Book 8: Something About Birthing Babies

Kenna

“Kenna.”

I reach up to rub my eyes, my back stiff from sleeping on the ground. 

“Kenna, wake up.”

Someone shakes me gently. 

“Hey!”

“What?” I groan, blinking into amber light shining directly in my face. I squint, and Evander’s features come into view, his expression washed with concern. “Ev? What’s going on?”

“You need to get up and come with me.”

As I come back to reality, unkindly thrust out of a dream I think had to do with the upcoming Rite, I hear voices outside. 

Evander wastes no time. Suddenly, I’m standing, and he’s laying a cloak over my shoulders, clasping it over my sternum. He works deftly in silence. 

Fabric brushes against my collarbone, and I feel a sudden spark of familiarity at the touch. I step back, feeling like I just experienced a shock to my system. 

Evander is wearing gloves–black gloves. The same kind of gloves the man I kissed wore.