Текст книги "Mate"
Автор книги: Ali Hazelwood
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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 26 страниц)
CHAPTER 21
No.
IWAKE UP TO THE MOST BEAUTIFUL PIANO MUSIC I’VE EVER heard.
Not that it means much, given my pathological inability to listen to anything without a techno beat, but this . . . it’s spectacular. Vaguely familiar. Probably classical. Elegant but intimate. Being awakened by any sort of loud noise is down there with eating paint chips in my list of favorite things, but this is so gentle and understated, I want to make it my forever alarm.
My eyes flutter open of their own volition, and I realize that I’m in Koen’s bedroom, again. Stealing his bed, again. Unable to recall how I ended up here, again. My last memories are blurred. Working on a letter. Yawning till my eyes were a constant stream of tears. Sliding under the covers. I must have slept in, judging from the early afternoon light filtering inside.
Which explains the wake– up call.
Koen sits on the piano stool, his back a bare expanse interrupted only by the waistband of his jeans. He is, at once, relaxed and in movement, muscles shifting occasionally, always in time with the music. What would it be like, to feel them vibrate against my cheek, or the flesh of my palm?
Sitting up is difficult, because my limbs are pulled pork. “Is this . . . ?”
“Still not Bach, killer.” His long fingers don’t miss a single key.
I really need to broaden my operatic horizons. “How did your meeting with the huddle leaders go?”
Koen feels distant, which surprises me after our hug yesterday, on the porch. He’s not the type for mood swings– his mood tends to be consistently shitty. Am I missing something? “They all acknowledge the threat, and we’re all on the same page. Which is more than I can say about the first time this happened.” One last, oddly strident note, and he turns to face me directly. He leans forward, elbows on his spread thighs. His eyes bore, debone me, until I can’t help fidgeting.
“Is anything . . .” I run a hand through my hair. “Are you– ”
Why is my hair wet?
What is this T– shirt that I’m wearing?
And the claw marks on my forearms—
Last night’s events hit me like a sledgehammer. Fuck.
Fuck.
I pull back the covers, intending to run for the bathroom mirror, but my quads are incapable of supporting me, and I fall back into the mattress. “My eyes– ”
“Are as usual,” he replies calmly.
I rub my face. Shit. That was bad. That was so bad—
“How long have you been feeling poorly?” Koen asks, rudely interrupting my panic tailspin.
I can tell with a millisecond-long glance that he’s willing to slow roast the truth out of me. But what kind of veteran liar would I even be if I didn’t attempt a weak “I’m not. It was just– ”
“Serena.” He looks at me like I’m not just insulting his intelligence, but also lowering the IQ of the entire pack.
Okay. Fine. No games. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know.”
“Four months. Twelve years.”
His eyes harden. “What a helpfully narrow interval.”
“I really don’t know. None of this is normal, Koen. None of this is not terrible, and– ” I stop. Take a deep breath, letting the soothing scents of Koen and tea spread through my lungs. There is a steaming mug on the nightstand, and after a few sips I no longer feel like blurting my entire miserable story out to him. Progress. “The fevers began four or five months ago. But Dr. Henshaw says that this is a degenerative condition that starts before symptoms manifest.” Koen stares at me like I’m wasting his time by not telling him everything that happened in the last decade of my life, so I continue. “It’s a Were disorder that has no equivalent among Humans. Relatively common among Weres in their ninth or tenth decade, but not unheard of in younger patients. It’s called CSD, which stands for– ”
“Cortisol surge disorder.”
“You’re familiar. Good.” His look tells me that nothing about this is in any realm adjacent to good. I avert my gaze. “The fevers are caused by . . . Basically, chronic stress fucked up my inflammatory and anti-inflammatory signals. Again, not uncommon.”
“CSD can be treated.”
“Yeah. In Weres, it can. Sometimes. But my hybrid biology hasn’t been responding to meds. My hormonal levels are getting worse, and Dr. Henshaw said . . .” I suck my teeth. “Not compatible with life. That’s how he put it.”
