Текст книги "Mate"

Автор книги: Ali Hazelwood

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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 26 страниц)

CHAPTER 17

The covenant was never a big part of his life. He would forget about it for months, even years. It never felt like a sacrifice, just a simple trade-off, an integral feature of who he was: the Alpha of the Northwest.

Then she arrived, assumed total control of him, and left no room for anything but her.

DON’T BE NERVOUS.”

“I’m not.”

“Koen. I know it’s been a while for you.”

“Just fucking get it over with.”

“What? No, that’s not how you do it. This is an experience.”

“Then make it a quick experience.”

“Why are you being like this? I’ll be gentle. Am I not gentle?”

“You mispronounced ‘annoying.’ ”

“Oh, come on. I’m having fun.”

“I wish I could say the feeling is mutual.”

“Should we put down a sheet or something? You’re making way more of a mess than I thought you would. Though I guess it’s normal, since it’s been so long.”

“If anyone’s making a mess, it’s you.”

“Hush. I’m doing this for you. The entire pack thinks you’re hopeless, but I’ll help you show them that– ”

The door bursts open, and Koen and I fall silent mid-haircut.

It’s very poor timing. I’m almost done with what will surely be known, postmortem, as Serena Paris’s most challenging and powerful artistic endeavor, but two women and a man are rudely letting themselves inside and interrupting my creative process.

“Does anyone ever knock?” I whisper.

“No, clearly. And I’m not sure what it is about me that says ‘make yourself at home.’ ” Koen glances down at the uncompromising bend of his own arms, folded on his bare chest. Then asks, louder, “Did someone install a fucking red carpet over my porch steps?”

“I must have missed it,” the man says. He is bald, with a long blond beard, thick-rimmed glasses, and a someone just dented my paint job frown.

“I’m not sure I feel comfortable knowing that my Alpha let some girl with scissors play around his throat,” the taller of the two women says, sounding just as irritated.

Koen shrugs. “Feel free to mull it over and never let me know, Anneke.”

“I think he looks good,” the other woman says, which I take as a much-needed compliment.

“Why, thank you.” I press one hand against my chest. “I do believe my muse is speaking to me.”

The woman’s laughter is low and musical. She’s much smaller than Anneke, and she looks a couple of years older than Koen. Unlike the other two newcomers, her stance is laid-back. She did not come here for a fight. “It was time for a change. Not that the depressed Viking cosplay wasn’t hot,” she tells Koen, who winces and massages his forehead.

“Is there a single fucking person in this godforsaken pack who does not have an opinion about my grooming habits?”

“No,” the three reply in unison, which gives me the boost I needed to continue shaving Koen’s beard.

“The reason we are here, Alpha,” the man starts, “is that– ”

“The pack newsletter let you know that I have a woman– my mate, no less– staying in my cabin as we wait for this new tide of murderous psychos to ebb, and you’re afraid I’m fucking her. Sound about right?”

Anneke and the man exchange surprised looks, but the older woman just smiles. I run my hand through Koen’s hair and tilt back his head until his neck is exposed. He follows my directions, pliant in my hands. “He’s not,” I say distractedly.

“He’s not . . . ?” Anneke asks.

“Breaking the covenant. I remain tragically unfucked.”

There’s sudden tension in his bare back, the trip of a heartbeat that I can detect only because I’m in his space, touching him. A tic of his jaw.

Ah. So you were hoping I wouldn’t find out. “Tip your chin up, Koen– perfect.” I swipe the razor down the column of his throat and run my fingers over his skin, pleased with the smooth slip. Koen didn’t have any shaving cream, so I’m using a blend of soap and conditioner. I take a short moment to admire my handiwork, and then smile at Anneke. “He’s not madly in love with me, either. Honestly, he barely even talks to me.”

“And yet he lets you brandish a weapon around his neck.”

“It’s more like community service, Anneke,” the older woman murmurs, and we exchange an amused look. I wonder what her name is—

“Karolina,” she tells me, lips curling. “And this is Xabier. We are three-fifths of the Assembly.”

“Serena. I’d shake your hand, but . . .”

“Understood.”

“Now that we’ve exchanged friendship bracelets,” Koen says, “can we move on with our day?” He makes to stand, but I push him back down with a firm hand on his shoulder.

