"No escape clause?" she asked, surprised.
They negotiated terms over a third century.
It wasn’t the money. It wasn’t the immortality, or the wardrobe, or the impossible meals.
"No." She stepped out of her dress—pale skin, ribs like gill-slits, a spine that curved wrong, beautiful. "You won’t. I’ve been breathing air into your lungs every night while you sleep. You’re already half mine."
"I’m older than billionaires." She smiled, and her teeth were a row of tiny, perfect scallop shells. "I sank the Santa Cristina in 1743. The insurance payout alone, adjusted for inflation..." She waved a hand. "Perks."
She was tall, sharp-shouldered, with skin that shifted between porcelain and mother-of-pearl depending on the light. Her hair moved when the air did not. Her voice held the echo of a drowning.
He did. Badly. He told her so.
"No escape clause?" she asked, surprised.
They negotiated terms over a third century.
It wasn’t the money. It wasn’t the immortality, or the wardrobe, or the impossible meals.
"No." She stepped out of her dress—pale skin, ribs like gill-slits, a spine that curved wrong, beautiful. "You won’t. I’ve been breathing air into your lungs every night while you sleep. You’re already half mine."
"I’m older than billionaires." She smiled, and her teeth were a row of tiny, perfect scallop shells. "I sank the Santa Cristina in 1743. The insurance payout alone, adjusted for inflation..." She waved a hand. "Perks."
She was tall, sharp-shouldered, with skin that shifted between porcelain and mother-of-pearl depending on the light. Her hair moved when the air did not. Her voice held the echo of a drowning.
He did. Badly. He told her so.