Koen’s eyelids are the only moving parts of his body. They flutter closed, then open again as he asks calmly, “How long?”
“Six months at the most. But that was . . . two months ago.”
“I see.” He seems bizarrely unperturbed. An Alpha trait, maybe: set aside emotions, absorb information. I’m sure it’s useful in a crisis, but his cold grilling is somewhat disturbing. “What treatments did he attempt?”
“All of them. He involved his colleagues, and . . . believe me when I say, no stone was left unturned. But the side effects were bad, and my deterioration was steady. Linear, originally, then exponential.”
“Is it still? Getting worse?”
After a beat, I nod. “The fevers are almost nightly. And the eye thing, the claws . . . those are new. I don’t know what that was.”
“Arms and eyes are where the shift to wolf form starts,” he explains. “Their motor proteins activate first.”
“Really? Is that the reason . . . ?”
“Maybe your fever triggers the shift, but your body cannot see it through. Or vice versa. I don’t know. I barely ever took a science class.”
“Really?” I tilt my head. “Why?”
“Because I was too busy protecting my pack from a coup to finish high school. Does the Vampyre know?”
“Misery? No. When I started seeing Dr. Henshaw, I told her some bullshit about having headaches, and– ”
Koen snorts.
“What?”
“Just shocked the Vampyre still trusts your lies, is all.”
I frown. “Every lie I’ve told Misery was to protect her from– ”
“I’m sure your pretty little head made up a million good reasons and topped them with those gross formaldehyde cherries. Still can’t believe she lets you out of her sight.”
“No one ‘lets’ me do stuff or go places,” I point out tiredly. “That’s not how it works, Koen.”
“If you were mine, it would. And clearly, you fucking should be.” I can’t tell if it’s a threat or a promise. All of a sudden, Koen’s eyes are so full of anger, I shiver and turn aside.
“Is that why you were in the fucking woods alone for two months? Why you’re here now? Some fucked– up notion of sparing your sister from finding out that the person she cares the most about in the whole world is ill?”
Guilt stuffs my throat full. This is the part I’m most embarrassed to speak out loud, but I force myself to do it anyway. “One night I woke up in Ana’s room. With no idea how I’d gotten there.”
Koen inhales sharply. Like he already knows where this is going. “You didn’t hurt her, Serena.”
“No, but I could have. I was boiling hot and disoriented, and CSD patients can often experience aggressive episodes, and . . .” I shake my head. “It’s for the best. If I told Misery, she’d want to be with me. But Ana needs her more than I do, so– ”
Something lands on the comforter with a soft thud.
I gasp. “These are my . . .”
“Letters. To Ana and the Vampyre.”
“Where did you find them? You had no right to– ”
“On your bed. Unfolded.”
“That doesn’t excuse– ”
“Serena.” It’s little more than a whisper, but everything about Koen, from his voice to the taut flex in his biceps, tells me how deeply unwilling he is to let me express righteous indignation over the violation of my privacy. He continues, composed, soft spoken, just as calm: “Last night, I didn’t know if you’d ever wake up again.”
It’s heart snapping, as far as realizations go. I worked my way up to really bad attacks, but he had no context for what he experienced a few hours ago. It hadn’t occurred to me how scary it would be for him to witness it.
Because that’s what he is. Scared. Terrified in a way he may have never experienced before. It makes my stomach twist and my eyes burn.
“I’m sorry.” I wipe my cheek with the back of my hand. “I’d written those back at the cabin, but . . . well, I had to redo them. They’re for Misery, for the most part. And Ana– from someone who’s like her. And I wrote one for Lowe, too, but it’s mostly about how to take care of Misery once I’m not . . . I mean, he’s doing a great job already. But there are some quirks you only find out by living with someone for a decade, like Misery’s penchant for hate-reading, her terrible taste in clothes if left to her own devices, the fact that sometimes she uses fancy words without really knowing their meaning. She could fall back into her mismatched socks phase, and . . .”
