Free The Mortal Bone by Marjorie M. Liu Page A

all my strength. My spine also ached. So did my head and nose. Dread and fear fluttered in my stomach, but I pushed it away.
    I was not paralyzed. I was alive. Everything else could be handled. Even the boys.
    I had to finish dressing while sitting down. Twisting around to get jeans on made me breathless. Grant clasped my ankle and helped me put on my boots. “Easy, there.”
    “You take it easy,” I muttered. “You look like hell, man.”
    “I feel like hell.”
    “You didn’t draw on our bond when you healed me.” I looked him straight in the eyes. “Are you now?”
    His mouth tightened. “Some.”
    “Screw that,” I replied. “Take what you need.”
    “I am.”
    “I don’t mean a sip.” I grabbed his hand, and squeezed. “I can’t lose you, Grant. I need you healthy.”
    I didn’t mean for my voice to sound so hoarse when I spoke, but it came out squeaky and breathless. I wasn’t embarrassed because it was Grant, but it did make me worried for myself. Losing the boys didn’t mean I could afford to lose my nerve. I had to be stronger than I ever had been before. Anything less might get me killed. And if I died, leaving Grant behind . . .
    I didn’t want to think about that. It made me angry at him—furious—but when I thought about losing Grant, I wasn’t sure I could say that I felt so different than he did. Spending the rest of my life without him . . . filled me with quiet, aching horror. Much like what I felt when I contemplated the next few days—or decades—of my life without Zee and the boys.
    “Grant,” I said, because he was too quiet, watching me with eyes that never saw less than my entire soul.
    “Okay,” he replied, and deep within that golden thread of light flared—with heat, and a pulsing thrum that made me feel as though a tiny ghost cat was purring inside my chest. Or maybe that was Dek, with his head draped off my shoulder, humming between my breasts.
    “Better?” I said to Grant.
    “I’m worried about you,” he replied.
    Beneath my heart, that coiled presence stirred and grazed our shared light. Power slithered through both of us, and it felt like an injection of adrenaline—or waking up clear-eyed after an especially good night’s sleep.
    Grant shivered, closing his eyes. “No.”
    Before the word was even out of his mouth, I shoved that dark entity away from our bond. It was like pushing wet sand, or cement, and its presence held on for a moment too long before fading.
    Grant rubbed his chest. “I thought we were done with that thing.”
    “Not as long as I’m alive,” I told him, feeling ill. “I’m sorry. The only way you’ll be safe—”
    “No,” he interrupted, fiercely. “No, we’re in this together.”
    Mal began humming Captain & Tennille’s “Love Will Keep Us Together.” Dek joined in, making a drumming sound with the clicking of his tongue. I patted their heads, watching Raw and Aaz eat their small arsenal of missiles, grenades, and potato chips.
    Zee, though, ignored us all—sitting very straight and staring into the darkness. His claws plucked fitfully at his teddy bear, stuffing falling all around him.
    Suddenly, he stiffened.
    Raw and Aaz stopped eating. Dek clung to my neck, while Mal slithered to Grant’s shoulder, draping over him with a protective hiss.
    I was no more vulnerable than on any other night, but I felt worse: exposed, naked, a target. My right hand tightened into a fist, armor glinting. I tried to stand.
    “You should stay here.” Grant also tried to stand—with difficulty, too. He took my outstretched hand, and I pulled him to his feet. Both of us grunting and wincing and swaying, like we were one hundred years old.
    “I’m too tired for sarcasm,” I muttered. “So let’s just stick with, ‘uh, no .’ ”
    He leaned hard on his cane, studying the darkness. “On the ridge. I see something.”
    Zee dragged his claws through the dirt. “Cutters, Maxine.”
    Demons.
    I took a steadying breath. I had the