Page 40 of Anatomy of the Immortal Species

Zacharia let her go, contemplating their conversation. After a while, he remembered Tina and dialled her number. “Hello, grumpy. Should I come over?”

“I’m already at work, Zacharia.”

“So, tonight?”

“We’ll see.” The call ended, signalling much more than the conclusion of a fruitless conversation.

14

Amelia ran a hand down the wrinkled page. Black letters in block script over white paper, reminding of ants scattered across fresh snow. Her fingers traced the sheet as if it were living flesh – softly, curiously. Just as they had explored Mikhail’s scarred skin. Under her touch, the four wounds had come alive, prompting her to want, to search, to receive… more. And therein lay the problem. What she’d wanted, Mikhail couldn’t give.

Amelia pierced the paper with her index finger. She didn’t want to think about that night.

She read the text her hand was pointing to.

“They all claim they knew me, too. They call me divine son. I know my provenance. I am not divine.

I am a mistake.”

A strange elation arose in her. She continued reading.

“They believe that by interacting with me, they’ll become stronger. But everything I touch loses its vigour. They want my companionship in order to feel special. But the only thing I can offer them is to become the ordeal on today’s menu.”

Amelia set the journal aside, goosebumps of enthusiasm spreading over her entire body.

Mikhail invaded her thoughts once again. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, trying to banish him from her mind. Instead, she found herself drawn back into a memory – the manticore pinning her beneath his magnificent body, his arousal pressing against her most intimate parts. She had stared into his glowing golden eyes, the torment of longing etched across hisfeatures. Suddenly, he blurred and transformed into a new face – a stranger who held her down, his lips crushing against hers. Her pulse quickened, and her body ignited with heat.

Amelia’s eyes flew open. It took her a few seconds to regain control of her breathing.

Had she just experienced a vision? She glanced at the discarded copy of C.’s journal. An unsettling feeling crept in – the stranger in her vision was the author. But who was the woman through whose senses she had perceived… whatever had just transpired?

Ever since she had become the Oracle, her body behaved strangely. She had lost her appetite, and when she did eat, it was only fruits and vegetables – everything else upset her stomach. Yet an unquenchable thirst plagued her. Often at night, her lips dried out, her throat tightening, and her skin stretched taut, like an ill-fitting shell. She would gulp down an entire glass of water, then another, and another.

And sometimes – like a moment ago – a hot wave would wash over her, heating her skin, making her breath hitch, and stirring certain scenes in her imagination…

Amelia sprang to her feet, deciding to clear her mind with some fresh air.

She was pulling on her boots when an unfamiliar melody made her jerk. Glancing around the room, she remembered the mobile phone Stella had left her earlier that day. Spotting it on the nightstand, she leaned over to read the name on the screen several times:Mikhail Korovin.

Amelia stared at the ringing phone. She hadn’t seen Mikhail since their strange conversation yesterday, when they had agreed their relationship would remain formal. So why did her hand tremble when she reached to answer the call? “Mikhail?”

“Hello. I’m outside your door.”

She snapped her head towards the mirror, inspecting her reflection – a cotton blouse and fitted pants, hair tied back in alow ponytail that reached the middle of her spine. Her face was pale, with a faint flush on her cheeks.

Get a grip. She cleared her throat. “I’m coming.”

Mikhail was waiting in the hallway, leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. Her gaze fell on the tattoo on his left forearm and her breath caught. She had seen his arms bare before, and there had been no tattoos. She stared, unable to tear her eyes away from the intricate design wrapping around his muscles like a sleeve. “You got a tattoo?”

He lowered his arms and glanced at the design before focusing back on her, frowning. “You can see it?”

“Yes, why?”

Mikhail cast a quick look down the corridor, then nodded towards her room. “Let’s go inside.”

Amelia peeked over her shoulder, remembering the sheets of paper she had written on. Even though she had discarded them, her muscles tensed at the thought of Mikhail entering her personal space.

She was about to come up with an excuse, but when she glanced at him again, he was inches from her face. She took a step back to create some distance between them, which he interpreted as an invitation, and walked right past her.