get running, he
settled back against the cold marble, wrapping his arms around himself. He had this absurd need
to be held at the moment, so it was a good thing he was alone. Although he'd hoped the change
would make him stronger, it appeared to have nancied him out even more.
He thought back to killing those lessers. Right after he'd stabbed them he'd gotten such clarity as
to who he was and what kind of power he had. But that had all faded, so much so that he wasn't
sure he'd ever really felt that way.
He pushed open the shower door and stepped inside.
Christ, ow. The fine spray was like needles going into his skin, and when he tried to soap up his
arm that French-milled stuff Fritz bought stung like battery acid. He had to forced himself to
wash his face, and though it was cool to have stubble on his jaw for the first time in recorded
history, the idea of taking a razor to his puss was utterly repellent. Like drawing a cheese grater
down his cheeks.
He was washing his body off, being as gentle as he could, when he got to his privates. Without
thinking much of it he did what he had done all of his life, a quick sweep under his sac then
down himself-
This time the effect was different. He got hard. His… cock got hard.
God, that word seemed weird to use, but… well, that thing was definitely a cock now, something
a man had, something a man used-
The erection came to a halt. Just stopped swelling and lengthening. The curling ache in his lower
belly went away, too.
He rinsed the soap off himself, determined not to open the can of worms about him and sex. He
had enough problems. His body was a remote-controlled car whose antenna was broken; he was
going to class, where everyone was going to stare at him; and it dawned on him that Wrath must
know about the gun he'd had on him downtown. After all, he'd been brought back here somehow,
and Blay and Qhuinn would have had to explain what was doing with the scene. Knowing Blay,
the guy would try to protect John about the nine and cop to its being his, but what if that got the
guy kicked out of the program? No one was supposed to have weapons when they were out and
about. No one.
When John got out of the shower, toweling off wasn't an option. Even though it was cold as hell
he let himself air-dry as he brushed his teeth and clipped his nails. His eyes were superacute in
the dark, so finding what he wanted in the drawers wasn't a problem. Avoiding the mirror was,
though, so he went into his bedroom.
Opening up his closet, he took out a bag from Abercrombie & Fitch. Fritz had turned up at his
door with the thing weeks ago, and when John had taken a gander at the clothes he'd figured the
butler had lost his mind. Inside were a pair of brand-new distressed jeans, a fleece the size of a
sleeping bag, an XXXL T-shirt, and a pair of size-fourteen Nike Air Shox in a shiny new box.
Turned out Fritz, as usual, had been right. All of it fit. Even the boat-sized shoes.
As John stared down at his feet, he thought, man, those Nikes needed to come with PFDs and a
frickin' anchor, they were so big.
He left his room, his legs working in a gawky gait, his arms swinging loose, his balance off.
As he got to the head of the grand staircase he lifted his eyes to the ceiling, with its depictions of
great warriors.
He prayed he would be one. But he just couldn't see how in the hell he'd pull that off.
Phury woke up to the sight of the female of his dreams. Or maybe he was dreaming?
«Hi,» Bella said.
He cleared his throat, and still his voice was reedy as he replied, «Are you really here?»
«Yes.» She took his hand and sat on the edge of his bed. «Right here. How are you feeling?»
Shit, he'd worried her, and that was not good for the young.
With what little energy he had he did a fast mental mop-up, an OxyClean of his brain, sweeping
out the dredges of the red smokes he'd fired up, as well as the lethargy of injury and sleep.
«I'm fine,» he said, bringing his hand up so he could rub his good eye. Not a great idea. In his fist
was his drawing of her, crumpled up like he'd been hugging it in his sleep. He shoved the piece
of paper under the covers before