Chrysalis (The Formicary #1)

by S.E. Harmon

Last time I checked, dying isn't always up to you. I scowled as I bit back a response. I certainly didn’t want to piss off a spirit guide or angel or whatever the hell she was. I didn’t know what she was capable of. She might just turn me into a frog for shits and giggles. Were angels allowed do to that kind of vengeful shit?

“Lay it on me, Doc,” I said dramatically. “I’m contagious, aren’t I?” He huffed again and moved the chair to the side of the bed. “No, but you’re dramatic as fuck. And I think it’s terminal.”

I’d wager there was none of my precious particleboard here. I hadn’t seen my place yet, but I was willing to put money on the fact that it wasn’t quite this nice. A roach would probably greet me the minute I walked in the door, demanding, Where the fuck have you been? I need more crumbs.

Discarded mail was on the table next to an honest-to-goodness letter opener. Maniac. Didn’t he know you were supposed to tear envelopes open haphazardly? If your method didn’t threaten to rip the letter inside, you weren’t doing it right.

Filthy visions danced through my head, as my brain made an executive decision once again. I wrote my brain a short missive. To Whom It May Concern, You have more important things to do than create a pornographic film reel of all the dirty things you and Gray did together. Get to work on who shot us in the fucking head. Please and thank you in advance. Sincerely, Christian Cross (That is our name, right?)

The comforter was thick and fluffy and white, and my feet whimpered a little. Forget getting a good night’s sleep—I was going to have a good night’s coma.

found him working a knife through a carrot. The vigor he was using to slice and dice clearly meant that the carrot had tried to kill someone he loved. He finished that carrot and positioned another. He lopped off the knobby end part with no adieu. Ah, a carrot assassin family, then, and Gray finally caught them. No quarter given to those orange bastards.

He chuckled. “Why is it that anything food-related you remember?” “My stomach is a real go-getter and has no intention of waiting for Brain.”

What the fuck had I been thinking? I didn’t know Old Me, but I wanted to fuck him up good. Old Me, meet New Me outside at three o’clock. I’m gonna kick your ass…which is also my ass. It’s probably going to be hella confusing, but let’s do it anyway.

Still, a clotheshorse was a clotheshorse, and when he started prancing and whinnying about his clothing, you just went with it. Either that or put him out to pasture.

I sighed. I would rather slide back across the ice on my belly than try to skate again. I took his hand, and we windmilled a few moments before I brought him down with me again. Gray made an oof sound, which was ridiculous since I’d cushioned his fall with several of my vital organs.

I used the fancy floral plates Gray bought for company… because that’s exactly what Devin was. And he should know it. Passive aggressiveness could be a beautiful thing. Dinner was appropriately awkward. I could tell Devin expected me to grab a plate and take my intruding ass upstairs.

He turned and headed toward the street, where I could see his car idling at the curb. That trusting motherfucker hadn’t even turned the damn thing off. In this part of town, he was lucky not to be coming back to a shell on bricks.

“I think I’m a long-distance runner,” I announced. “That’s probably my big secret.” “Why on earth would you keep that secret?” Hmm. Good question. I tapped my finger on my lips as I thought and then snapped my fingers. “I was probably training for the Olympics, and someone tried to Nancy Kerrigan me.”

“Fine. Go USA. As long as you don’t try that chef thing again, I can get onboard. Because that was a hell no. And while we’re on the topic, don’t touch my plumbing again. You’re not a handyman, either.” I huffed. It didn’t seem like an appropriate time to remind him that while I might not have been a plumber, I damn sure knew how to handle pipe.

The guys began to engage in the time-honored tradition of wooing a woman by telling her all the dirty things they’d like to do “that phat juicy ass.” Because that always worked.

Hard boots were better. If you managed to land a kick, you wanted that motherfucker to feel it in his soul.

I swore. I was never gonna get my security deposit back. I was pretty sure there was a no dead guys in the living room clause.

“What the hell did I come up here for?” he muttered. “Please say something involving my dick.” A little laugh escaped before he could stop it. He glared at me. “Absolutely not.” He glanced down again despite himself, and as if my dick could tell it was his time to shine, it jerked a few times.

Maybe I used to play hockey. I enjoyed that thought for about two nanoseconds before I remembered that I went to the Bambi school of ice skating. That would probably make flying across the ice after a teeny-tiny puck kind of…difficult.

“I didn’t send for the death squad Uber.” “And yet here we are.”

I met his frightened gaze in the rearview mirror. He looked younger than the others, certainly a rookie in this business. Hopefully, this experience would lead him to a different career choice. My nose wrinkled as the scent of urine hit my sensitive nose. Or at least the foresight to wear some Huggies before his future missions. You are not a big boy now.

I went with the most important one. “That I would burn down the whole world for you. Just throw a match on the whole thing and watch it burn with no regrets, as long as I get to fuck you one more time on the ashes.”

“So…you love me?” “Isn’t that what I just said?” I asked testily. For a guy like me, that was pretty much the same thing. “I love you, too. And feel free to say that next time. Just…that.” He shook his head. “I love you, Gray and less fucking on the ashes of a hellscape.” “Oh.” I paused. “Well, you have to tell me these things.”