Page 73 of Bizarre Bonds
Every part of me aches to lean into her body, to soak up the tenderness she can offer for real.
But this distant caress is good too. She’s with me even though I wandered off.
She caught my distress and is drawing me out of it without even needing to be in shouting range.
As the shame that gripped me melts away, a spark of excitement quivers to life at the center of me.
This—this bond that ties us together—it isn’t chaining or caging me, is it? The mark Peri placed on me isn’t anything like a shackle.
It’s a safety line, there for me to grasp hold of if I careen out into stormy seas, so she can guide me back to firmer ground. And she always will, just like I will for her if she needs it.
Why haveIbeen so scared of this closeness when it’s the one thing guaranteed to ward off all my fears? How is it anything but delightful?
I laugh into the shadows and spring back toward the streets. Urgency resonates through my essence alongside the swell of relief.
Peri might need me for more than emotional comfort very soon. She’s about to put herself directly in front of the most brutal shadowkind I’ve ever met.
If the emotions I’m picking up from her are accurate… she’s setting off to position herself as bait right now.
26
Periwinkle
Here I am taking a perfectly innocent stroll down the city street. With my hands tucked in the pockets of my leather jacket, I amble along as if I’m simply enjoying the balmy spring weather and taking in the sights through the shop windows.
What a delightful tower of shoes! Let me pause and take a closer look.
And how about those pictures of burgers and fries, with colors so vivid you’d think they were radioactive? They’re worth gazing at for a moment or two.
The slower I saunter, the more likely Viscera will notice I’m back in town and decide to strike up a conversation. Or pelt me with cars. I’m still not sure whether the warped higher shadowkind’s reasons for asking about me by name were friendly or hostile.
Shewasasking for me, though, so I’m giving this bait thing my best shot. I should be reasonably eye-catching with my turquoise hair uncovered and my current sundress striped with an it-should-clash-but-doesn’t combo of green and neon pink.
I just can’t help feeling incredibly self-conscious with every step I take.
That’s fine. I can grin and bear it so we’ll finally get this destructive maniac subdued.
And if she does start hurling cars at me, I’ll dive into the shadows like my butt’s on fire.
I probably do look a little odd, because no one else is wandering the street so casually. A few people have showed up in taxis and practically sprinted into their places of business. Not many shoppers or restaurant goers frolic in the buildings behind the windows.
Viscera has never attacked this neighborhood, but she’s got the whole city braced in fear of her next rampage.
Wehaveto stop her.
Little twinges of uneasiness, salty-fishy as dried herring, ripple through me with every step. Those aren’t only from the nearby humans. My awareness of my marked men has intensified with each moment that’s brought us closer: my kiss with Jonah, my intimate collision with Hail, the tender compassion I extended to Mirage yesterday, which brought him back to our group for the first hug he’s offered since I accidentally bound them.
It's as if we’re even more connected now than we were before. Because we’re all accepting this connection, whatever exactly it means, rather than struggling with it?
I still have no idea how any of this works. Which doesn’t seem right, since I’m the one who made it happen. Shouldn’t we come into existence with an innate understanding of how our own powers work?
Someone really should have a word with whoever’s in charge.
After about a half hour of the most believable strolling I can manage without straying out of the streets we decided on, I start to whistle. If Viscera hasn’t seen me, maybe she’ll hear me?
My cheerful tune lilts through the streets. I’m not sure how in-tune I am, but I’m definitely audible. And who doesn’t like the simple melody of “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star”?
Well, I guess someone doesn’t. A man opens a third-floor window just to yell at me, “Cut it out, you… you punk!”