“Not until I’m done, buddy.” I step around to work on the other half of his face but stop when I notice the way they’re all regarding me.

Well, not all. Koen is just his habitual, long-suffering self. The others, though, watch us open-mouthed. I smell a surge of panic. Sudden alert. Sphincters clenched tight enough to make diamonds.

“Are we . . . are we being attacked by the Vampyres?” I switch my hold on the razor to use it as a weapon, ready for an invasion. So ready. They don’t need to know that earlier I pulled a muscle while combing my hair.

“It’s hardly evidence that you two are not in a relationship,” Xabier points out, “the way she takes liberties. Gives you orders.”

“Is it?” Koen sounds bored. “You three just showed up to my house to tell me what to do, and last I checked, I’m not fucking any of you.”

“Stop moving,” I murmur, going back to shaving him. “Or I’m going to nick you, and they’re going to think I’m pregnant with your triplets.”

Koen stills, but the corners of his lips twitch. “She’s not taking liberties, she is given them. If anyone here is questioning my authority, it’s you.”

“We are not,” Anneke says. “But we are concerned. Must we remind you– ”

“No. I don’t need to be reminded of shit. But if you want to anyway, go ahead. I know it’s a cherished hobby of yours.”

“Koen knows why the rules are there,” Karolina says, diplomatic. “Better than anyone. He has never given us reason to doubt him.”

“He hasn’t,” Xabier agrees. “But he did not have a mate before.”

Koen grunts. “When the pack reunited, I promised that if I found her, I’d immediately inform you, and I did. The day I met her. I am the reason you can be on me like stink on shit. Unfortunately, she’s also a hybrid in need of protection, which I won’t withhold just to convince the Assembly that nothing is happening.”

“Plus,” I ask, “wouldn’t you be able to smell it?”

Karolina quirks her head. “What do you mean, Serena?”

“Well, two of the seconds are together, and last night I could easily tell that they regularly exchange bodily fluids.” I finish running a warm cloth against Koen’s cheeks and step back, searching for missing spots. I’ll be sad, if he ever holds me again, without the scratch of his beard against my skin. I was . . . yeah. Into it.

This was a fun activity, though. My favorite in a while. There’s something nice about being close to my Alpha. Taking care of him, as he does of me. Breathing in his soothing scent, preparing for what’s to come, comfort for—

Whoa.

Whoa, whoa, whoa.

Where did my brain go just now? How long was I silent?

“I guess my point is”– I clear my throat– “that your nose would tell you if something was happening between us.”

“Maybe they have a cold,” Koen drawls. “Maybe that cold made their brains leak out of their ears.”

“Koen, given your history– ”

“My history?” He stands, suddenly towering over all of us. The little strands of chopped hair still clinging to his shoulders silently slip to the floor. Xabier, who spoke last, takes a step back. “Do tell me more about my history. What have I done to warrant these doubts?”

“Your– ”

“Think very carefully before you finish that sentence.”

“Hey.” My hand meets the hard heat of Koen’s stomach, and I quietly slip in front of him, ignoring the additional helping of befuddled looks it earns me. “Listen, you may not know me, but Koen has been your Alpha for years. There’s no need to treat him like a fuckboy.”

Three pairs of eyes blink at me. From behind me, Koen asks, “A what?”

“A fuckboy. Just, you know. A boy. Who fucks.” God, Misery’s right. Some things simply do not translate to the Weres. “What I’m trying to say is, he told me that nothing would happen between us on the day we first met. And I’m not about to try to disintegrate his free will with my magic cunt. Okay?” I hold Xabier’s eyes until he nods his agreement, and while he doesn’t look happy as he storms out, he’s at least gone. Anneke makes to leave afterward, marginally more reassured.

“I trust you, Koen,” she says. “I didn’t mean to imply that I don’t. But I want to remind you that no other Were is strong enough to hold the Northwest together, and if your worries about Constantine turn out to be true . . . We are in your hands, Alpha. Keep that in mind.” She slips outside with considerably less stomping, leaving us to stand in a long silence, and me to wonder, who the hell is—

“Who told you about the covenant?” Koen asks me.

Hands on my hips, I turn around. “I find it interesting that you didn’t tell me yourself, since you’re so big on the truth.”

“Didn’t come up.” I see forced indifference in the tension of every single muscle in his body. “Who told you?”

