Her eyes were darker, yes, and her hair was fuller, much fuller, and even her grayish-blond eyebrows had darkened, so that she looked like a sister of herself, almost identical yet wholly different, with even a darker glow to her cheeks.
Dear God, he whispered without words. And then his heart began tripping and he felt he was going to be sick. This is how he'd looked to others in those days before the transformation had come on him, when those around him knew something had "happened" to him and he'd felt so completely remote, and without fear.
Was she that remote from him now, as he'd been from all his family? No, that couldn't be. This was Laura, Laura who'd just welcomed him, Laura who'd just taken him into her bed. He blushed. Why had he not known?
Nothing changed in her expression, nothing at all. That's how it had been with him. He'd stared like that, knowing others wanted something from him, but unable to give it. But then, in his arms, she'd been soft and melting as always, giving, trusting, close.
"Felix didn't tell you?" she asked. Even her voice seemed different, now that he knew. Just a richer timbre to it, and he could have sworn that the bones of her face were slightly larger, but that might have been his fear.
He couldn't get the words out. He didn't know what the words were. A flash of the heat of their lovemaking came back to him, and he felt an immediate arousal. He wanted her again, and yet he felt, what, sick? Was he sick with fear? He hated himself.
"How do you feel?" he managed. "Are you feeling bad at all, I mean are there any bad side effects?"
"I was a little sick in the beginning," she said.
"And you were alone and no one—?"
"Thibault's been here every night," she said. "Sometimes Sergei. Sometimes Felix."
"Those devils," he whispered.
"Reuben, don't," she said in the most simple and sincere way. "You mustn't for a moment think that anything bad has happened. You mustn't."
"I know," he murmured. He felt a throbbing in his face and in his hands. Of all places, his hands. The blood was rushing in his veins. "But were you ever in any kind of danger?"
"No, none," she said. "That simply doesn't happen. They explained all that. Not when the Chrism's passed and there are no real injuries to the person. Those who die, die when their injuries can't be overtaken by the Chrism."
"I figured as much," he said. "But we don't have a rule book to consult when we begin to worry, do we?"