“Why are you crying?” Koen asks gently.
I sniffle. “I’m not sure. Could you please forget that you know? I’d rather not talk about– ”
“That’s no longer an option.” His tone is kind but steel boned. “I’m your Alpha. And I need you to be honest with me.”
I take a deep, shuddering breath. Gather myself. “Dr. Henshaw has my labs. All my data. He has a lot of information at his disposal, and he was able to reconstruct the progression of my condition. I don’t know how much of this is due to me being a hybrid, but if it is, and if something similar were to happen to Ana . . . Dr. Henshaw is under instructions to inform Lowe, after . . . afterward. I hope it’ll help, and– ”
“After what, Serena?”
“– I’m not precious about that stuff. It’s more that I don’t want them to freak out or feel like they have to– ”
“After. What,” he repeats. He’s not on the stool anymore. Instead, his palms brace both sides of my bare thighs, and he leans into me. Close enough that his scent becomes my entire universe. Close enough for me to see little freckles on his skin, to count the scars that crisscross all over his torso. He looks down, inexorable, eyes blacker than black. “Say it. After what?”
I have to. Out loud. For the very first time. I have no choice but to make this real. “After I die.”
The second the words are out, hanging heavy in the air between us, Koen . . . smiles.
He bends further, and there isn’t a single trace of doubt on his face. He’s an immovable object and an unstoppable force. And he says, slowly, “If you think I’m going to let you die, Serena, you know fuck all.”
DR. SEM CAINE’S OFFICE IS AT THE OUTSKIRTS OF THE DEN. HE checks my vitals and listens to a detailed recap of last night’s episode, but what he spends most of his time on is the records Dr. Henshaw sent over.
Koen waits by the door, cross-armed and dark-clouded. He dispassionately informs Sem of my prognosis, commands him to refute it, kill it with fire, salt it, and then simply gazes stoically into the distance as I put my clothes back on.
It was a shared but unspoken decision, him staying for my exam. Maybe he’s afraid I’ll bolt, even though I’m here neither reluctantly nor under duress. Maybe he cannot physically stay away. All I know is that my heart is squeezed into the tightest of fists. It’s obvious what he wants to be told.
Sem glances away from his tablet to give me a warm healthcare-professional smile. “Alpha, I think it would be best if you and I could talk privately.”
“About me?” I sit back in the chair and cock my head. “That has to be a HIPAA violation.”
Sem’s brow furrows. “A what?”
“Just . . .” I shake my head. “Whatever you have to say, you can do so in front of me. I won’t make a scene.”
Sem clears his throat. “May I speak freely?”
“Yes,” I say– just as Koen does. The question, of course, was for him. And not for the rightful owner of the soon– to– be– rotting body.
“Okay. Well.” Sem draws in a steady breath. “Quite frankly, looking at the labs, I am surprised that you’re alive, Serena. Dr. Henshaw’s diagnosis and prognosis seem accurate.”
I knew it, of course, but hearing it still feels like a blade slicing me open. I can’t see Koen’s face from where I sit, but I feel his displeasure beating through me. It’s so intense, I almost consider going to him and . . . and what? Patting his back? Giving him a hug? I’m being ridiculous.
“What if this is just the way hybrids are?” Koen asks. “We have no basis for comparison.”
“Theoretically, that could be true. But her body is in obvious distress. Weight loss, nutrient deficiencies. Metabolic and cardiac stress. I wonder how she functions.”
“Not compatible with life,” I say under my breath. Sem’s frown deepens, but it’s a fascinating turn of phrase– I found it so from the very start. And I earned it. I have a right to use it, don’t I?
“What about drugs?” Koen asks, impatient.
“Dr. Henshaw was very thorough in his attempts to ease Serena’s discomfort,” Sem says softly.
In English. Although one wouldn’t be able to tell from Koen’s uncomprehending face. He steps closer and wraps a hand around my shoulders. “She’s in pain. Not eating enough. Not getting enough sleep. The fucking fevers are happening every night.”