“I have my sources.” I give him my best cryptic, superspy smile, refusing to throw Amanda under the bus.

“Isn’t she lovely to have around,” he tells Karolina, wrapping a hand around my shoulder. His touch hits me like a small supernova, lighting up a million nerve endings. Heat licks down my arm, up my spine, pools in my belly. “She’s high maintenance. Talks too much. Can’t mind her business. The very opposite of how I like my pack members– seen but not heard.”

I snort. “He doesn’t like to see them, either.”

“Yeah. True enough.”

“Fascinating.” Karolina’s gaze alternates between us. “You said it’s not mutual? You’re not her mate even though she’s yours?”

Koen’s nod is detached, like he’s confirming something inconsequential. Yes, leeks are indeed my favorite seasonal vegetable.

“And yet she doesn’t feel the pull to obey you.”

“Should I?” I ask brightly.

“Not quite. The rumor that an Alpha can brainwash other Weres into doing his bidding is vastly exaggerated– there is no magic compulsion. But our instinct is to avoid defying them. I definitely cannot remember the last time I saw a Were give Koen orders, even one as simple as ‘sit down.’ ”

“She’s not fully Were,” Koen reminds her.

“And I’m not the only one. You three came over just to yell at him.”

“We are the Assembly. It’s our job to hold the Alpha accountable– we are trained to go against our nature.” She rolls her eyes. “Though this was an unnecessary execution of our duties.”

“Let me guess,” Koen drawls, “Xabier and the giant pole that lives up his rectum had a bad dream and convinced Anneke that I was a step away from eloping with Serena and becoming a deadbeat Alpha, so you followed them here to make sure I didn’t dissolve them in battery acid.”

Karolina tries not to smile, but her relationship with Koen seems to run deep. “I can neither confirm nor deny.”

“Is the rest of the Assembly going to be balls deep up my ass?”

“Not Conan– you know how little he likes the covenant. Jerzy, maybe. He’s busy dealing with the Canada pack, though.”

“He knows my offer for help stands, right?”

“Of course.” Karolina turns to me. “Serena, let me introduce myself properly. I am the leader of the Moon Craters huddle. Saul, whom I believe you know, is my younger brother.”

“Nice to meet you,” I say.

“After all of this is over,” she asks, “where do you plan to go?”

Rotting down a dark hole, preferably inside a mushroom death suit is not an acceptable answer, is it? “My sister lives in the Southwest.”

“Ah, yes. The Vampyre? Well, should you change your mind, you are welcome in our huddle. You were a financial reporter, right?”

“Before. Yes.”

“We’ve been doing more and more business with the Humans. We could use someone with your background.”

“Oh. That’s really cool. I . . . I’ll give it a think,” I say, somewhat sad that it’s a lie. I try to camouflage it with a smile. “I’m sure I’d thrive there. I mean, I get along with you and Saul. It’s gotta be a sign.”

“It’s not a sign,” Koen declares flatly. “It’s fucking poaching.”

Karolina laughs, reaches forward to exchange a long hug with Koen, and then leaves as I yell after her, “Please, do share with the pack newsletter about my excellent work as Koen’s personal groomer.” I turn around to receive what should be Koen’s undying gratitude but will likely be a giant load of crabbiness, and—

Suddenly, I cannot breathe.

Because I didn’t expect him to be standing so close to me. But also, clean shaven and without his hair hiding his features, he seems younger. Less moody. His face feels so . . . open. Direct. Available. Like maybe, if I applied myself, I could tell what he’s thinking half of the time. There could be room for me, in the life of a man with that face.

“Hey,” I say.

His nostrils work. “Hey, killer.”

I clear my throat. “You look so much more dignified, now that I’ve de– shed you. Cuter, too. Just like that hot guy. From that movie.”

“What movie?”

“All of them.” I wet my lips. Look down at my toes.

“Serena.” There is something in his tone, something that I refuse to contemplate, something I need to cover up quickly.

“By the way.” It comes out shrill. I don’t care. “I know you have a job and everything. You don’t have to stick around with me all day, if there’s something else you need to be doing.”

“The bowling league will wait. We’re going out.”

“Where?”

“I had an idea.” He dusts hairs off his pecs. I really wouldn’t mind it if he put on some clothes. “Well, Brenna had an idea, but if it works, I’ll pass it off as mine.”

