less angry than Max did, more accepting of her Gen 54 status. She smiled more often, and more easily. It made him feel way disloyal, but in some ways, Maya was just easier to be around than Max was.
Very carefully, with Fanglike stealth, he eased out fromunder Maya’s arm, lifting it and placing it back on his sleeping bag without waking her. He needed to… not be lying there anymore. He wasn’t comfortable with where his mind—or his heart—was taking him.
One glance showed Fang that the members of his small gang—Maya, Ratchet, Star, and Kate—were all still asleep. He poked at the sleeping bags and shook some shoulders but got little more in response than annoyed grunts and thick snores. These kids were definitely not the light sleepers the flock had been. Fang sighed. First, some fuel.
The previous night’s fire had been banked, and now Fang stirred the embers and added more tinder. Five minutes later he had a nice blaze, and he opened his wings, letting them bask in the heat. On the horizon, the sun was just starting to spill its pink glaze over the mountaintops. He tried to swallow the sense of urgency building within him. They weren’t actually being chased, he reminded himself. He was in charge.
Years on the run had taught Fang how to make almost anything edible, including desert rats, pigeons, cacti, dandelions, and stuff reclaimed from restaurant Dumpsters. But this morning he had better raw materials to work with. He set the collapsible grill over the fire and pulled out a lightweight bowl and the one small frying pan he had in his pack.
Max was… Max. She wasn’t easy, she wasn’t restful, she wasn’t a little dollop of sunshine. But since when did he need a little dollop of sunshine? It wasn’t exactly what alife on the run tended to create. Max was… his soul mate. Wasn’t she? She knew him better than anyone.
He cracked some eggs open a little more forcefully than he needed to and started whisking them in the bowl. He and Max had been through so much together—losses, betrayals, joyous reunions. Life-threatening injuries, gunshots, broken bones. Christmases and birthdays and Max Appreciation Days and Angel’s—
A pain almost physical made Fang pause as he chopped the supermarket ham. Don’t think about that , he told himself.
Anyway. Max. She was so familiar to him. So familiar. Maybe even… too familiar?
No! He couldn’t believe he was thinking that way. She still surprised him, after all. It was just that he hardly knew Maya. He couldn’t predict what she would say or how she would say it. It was all really… new.
He’d thought leaving the flock would simplify things, make things easier. Instead his life was just more complicated, more confusing.
He blinked when Maya’s arms came around his waist. Only years of pseudo-military training had kept him from jumping a foot in the air. How had she snuck up behind him?
“Mmm,” Maya said sleepily, leaning her head against his back. “That smells like heaven. Where’d you learn to cook like that? You’re amazing.”
Fang swallowed again and shrugged. “Just picked it up.”
Maya came to stand next to him, one arm still aroundhis waist. Her hair was just so… cute. He blinked again in surprise. When had he ever thought someone’s hair was cute ? Not since… never.
Frowning, he looked down at Maya, who met his frown with a slow smile. She reached up on her tiptoes as he stood, frozen, and kissed his cheek. Her lips were cool and soft.
“Thanks for… breakfast,” she said, and Fang got the feeling that he was caught in an undertow. And he didn’t know if he wanted to get out of it.
4
AS A RULE, I like to remain an international girl of mystery. I err on the side of caution, to put it mildly, and we used to go to extreme lengths to not let regular people see us fly. But we’d been outed ages ago, and now we bother with non-winged-person camouflage only when we absolutely have to.
All of which explains why we
Very carefully, with Fanglike stealth, he eased out fromunder Maya’s arm, lifting it and placing it back on his sleeping bag without waking her. He needed to… not be lying there anymore. He wasn’t comfortable with where his mind—or his heart—was taking him.
One glance showed Fang that the members of his small gang—Maya, Ratchet, Star, and Kate—were all still asleep. He poked at the sleeping bags and shook some shoulders but got little more in response than annoyed grunts and thick snores. These kids were definitely not the light sleepers the flock had been. Fang sighed. First, some fuel.
The previous night’s fire had been banked, and now Fang stirred the embers and added more tinder. Five minutes later he had a nice blaze, and he opened his wings, letting them bask in the heat. On the horizon, the sun was just starting to spill its pink glaze over the mountaintops. He tried to swallow the sense of urgency building within him. They weren’t actually being chased, he reminded himself. He was in charge.
Years on the run had taught Fang how to make almost anything edible, including desert rats, pigeons, cacti, dandelions, and stuff reclaimed from restaurant Dumpsters. But this morning he had better raw materials to work with. He set the collapsible grill over the fire and pulled out a lightweight bowl and the one small frying pan he had in his pack.
Max was… Max. She wasn’t easy, she wasn’t restful, she wasn’t a little dollop of sunshine. But since when did he need a little dollop of sunshine? It wasn’t exactly what alife on the run tended to create. Max was… his soul mate. Wasn’t she? She knew him better than anyone.
He cracked some eggs open a little more forcefully than he needed to and started whisking them in the bowl. He and Max had been through so much together—losses, betrayals, joyous reunions. Life-threatening injuries, gunshots, broken bones. Christmases and birthdays and Max Appreciation Days and Angel’s—
A pain almost physical made Fang pause as he chopped the supermarket ham. Don’t think about that , he told himself.
Anyway. Max. She was so familiar to him. So familiar. Maybe even… too familiar?
No! He couldn’t believe he was thinking that way. She still surprised him, after all. It was just that he hardly knew Maya. He couldn’t predict what she would say or how she would say it. It was all really… new.
He’d thought leaving the flock would simplify things, make things easier. Instead his life was just more complicated, more confusing.
He blinked when Maya’s arms came around his waist. Only years of pseudo-military training had kept him from jumping a foot in the air. How had she snuck up behind him?
“Mmm,” Maya said sleepily, leaning her head against his back. “That smells like heaven. Where’d you learn to cook like that? You’re amazing.”
Fang swallowed again and shrugged. “Just picked it up.”
Maya came to stand next to him, one arm still aroundhis waist. Her hair was just so… cute. He blinked again in surprise. When had he ever thought someone’s hair was cute ? Not since… never.
Frowning, he looked down at Maya, who met his frown with a slow smile. She reached up on her tiptoes as he stood, frozen, and kissed his cheek. Her lips were cool and soft.
“Thanks for… breakfast,” she said, and Fang got the feeling that he was caught in an undertow. And he didn’t know if he wanted to get out of it.
4
AS A RULE, I like to remain an international girl of mystery. I err on the side of caution, to put it mildly, and we used to go to extreme lengths to not let regular people see us fly. But we’d been outed ages ago, and now we bother with non-winged-person camouflage only when we absolutely have to.
All of which explains why we
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