“I can give her IVs and recommend easily digestible foods, but the cold baths are the safest way to– ”
“She’s in pain,” Koen snarls, leaning forward over Sem’s desk.
I expect the doctor to retreat or show his throat to appease his Alpha’s anger. Instead, his eyes turn hooded with sadness. “I know, Koen. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry– that’s not your job. Your fucking job is to cure ill people. Why do you have no idea how to do that?”
“Koen,” I chide, feeling my chest constrict. I wrap a hand around his forearm. The long veins running through it are coursing with blood. “That’s not kind.”
“As we established, I’m not fucking kind.” He straightens. “Find a way to get this”– he gestures toward me– “fixed. Okay?”
Sem nods, full of sorrow.
As we exit the building, Koen halts briefly. His throat works as he looks into the distance, tight-lipped, running his tongue over his teeth. Composing himself.
I bite into the inside of my cheek, feeling powerless. I’m sorry, I want to say. I know you care. I know it’s hard. But he’s unreachable– a large, silent presence at my side as we walk to the car, his legs so much longer than mine, I have to break into a light jog to keep up with him. “Will you slow down?”
“No.” He nods at a group of pack members who wave at him. Speeds up even more.
“Hear me out for a second.”
“I am.”
“You are not– ”
“I can walk and listen at the same time.” He stares straight ahead. “Must be one of those elusive Alpha traits.”
“Please, can you just– ” I round him and block his path. When he tries to walk past me, I close my hand around the hem of his flannel. “I know how you are feeling.”
At last, his eyes meet mine. They do not look pleased. “You mean, angry as fuck?”
“No.” I stop another attempted sidestep. “Well, yes. But that’s not the real issue, and– I know it takes some adjustment, learning that someone you lo– care about is going to die.” I swallow. My smile is tremulous. “I’ve been there.”
Koen’s jaw shifts. Clenches and releases. I’m afraid he’ll try to leave again, and maybe, just for good measure, run me over as he pulls out of the parking lot. Instead, he says, “This is why you didn’t want to stay at my cabin.”
I hesitate. “I . . . It’s safer, I think. I can’t control myself. What if I harmed someone in the pack? What if I harmed you?” His look is full of pity, like I’m an ant trying to stuff a full-size anvil in her cute pink backpack. “Oh, fuck off. It’s very sexist of you to assume that I couldn’t beat you up.”
“There’s a long list of women capable of kicking my ass. In your current state, you are nowhere on it.”
“What if I accidentally attacked a weaker pack member?”
“Guess I’d have to spank you.” He seems unbothered by the prospect. “I’m more concerned about you sleepwalking off a cliff. But don’t worry, I’ll be making sure that doesn’t happen.” His smile feels like a threat. I’m proud of myself for not flinching.
He tries to move past me again, and this time I take his hand. “I know you want to be mad at fate– ”
“I’m mad at you, killer.”
“– but I’m at peace with it. I wish I had more time. With . . . with the people I love. With the universe. With”– I gesticulate around me– “with the ocean and the trees and . . . I love this territory so much. But it’s such a privilege, to know that even if I won’t live much longer, Misery is taken care of, and so is Ana.” It’s the first time I’ve verbalized this out loud. And it makes my chest feel at once light as a feather and deep as a crater. “When I die– ”
“Not on my fucking watch, Serena.”
“Okay. But when I die– ”
Koen’s fingers abruptly slide into the hair at the side of my head. Bend my neck back, none too gently. “Serena.” He stares down at me, eyes a few inches from mine. His fury is a physical, formidable thing. It doesn’t scare me. “If you say anything like that ever again, I’m going to kill you myself. Understood?”
It likely speaks of how much my sanity has devolved that I exhale a laugh. “Got it.”
He grunts, a fraction mellower. I wonder if he really thinks that he can will my illness into nonexistence. Maybe someone who’s been Alpha for two decades is too accustomed to power to entertain the idea of something not going his way? But slowly, eventually, he lets go of me, and I take a step back, nearly walking into the parked car. I let the sleeves of his hoodie swallow my hands, and God, that shopping trip was so unnecessary.
