Page 13 of Killian
Wolf-sized, at least, and... elevated?
“Moira,” whispered Killian, reaching for his pants.
Why had he picked wolf as a designator of size?
“Mm? Wha—” The word died on her lips, and he felt her tense as the tapping sound got closer. He slid out from under her and wriggled into his pants. He looked at the contents of their bags, now mingled on the floor. Moira had an odd box with a medical seal sticker over the latch. Was she diabetic? Should he be worrying? Shouldtheybe worrying? Would she even remember if she had diabetes?
Click, click, click.
The sound was getting closer. The thing was walking along the tops of the bookshelves. There didn’t appear to be any weapons among the items on the floor. He finished pulling on his pants and looked for Moira. She had gotten as far as underwear and a shirt. She was so fucking sexy he could barely stand it.
“Focus, Adeche,” she whispered, snapping her fingers at him.
“I am!”
“On the wrong thing,” she whispered back, a grin on her lips as she pulled on her pants. “We need weapons.”
He looked around the room. There really wasn’t anything. He could break a chair or a table, he supposed. But it was either that or smother someone with a pillow. Moira had gotten her pants on and was shoveling their belongings indiscriminately back into their bags.
“Shoes,” hissed Killian, going to the archway. He stayed in the shadow of the curtains as he pulled on his own boots. His nose twitched, and he swiped at it in irritation. There was something out there, but he wasn’t sure what. There was a metal sort of smell that he associated with gardens, but he couldn’t understand why.
Moira threw the rest of their belongings into his bag and cinched it shut. Then she brought it and the glowsticks to him at the doorway.
“Anything?” she asked, pressing close against him to whisper in his ear. Killian shook his head. The sound of claws had stopped, but now there was something else. He could feel the atmosphere moving outside their cozy room as if something was stirring the air, but he couldn’t hear anything. It was like listening for a bird in flight, but there wasn’t even a rustle of feathers. Beside him, Moira lifted her face and sniffed. Then she wrinkled her nose and shook her head, clearly puzzled too.
Killian was struck by two thoughts. The first was that Moira wrinkling her nose was adorable. The second was that theentire movement wasn’t particularly… human. It didn’t seem unnatural, but it didn’t seem right either, and Killian couldn’t explain, even to himself, why that was.
“What do you think?” she hissed. “Go out?”
Killian thought about it. Whatever was out there might go and leave them in peace, but the fact that the sound of claws had stopped virtually over their heads made him suspicious. He didn’t think they could stay here, waiting for whatever it was to drop on them.
“We head out, stick close to the wall, and then dodge between the bookcases?” he suggested pointing. Moira nodded.
“Keep an eye up there, though,” she said, pointing at the nearest bookcase in front of them. “I swear whatever it was came from over there.” It was Killian’s turn to nod.
Killian stepped cautiously out into the library, keeping his glowstick covered by his hand and down at his side. He took a cautious step and then another, but the hair on the back of his neck lifted as if he were being watched. He could feel that something was out here with him. No, not something, many things. A soft susurration filled the air as of waving hands, and the metallic smell became more pronounced. Not metallic… like… sea shells but not. Like bone meal and dirt. Like… bugs.
A thing dropped onto his head.
Fat and squirming with a hard shell, it felt like he’d been hit in the face by a chitinous slug. Moira shrieked and swatted at his head, sending him staggering. Killian grabbed for it, but it seemed to be trying to latch onto his hair. Panicking, he snatched at it and flung the thing away. He turned back to Moira but looked up and saw that the roof of their pavilion was covered in a writhing silver mass of insect-like creatures, each over a foot in length. As they watched, one detached from the others and seemed to leap toward Moira, long antenna flailing. Reacting with adrenalin-fueled instincts, he swung his hand to bat itaway. But even as he moved, it felt like his hand was tearing, and he watched in horror as his fingertips extended into long claws.
He slammed the insect back toward the roof, and Moira screamed again and ran back into their room. Killian retreated into the study hall after her, panting. He looked at his hand. It looked human again. Had he hallucinated? What the hell had just happened?
There was a splintering noise, and he looked around to find Moira breaking the legs off a table with swift, sharp kicks. She pulled the top out of the wreckage and held it over her head.
“I cannot have bugs in my fur,” she said. “I will literally die of horror. I don’t know what other arrangements we have in our relationship, but I assure you that you are in charge of killing bugs.”
“I’m fairly certain that whatever our agreement, bugs the size of my fucking head were not included on the list.”
“Are you welching on the deal?”
“The deal you just made up? Absolutely not. I’m saying pass me a table leg. I’m going to need a larger fly swatter.
Moira stared at him for a long second.
“I really did just make it up,” she said.
“Yeah, I know. Table leg?”
