s threaded path— but I’ve only been the Conduit for three weeks, and I’ve already died twice in that time.So ‘usually’ is really off the loom.
Not many people — even if they are powerful, highly ranked shifters — touch one of the awry willingly.Our powers are potentially invasive, manipulative.Uncontrollable, even.And more often than not, touch triggered.Telepaths, telekinetics, clairvoyants, harbingers, luck weavers, and curse breakers are a scary lot.And those are only the more well known of the subset of essence-wielders classified as the awry.We’re known as ‘twists’ to some.Or ‘the twisted.’We’re everything that’s wrong, amiss, skewed — the derogatory list goes on and on — within the world of essence.