“The thing is,” I try to explain, “it might be for the best.”
The way he looks at me is so indignant, it makes me chuckle again. Which is not appropriate for the conversation.
“I mean, it’s not like you and I could . . . You have the covenant. And I’m not exactly available for a long-term relationship.” My smile feels a little forced. I hope it’ll work on him anyway. “The reasons why it couldn’t work between us are not just yours, or just mine. None of that one-way unrequited crap. Isn’t that better?”
I half expect a dismissive scoff. A curt command to get into the car. Instead, Koen studies me at length, his eyes opaque. “If I weren’t Alpha,” he asks, eventually. “And you weren’t sick. What then, Serena?”
“What if Earth was modeled after a giant parsley leaf? What if Humans pissed moondust? What if– ”
His fingers trap my chin. Tilt my head back, hitching my breath. Once again, I have no choice but to meet his eyes. “What then, Serena?”
I can’t bring myself to say, I think we both know, but he hears it anyway, because his nod is there, barely perceptible. This time, when the pressure swells behind my eyes, I let the tears flow. I feel them splash down on my collarbones. Dampen the tips of my hair.
“Anything that’s going to happen to you,” he promises, voice honest and pitched low in the swish of the breeze, “is going to be over my dead body.”
I laugh softly, because . . . what else can I do? I follow him with my eyes as he opens the passenger door for me. Since this is an opportunity, one of few I have left, instead of sliding inside I wrap my arms around his torso, fisting the flannel at his hip. My face presses into his side. I inhale the scent of him, wondering if anything else this good has ever existed, and ask, “Can I say something really, really selfish?”
I feel his assent. I think he might want to know everything that’s in my head. I think he could shake every thought I’ve ever had out of my skull, rummage through them for years, and still not be bored.
I think that in a parsley-shaped world, he and I would have had some fun.
“If today was my last day, I’d be happy to have spent it with you.”
Koen cups the back of my head. I lean into the soft press of his lips against my brow. He says nothing, barely breathes, but his hands don’t let go of me for a long, long time.
CHAPTER 22
He easily resigned himself to a lifetime without her, but . . .
Simply put, he is unwilling to contemplate a universe in which she no longer exists.
THAT NIGHT KOEN HAS A PACK MEETING AT THE CABIN.
I get out of the shower, quickly put on leggings and one of his shirts (which I sniff for over a minute, with inappropriate enthusiasm). I’m about to move to the living room and not mind my own business, when my phone lights up with a call. From someone who usually prefers a string of twelve multi-paragraph texts over a one-minute chat.
“What’s up, Bleetch?” I ask, terrified that Koen might have gone behind my back and told Misery about my situation.
I will stab him, I vow. I will chop him into pieces and sell him at a wet market. For pennies.
“Not much.” A beat. “First question: Are you alone?”
“You mean, existentially, or . . .”
“Is there someone around you?”
“No. Why?”
“Second question: Are you in the right headspace to receive information that could possibly hurt you?”
My heart drops. “Misery, if– ”
“No, I’m serious. I talked to Lowe about the Northwest, and it’s bad.”
“How bad?”
“Bad bad. Like . . . Our lives, bad.”
“Whoa.”
“Yeah. I feel way less special, knowing that there’s all this trauma waffling about.”
I sit on the edge of the mattress. “Is this about the cult I might be related to?”
“Koen told you about it?” She sounds surprised. “Lowe said he probably wouldn’t.”
“Some of it. Yesterday something weird happened.” Understatement of the week. Prepare the wall plaque. “A guy came at me and started yelling thesaurus prophecies.”
“Hang on, I thought they killed the cult twenty years ago?”
“They thought so, too. Surprise.”
A long pause. “Cool.”
“Yeah.” I sink back into the pillows. “Very.”
“Serena, are we bad people?”