“An idea for . . . ?”

“Figuring you out.”

“I love it when you talk about me like I’m the ultimate escape room. Tell me more.”

“You’ll see when we get there. Give me five to shower.” He heads for his room. Stops. “And, killer?”

“What?”

“Tuck that T– shirt in your pants. It’ll look less like it’s mine.”

CHAPTER 18

He wants to show her every corner of his territory. The deep blue lakes and the snow-capped peaks. Moss-draped trees and rock spires. He wants to be with her for each marveled intake of breath.

THE DRIVE LASTS ABOUT HALF AN HOUR, ONCE AGAIN ALONG the jagged coast. Koen spends most of it on the phone with a dozen different people, discussing pack matters that seem to range from crop rotation to solar power to children’s swimming lessons.

I listen to him talking a group of teachers out of taking a shit on their principal’s desk and wonder if all Alphas are this intimately involved with the goings– on of their packs. Why am I surprised that Koen is this good at this job?

We park in front of a red-roofed farmhouse that looks like something I once saw on a postcard. “No way.” I once again paste my face to the window. “This place is unreal.”

“Of course it is. It’s my territory.”

“I still don’t think you can take credit for that.” I laugh. “Look– they have cows!”

“If I’d known what a fan of livestock manure you are, I’d have– ”

I ignore him and exit the car right as a young man comes toward us. His mop of dark curls is swept around by the wind, and his frame is slight, especially for a Were. “Dr. Sem Caine,” Koen explains after they exchange a hug.

My stomach drops. Did Koen find out? Does he know that I’m about to—

“Don’t worry,” Sem says. “You’re not here as a patient. In fact, you’re not even here to see me.”

The reason we came, I discover after we step inside, is Sem’s grandfather– “Dr. Silas Caine,” Koen explains. “Dr. Silas is one of the elders of the pack, and he used to specialize in pediatrics. Any boy or girl who was born in the Northwest in the last sixty years was examined by him at some point.”

I immediately understand where this is going. “Would he remember me, though?”

“Not your face,” Sem explains. “Which is just as well, since his eyesight has been deteriorating. He’s in his nineties now. But he might remember your scent. Come, he’s this way.”

In the living room, Dr. Silas sits between two women: the first looks so much like Sem, she has to be his sister. The second has short strawberry-blond hair and a shy smile. Her fingers slide around Sem’s as he introduces her as his partner.

“Layla is one of the pack’s midwives,” he explains. Before adding, a little sheepishly, “We’re all doctors in this room.”

“You are making me look bad,” Dr. Silas says from his chair. He’s a robust man, with a full head of milk-white hair and a husky voice. “My entire family became doctors, and people assume that it’s because I’ve been butting my nose into their lives and pressuring them. And now we have Sem’s daughter, who cannot read yet and is already saying she’ll be a surgeon.”

“Don’t worry, Grandpa. We’ll tell everyone that you pushed us to become trapeze artists and coal miners, and that we severely disappointed you.”

“Is it too much to ask for a poet? Or a musician? I so love music . . .” He sighs and turns in our direction. When he smiles, his face splinters into a million fine, leathery lines. “Koen, child. It’s always a pleasure to see you. And how kind of you, to bring me the halfling.”

I glance at Koen, puzzled. “The what?”

“We have stories in the north. Legends, ballads. Ancient stuff about children born of Weres and Humans. Weres and Vampyres, too. We call them halflings.”

“Halflings.” I taste the word, then smile. “I like it. More than ‘hybrid.’ Makes me sound less like a car.”

“Do come closer,” Silas beckons. “You will forgive me if I don’t stand, won’t you? Serena, right?”

I nod, taking a step toward him. Then I remember what Sem told me about Dr. Silas’s eyesight and add, “It was given to me at the Human orphanage. If we met before, you might have known me under another name.”

“I see, I see. Will you sit, please?”

I drop to his feet, cross-legged. “These halfling legends . . . Do you think they might hold some truth?”

“Most stories do. Although the truths we seek are often not the ones we find. But if you’re asking whether you’re the first of your kind . . . I do not believe so, no.”

