Page 91

I woke with a start, the scent of smoke trapped in my hair even after the shower, dawn’s golden rays dancing in my curtains like fire. For a moment, I was there again, suffocating as I fought to subdue the fire and rescue Zeke.

As I struggled, a warm set of arms wrapped around me—slender and familiar. Syl.

I knew two things immediately as Zeke snuggled up against me from my other side—our bed was not meant for three, and I was absolutely not interested in having a threesome with Syl.

“Ugh, Syl, go to your own bed,” Zeke grumbled and reached over my body to shove at him a little, lacking any real venom.

Syl, for his part, wasn’t deterred. “I was here first. Fuck off.”

The bed around me jostled, and limbs flailed for a second before my back, warm and protected, went cold as a sudden weight left the bed before a thud shook the floor.

Zeke swore, scrambling in our blanket as he tangled into it, swearing more as Syl reeled the cover back in to snuggle up with me. “Boys are icky.”

“We are boys!” I fought to right the covers and lamented my cold backside as Zeke grumbled something about making breakfast for us.

Syl huffed. “You almost died.”

“Yeah, but that’s not Zeke’s fault. The guy had no interest in me.” From what I’d understood, it was rare, but not unheard of for government alphabet organizations to crop up every now and again and try some stunt with a library. Zeke would have been fine—eventually.

“I know the crawlers have infiltrated so much of the government. Lex, it’s bad. If they know the library is there, they’ll keep coming.” Syl buried his face against my chest and held tight. Twenty-two years as friends had made us nearly inseparable. Fate had us locked together.

“We’ll be fine.” I rolled over away from him and winced at the burning sensation below my navel. I held a hand over it, trying to soothe the little stripe of pain as I stared at the burned remains of Isa’s book on my dresser.

“Can you like…do a dive and pull her out?” Syl scooted over in bed to rest a hand on my shoulder while I breathed through all my morning aches and twinges.

I shook my head. “Whatever I pull out won’t be Isa. It will be just an amalgam of all the hers that existed in whatever body’s page I use. If it even still counts as a book.”

My magic still said it was a book, though, and I wanted to try. Leaving her corpse there on my dresser, magic fading, felt a little like letting her die slowly. “Morning, Isa.”

The book didn’t answer. Still just an ember of magic amid scorched pages. But something was alive in it and Zeke and I would figure it out.

I stood to ready myself to head for the bathroom, and a distinct sensation like a rubber band snapping, jerked through me, amplifying that burning point on my belly. “Ow!”

A hard gush and wet splatter fell from beneath my shirt and for a moment, I swore and tried to reach for my cock, face burning as I was convinced I’d pissed myself again.

A quick assessment of my body told me my bladder was still very full. “Oh, fuck…”

“Oh, fuck,” Syl agreed, scrambling out of our bed with a noise of disgust. A wet stripe had leaked down his shirt, and he sniffed at it, face wrinkling. “Smells like butter, pennies, and newborn babies.”

I sat back down abruptly as my stomach clenched, adding another gush of fluid to the floor over our new rug. My pouch line burned fiercely, and I doubled over, panting.

“Oh… Oh, fuck. Shit. Gross!” Syl fled the room with a gag, fighting out of his pajamas. His shorts lay in the hallway, shirt draped over the banister. “Ewwwww!”

“What’s going on?” Bitty’s curious voice echoed from downstairs. Before I could answer, Syl shrieked at her in terror, absolutely mortified he got baby juices on him.

“Baby juices?” Bitty puzzled, her voice a little raspy from sleep.

“Of several varieties!” Syl’s disgust brought my attention to my chest—leaking. I lifted the hem of my shirt to touch my pouch line and hissed when a finger sank in, the flesh stinging. Probably should wash my hands.

And take a piss.

I hoisted myself up and dragged myself to the bathroom, fighting my wet pants until they slapped to the floor while I engaged in some blatantly terrible aim because fuck them, I wasn’t going to sit to pee. I’d likely get stuck at my size and condition.

A part of me truly wished I’d have pissed myself—the very act of moving around hurt so bad that it sounded preferable.

I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to expect. We’d not thought out the process, and any messages to the author about her unwritten pouch-birth scenes had gone unanswered. Her PA, however, had offered a theory about how it would go and the bandaging for aftercare so… I could only hope.

As I finished my business, kicked off my pant and found a towel to wrap around my waist, knotted at the front to take the brunt of my leaking baby juices, I stood defeated before Bitty, arms crossed and face twisted into a smirk. “Baby time?”