“Um . . . Morally? Spiritually? Fiscally? Because I did your taxes every year and exploited every single loophole in the medieval castle that is our financial system, but– ”
“I’m just saying that we must, to some degree, have done something to deserve the shit coming our way.”
“Well.” I rub my palm against my belly, wondering if the cramps I’m experiencing are a fun new addition to my symptoms dance card. “We did pretend you were overtaken by bloodlust that time Mr. Barca got a paper cut.”
“And made him piss himself. You know what? Maybe it was worth it.”
“Still, I don’t know that our lives necessarily needed a cult plotline.”
“Agreed. Wanna hang up and spend the rest of the day buddy watching that Human show about the MILFs?”
“Yeah, actually.”
“Tough shit. I’m giving you the cult deets whether you want them or not. What do you know already?”
I take a deep breath. “That Constantine was like, the Were equivalent of Rasputin.”
“I have no idea what that is.”
History was never her strong suit. “Do you know what his ideas were?” I ask. “What he promised his followers?”
“How do you know he promised something?”
“Isn’t that the whole point of a cult? I’m your leader. You do what I tell you, and I’ll give you eternal life, unlimited wealth, rebirth in a world where everything tastes like pineapples– ”
“What about, ‘And I’ll turn you into a Were’?”
I sit up in a quick, fluid movement I did not think my abs were capable of. “Are you for real?”
“Yup. It was some deranged shit. The cult ran several generations deep. The original founder was one of those cuckoo bananas Were supremacist guys who thought that the other species should dedicate their lives to massaging his feet. Weres should control the means of production, that kind of stuff.”
“Sounds familiar.”
“Totally. Roscoe, the former Alpha of the Southwest, was a bit like that. His wife, Emery, is Koen’s aunt. And I’m sure in some East Coast packs they won’t let you graduate first grade if you can’t spell at least ten Vampyre slurs. The world’s full of assholes, and the dung beetles love it. Sadly, the original founder of the cult was just a little too batty for everyone’s taste. He was originally from the Southwest, but they politely asked him to leave. Lowe used the word ‘exiled.’ I’m not sure whether he was being melodramatic or if that’s a thing among Weres.”
“Why did they kick him out?”
“Ruining the vibes? Unclear. But the dude took his family and friends and made himself comfortable at the border between the Southwest, the Northwest, and the most rural parts of Human territory. Kept themselves busy by writing their scriptures on the inside of cereal boxes. It started as a small settlement, less than twenty Weres. Packs monitored them, even interacted, but nothing significant happened for decades. Until his daughter, or his son’s daughter– Lowe tried to draw me a diagram but got stuck– went to a trading meeting with the Northwest and met her mate.”
“Constantine?”
“Nope, some guy named Jochem. Originally, the couple were going to live together in Jochem’s huddle. But, big surprise, Jochem decided that the cult made some valid points and that the other species should, in fact, show their soft underbelly and let the Weres feast on them. They moved in with the cult. Even brought some friends. And had a few kids.”
“Among them, Constantine.”
“You know what? You’re clever for a hybrid.”
I bite back my laughter until my cheeks bleed. Sometimes I miss Misery so much, it hurts every atom of my being.
“The thing about Constantine, he was also cuckoo bananas, but smarter about it. Early on, he figured that if he wanted to take the family cult business to a pro level, he needed more followers. But Weres, even the assholes, were not interested in leaving their cushy packs to sit around a bonfire and discuss their infinite superiority. So he turned to his Human neighbors. But he needed to offer something of value, and what’s more valuable than becoming faster and stronger, living longer, and having a fluffy secondary form?”
“How the hell was he proposing to turn Humans into Weres?”
“Apparently there were bites and mutual blood drinking and a not insignificant amount of sex rituals.”
I groan. This is too stupid, even for me. “What about the fact that they are different species? What about science?”
“You are so cynical. A little science could never stand between a frat boy and his desire for a monthly howl fest.”
“It makes no sense. We both lived among Humans– have you ever met anyone who said they wished they could be a Were?”
“No. But I’ve also never met anyone with a belly-button fetish, and they exist.”