Juno said the same: hundreds of thousands of years ago, Weres and Humans and Vampyres used to be one. There are lots of theories about how speciation occurred, and I’m sure that at this very moment at least two anthropologists are fisticuffing over them at a sparsely attended academic panel. The bottom line, though, is that some groups split off and went their merry way. By the time they attempted to rejoin, they were no longer the same.

But reproductive compatibility is fluid, Juno said. Our DNA is similar enough that all it takes is a few mutations at the individual level to allow procreation. There will be people referring to you as the harbinger of the decline of civilization, but what you are is not new, per se. It’s just . . .

A comeback?

If you will.

What you’re saying is, I’m vintage.

It’s not really what I—

And Renaissance Girl should be my new nickname?

I didn’t—

Deal.

“How old are you?” Dr. Silas asks, leaning forward in his seat.

“Twenty-five, as far as we know.” I fall quiet and fail in my quest to not glance back at Koen. I must have lost my object permanence skills, because I need constant reassurance that he exists, he’s here with me. He gives me a small nod, and I feel marginally less like used kitty litter.

I shouldn’t be nervous. I’ve lived my entire life not knowing who my parents were, and I’ve been just fine. I never allowed my origins to define me, because if I had, I would have been destined to remain undefined. I may be Serena Nobody, but I’m still Serena. The past doesn’t have to shape the future.

Hell, I don’t even have a future.

And yet, as Dr. Silas inhales deeply, I’m on tenterhooks. If he doesn’t recognize me, what would that mean? What if he does? What if my parents are alive and well? What if I am forced to meet them, listen to their excuses, and maybe even forgive them? Because that’s what I should do, right? Be gracious and compassionate and somehow over it and—

Dr. Silas slowly shakes his head, and the relief folds my insides like origami. And Koen, whose eyes never, ever, ever leave me, can obviously tell.

A brief silence. Dr. Silas is saying that it could mean nothing– maybe he forgot, maybe my scent changed, they know so little about halfling developmental biology. Sem is agreeing, listing possibilities. Koen’s face is worried, like he’s about to ask me if I’m all right.

The only thing giving me strength right now is knowing that, asshole that he is, if I vomit gastric acid on his shoes, he’ll never let me live it down. “Hey, is it okay if I . . . I’d love some fresh air.”

“Of course.” Layla smiles. “Back door is through the kitchen, on the left. You’re welcome to go for a run, too. If you like the shoreline, it’s just us for about ten miles.”

“Great,” I say, instead of Lovely of you, to mistake me for a high-functioning Were. I catch Koen’s eyes as I step away, watch the way his muscles begin to contract to follow me, and shake my head minutely, hoping he’ll understand what I’m trying to communicate: I’m an emotional mess and I’d love to be alone for a second, just in case I burst out crying or puke up the French toast I didn’t even eat.

He doesn’t like it, but he stays put.

The Caines’ yard is a grass-covered cliff above the shore, something right out of an impressionistic painting. The ocean is less than a couple hundred feet away, and when I close my eyes and tilt my chin up, the sea breeze flows over me like water. How amazing it must have been to grow up here, surrounded by the Pacific, watching the blue reach as far as the eye can see, no limits, no—

I tense.

My skin bursts into a thousand little goose bumps, because I’m no longer alone.

Someone’s here. Someone who wasn’t inside the house.

My hand closes around the penguin knife in my pocket, and I unbraid the notes of the intruder’s scent.

Were. Man. Young. Human form. Not wearing shoes. Approaching from behind. Either he’s sloppy or he underestimated me, because he doesn’t know that I felt his presence.

He means to assault me, and all I have to my advantage is the element of surprise. I force my heartbeat to slow down, and bide my time. Wait for the Were to come within reach of my blade. But a handful of feet from me, he halts.

I hear something thudding to the ground.

Smell the grass, crushed.

A deep intake of breath. Then a voice, hushed, barely audible through the wind. “Eva.”

I whirl around, whipping out the knife, holding the blade at abdomen height. But its tip is nowhere near the man’s skin, because he is . . .

Kneeling?

I adjust my aim, ready to strike, but the naked man doesn’t make a single move. He stays on his knees, face bent upward, throat bare and vulnerable. Feverishly, he whispers, “As the prophet said. As the prophet wills.”

“Who are you?”

He gives me a tremulous smile and, like a supplicant, presses his forehead to the ground.