didn’t think he was actually in danger. He was capable, smart, and, with a gun at his side, deadly. Plus, he’d given her instructions in case he didn’t return soon for a reason—because he’d been expecting, even planning not to.
She felt in her bones that he was alive. Which meant her emotions had vacillated from fear that he was in some kind of trouble, to sadness that he might have abandoned her, to anger that he’d skipped out after leaving her with so many questions.
She was pissed that he couldn’t spare a single call to his only child. Hey, Pop, not only did I survive the Florida training camp, I’m going to be an Olympian! Thanks for calling in for an update. . . .
Fear, sadness, anger. Rinse and repeat. Her emotions spun as wildly as a roulette wheel.
She’d long since taken stock of her situation, trying to get a sense of her life, her overall field position. She’d come up with three truths.
One: her dad was almost certainly part of that Order. Two: she’d told him she was changing, and he’d given her that Living Book of Lore , an encyclopedia of myths, for a reason. He must believe she was one of those detrus that shouldn’t be allowed to live.
Three: he still loved her. . . .
She’d dutifully read every page of that book, perusing thousands of entries from Amazons and kobolds to witches and Valkyries. Did Chloe believe that yard gnomes, fairies, Shreks, and Edwards roamed the earth?
Um, not quite. Believing in those creatures meant she had to believe in her own looming transition—you couldn’t have one without the other. If they existed, then Dad wasn’t crazy. If Dad wasn’t crazy, then she was an undetonated detrus.
So she’d decided to hold out on accepting an entirely new world for as long as possible. Still, for shits and giggles, she’d tried to match up her new symptoms to a species.
No appetite? Maybe Valkyrie. Superhuman senses? Most of them.
Supercharged sex drive? All of them.
In the past, her libido had been so dormant that even countless hours watching RedTube.com couldn’t spark it to life. Yet now she kept dreaming of a faceless man doing things to her, wicked things.
Sometimes he’d coax his erect penis between her lips, making her moan with satisfaction as she began to suck. Other times she’d feel the weight of his body pressing down on hers, his shaft sliding in and out of her until he treated her to the burning heat of his semen.
She would wake up throbbing with lust.
Chloe had brought herself to come before now, of course, but herorgasms had been so lackluster, so, well, anticlimactic , that she’d wondered what all the hubbub was about. There was a reason she hadn’t done more than kiss a boy; she’d never believed that overcoming her dread of dating was even worth it.
Now? She was getting an idea about all the hubbub.
She seemed to be developing a new sensibility toward men, an appreciation of them. When passing some guy on the street, a prominent Adam’s apple or a wide jaw or developed chest would draw her eye. She’d caught herself checking out asses—and assets.
It was like her own sex drive was coming online for the first time, a process she’d come to think of as awakening.
All she knew for certain was that the next chance she had to score with a halfway decent guy, she was taking it to the net.
Her awakening wasn’t the only change in her. She couldn’t sleep more than three or four hours a night. Despite having zero appetite and barely eating, she hadn’t lost an ounce of weight. In fact, her jeans were tighter.
Even stranger? Whenever she did manage to choke down a meal, the food seemed to stave off the awakening, blunting her sex drive.
All her life, she’d controlled her training, her heart rate, the shape and condition of her body—now everything was beyond her, and the transformation seemed to be escalating. . . .
Over the last week since she’d returned from Florida, she’d stared at her mother’s
She felt in her bones that he was alive. Which meant her emotions had vacillated from fear that he was in some kind of trouble, to sadness that he might have abandoned her, to anger that he’d skipped out after leaving her with so many questions.
She was pissed that he couldn’t spare a single call to his only child. Hey, Pop, not only did I survive the Florida training camp, I’m going to be an Olympian! Thanks for calling in for an update. . . .
Fear, sadness, anger. Rinse and repeat. Her emotions spun as wildly as a roulette wheel.
She’d long since taken stock of her situation, trying to get a sense of her life, her overall field position. She’d come up with three truths.
One: her dad was almost certainly part of that Order. Two: she’d told him she was changing, and he’d given her that Living Book of Lore , an encyclopedia of myths, for a reason. He must believe she was one of those detrus that shouldn’t be allowed to live.
Three: he still loved her. . . .
She’d dutifully read every page of that book, perusing thousands of entries from Amazons and kobolds to witches and Valkyries. Did Chloe believe that yard gnomes, fairies, Shreks, and Edwards roamed the earth?
Um, not quite. Believing in those creatures meant she had to believe in her own looming transition—you couldn’t have one without the other. If they existed, then Dad wasn’t crazy. If Dad wasn’t crazy, then she was an undetonated detrus.
So she’d decided to hold out on accepting an entirely new world for as long as possible. Still, for shits and giggles, she’d tried to match up her new symptoms to a species.
No appetite? Maybe Valkyrie. Superhuman senses? Most of them.
Supercharged sex drive? All of them.
In the past, her libido had been so dormant that even countless hours watching RedTube.com couldn’t spark it to life. Yet now she kept dreaming of a faceless man doing things to her, wicked things.
Sometimes he’d coax his erect penis between her lips, making her moan with satisfaction as she began to suck. Other times she’d feel the weight of his body pressing down on hers, his shaft sliding in and out of her until he treated her to the burning heat of his semen.
She would wake up throbbing with lust.
Chloe had brought herself to come before now, of course, but herorgasms had been so lackluster, so, well, anticlimactic , that she’d wondered what all the hubbub was about. There was a reason she hadn’t done more than kiss a boy; she’d never believed that overcoming her dread of dating was even worth it.
Now? She was getting an idea about all the hubbub.
She seemed to be developing a new sensibility toward men, an appreciation of them. When passing some guy on the street, a prominent Adam’s apple or a wide jaw or developed chest would draw her eye. She’d caught herself checking out asses—and assets.
It was like her own sex drive was coming online for the first time, a process she’d come to think of as awakening.
All she knew for certain was that the next chance she had to score with a halfway decent guy, she was taking it to the net.
Her awakening wasn’t the only change in her. She couldn’t sleep more than three or four hours a night. Despite having zero appetite and barely eating, she hadn’t lost an ounce of weight. In fact, her jeans were tighter.
Even stranger? Whenever she did manage to choke down a meal, the food seemed to stave off the awakening, blunting her sex drive.
All her life, she’d controlled her training, her heart rate, the shape and condition of her body—now everything was beyond her, and the transformation seemed to be escalating. . . .
Over the last week since she’d returned from Florida, she’d stared at her mother’s
Similar Books