“Do they?”
“Alvinophilia. Look it up. Anyway, fast-forward ten years or so, and Constantine has hundreds of followers. Lots of them are Humans from the rural places neighboring the original settlement, but some are from The City, too. They basically act as servants and free labor, which in turns begets new Were followers. The leadership is fully Were. Constantine’s career as a charismatic leader is up and coming. If dudes do as he says, they’ll be able to bench-press women at the beach with their pinky fingers. If women do the same . . .” She hesitates. My throat tightens, because I know what she’s about to say. “Their children might just be born Weres.”
I close my eyes. Wait for the room to stop spinning. This scenario fits my situation better than a bespoke dress. “Like me.”
“Well, your mom drinking Were blood had nothing to do with you being a hybrid. But . . . yeah.”
“That’s why they want me. It’s not about who I’m related to. They think that I used to be Human, and Constantine turned me into a Were.”
“Yup. And in case you’re wondering, Why did Lowe and Koen not consider the possibility that I was a child of the cult the second they learned about my existence? the answer is, they did. They investigated it, but they were sure that every child was accounted for. Anyway, this is where the shittiness of Koen’s life starts paralleling our own, because the whole showdown that led to him becoming Alpha– ”
“Actually, stop. Don’t tell me.”
“You don’t want to know?”
“No. Yes.” I swallow. “I think I should hear this from Koen.”
“Aw. Are you guys sleeping together yet?”
“What? No!”
“Well, since it’s probably going to happen, would you like a heads– up on the biology?”
“The what?”
“His dick. It– ”
“It’s not going to happen, Misery. It’d be against the law. He took an oath of celibacy.”
“I mean, sure.” She doesn’t sound sure. “But you should know that because you’re his mate, at the base of– ”
“Stop.” At the what of what? “I liked you better when you were a virgin.”
“Yeah, well, Lowe didn’t. So.”
I hang up and massage my eyes till the mental image is scrubbed from my brain, trying to ignore the way my stomach weighs a thousand pounds. Then something occurs to me: this could be my last conversation with Misery. The last time I hear her voice. The last time she hears mine.
I start texting.
Serena: Now that I think about it . . . Our shitty lives? I wouldn’t have them any other way.
Misery: Seriously? No other way? You wouldn’t, idk, skip over the part where the anti-Vampyre coalition mixed up our rooms and pumped you full of carbon monoxide?
Serena: What I’m trying to say is that I am grateful that our misfortunes brought us together.
Misery: Oh my god. Are you dying?
Shit.
Serena: Is that the only reason for me to tell you nice things?
Misery: It’s the only reason for me to listen to them.
I roll my eyes and throw the phone onto the bed. When I walk into the living room, the seconds are still there. I wave at them, listening in as I start the electric kettle.
“. . .all of their known hideouts. No sign of recent activity,” Saul is saying.
“That we know of,” Elle points out. “But our trackers extended their search and still couldn’t find any trace. And the cult didn’t create problems just for the Northwest– they’re despised by everyone in the area. We asked Human neighboring towns if they’d heard anything about them being back, and they were horrified.”
“Did you follow the kid’s trail from Dr. Silas’s home?”
“As much as we could,” Brenna says. “He knew what he was doing. Covered his scent in the ocean.”
“Any match between his and Serena’s DNA?”
“Unrelated. He was a full Were. According to the forensic expert, he spent most of his life in wolf form.”
I exhale. Continue puttering around the kitchen.
“Any Northwest markers in his DNA?”
“None.”
Koen nods slowly. “The good thing is, there can’t be many of them, or we’d have found them by now.”
“Maybe we could lure them out,” I muse, setting mugs, hot water, and tea bags for everyone on the coffee table.
The room goes so silent, the clicking of the porcelain feels louder than a chain saw.
I don’t let it bother me. “They think I’m their miracle Frankenstein baby, and they’re willing to go to some lengths to get me. If I were one of them, I’d think that I need me to recruit more followers.”
