8
CLAIRE
The winter sunlight is waning when Era walks outside to the detached garage. Draynor settles onto his motorcycle. He dons his helmet, hiding his black hair and craggy flesh from the sun.
I remain still. I wait.
I am not concerned that they might see me — Draynor isn’t nearly as powerful when his b***h human isn’t around. And he won’t be looking for me up here, in the trees, sitting amongst the chilly branches, the gray wood almost the same color as I am. Being able to shift into a series of doves is immensely helpful, and it’s the only state of being where I feel whole. I have lost some pieces of myself, but as the doves, I am a series of fully complete organisms, a flock with a single brain. That’s all a hive really is, is it not?
The world around me explodes into sound as D
