Текст книги "Mate"

Автор книги: Ali Hazelwood

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Текущая страница: 16 (всего у книги 26 страниц)

“No.”

“Pleeeease.” He picks the right. “I’m excited to inform you that we’ll be solving a crossword puzzle together.”

He groans. “What was the other one?”

“You give me a tour of your shop.”

“Why do I always pick the less fun one?” He sighs, but we move to the couch and start a new puzzle. His ability to solve it hasn’t improved, which delights me.

“This must be so embarrassing for you.” I pat his back.

“What shall I do without this valuable life skill?”

I press my toes into the hard muscle of his thigh. Lay my head on his shoulder. Scribble, on twelve down, Rosicrucianism. I think about having this, but times twenty. Times one hundred. Times tens of thousands. When two people fall in love, how many nights do they spend together, doing absolutely nothing, before they’ve had their fill? How many silences and crosswords and mugs of tea do they share? What can Koen and I do, to get as many as—

“Don’t,” he murmurs into my hair, not even bothering to pretend to read the clues. Yanking me back to our agreement.

A moment out of time.

No before. No after. Just during.

“Don’t . . . show you up with my amazing vocabulary and language expertise?”

“Precisely.” He inhales deeply from the hollow at the curve of my neck, arms looping around me. He does it again as I pull new words out of the page. Litigation. Boulevard. Deck. Yorkshire. He touches me, and yet he doesn’t. As close as possible, without breaking the one rule we abide by.

It’s nice.

I would give anything for a million more nights of this. Or one.

But I’m getting sleepy.

And he is, too.

And then the fever starts.

CHAPTER 26

Every single time he sets a hand to his cock, he will have this moment in his mind.

IGO TO MY ROOM, AND WE BOTH KNOW WHAT FOR.

Just like we both know what it means when I come back flushed and sweaty, wearing one of his T– shirts and nothing else.

“Didn’t work, huh?”

I didn’t get a good look at him yesterday. Tonight, the physical proof that he wants this just as much as I do is aggressively there, a ridge stretching his jeans in a way that must be painful. Looking away doesn’t even occur to me.

“I tried to . . .” It’s embarrassing. I’d have thought a piece of information like this one couldn’t be waterboarded out of me, but here I am. Giving it out for free. “I tried to lick one of your worn shirts. Around the neck.”

I force myself to hold his stare. Wait for him to burst out laughing, mock me, but his eyes are darker than ever.

This is the most unpredictable mix of awkward, devastating, and mind addling. Needing something that I barely know how to ask for. Standing in front of someone who instinctively understands but isn’t allowed to offer it to me. How do we talk about this?

Dear Koen:

Roses are red

Violets are blue

I’m about to undergo a period of enhanced sexual receptivity in which I will require the assistance of a compatible partner

Could that perhaps be you?

How romantic.

“Tomorrow morning, Layla will give me a progesterone injection. It should make this . . .” I gesture at myself like I’m a magician’s assistant. He takes it as an invitation and studies me from head to toe, tracks my every fidget, follows the rocking of my heels. “She hopes it’ll make it go away. But she didn’t have it at the office, so . . .”

He doesn’t bother hiding the depth of his scowl, even if he eventually nods.

“Are you okay with that?” I scratch the back of my neck, which feels swollen. Tender. “If you have any objections– ”

“None that are rational.” His smile is slim, self-effacing. His words sound forced. “I’ll support you no matter what. Whether you take the injection or decide to spend your Heat with someone.”

I cock my head. “I thought you said you didn’t lie.”

“Did I? I must have gotten it wrong. Or maybe things have changed. Have to admit, killer, that your presence in my life has been humbling. A fucking revelatory experience. Thought I knew myself, but . . .” He laughs. Rubs his palm against his mouth. “The truth is, if you decide to spend your Heat with someone else, they’ll have to chain me at the bottom of a well and seal its mouth with concrete.”

The gland on my upper back aches, pulsating sweetly with every word he says. Begging for attention. “The idea of anyone else touching me makes me physically ill. So.” I attempt a smile. He does, too. We might be in agreement about how painful all of this is. “I can hear your heart.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s . . . fast.” Like a drum. A rhythmic nudge against my skin.

“Must be the tea.”

“It was herbal. No caffeine.”

“Then maybe it’s from earlier today. Busy, y’know.”

“I’ve seen you run, and fight, and it’s never been this loud.”

“Serena. If you’re not going to let me bullshit an answer, just stop asking questions.”

I laugh. He doesn’t, but the hungry little thing inside me is starting to blur the world, so I go to him anyway. And we must be some kind of perfect, perpetual motion machine– it’s that easy, the way my body slides against his as I straddle his lap. His hands lift to hover around my waist, then fall back to his side, fisted.

There is a slight strain on my inner thighs as they open around his hips. His torso is longer than mine, and we’re just about eye to eye. Breath to breath. Infinitely close, even if the only place where my skin touches his is our foreheads, leaning together.

“Do you want me to stop?” I murmur.

He says nothing, so I make to move away, but his hand hooks into the soft inner part of my knee.

You know I don’t. Stay.

“Okay.” I settle deeper into him, trying to get some pressure on my clit. I hold on to the back of the couch, right above his shoulders, and gingerly grind against his erection, feeling the rough pinch of the fabric of his jeans.

Instant pleasure sparks up my spine. The friction is so life-changingly good, it rips a breathy whimper out of me. I slowly collapse into him, hiding my flushed face in the crook of his neck, tracing the outline of his gland with my nose.

His response is a silent shudder.

I’m already impatient. Frustrated. Wondering what it would be like, having him inside me. He’s hot and heavy. Massive. Would split me open. Maybe you’d hate it, I tell myself. You don’t even like guys like him.

But, no. It doesn’t matter that the men I used to have sex with would have chopped off their own middle fingers before acting as though they knew what was best for me, and respected my unwillingness to sleep next to someone who wasn’t Misery. There were no orders– just polite requests. But Koen . . . It’s so easy to imagine how he’d act. Methodical and self-assured and bulldozer-like. Formidable. Unstoppable. And I’d relish every second of my time with him, like I always do.

“Whatever you’re thinking about,” he rasps against my ear, “continue.”

“Yeah?”

He nods. “You smell incredible right now.”

“Like . . . how?”

“Like you’d let me keep you here and fuck you for the next six months. Like you need me to.”

I moan and rotate my hips– an unwise impulse. We both exhale. Our brains glitch, and we have to stop for a few seconds, until that bug is fixed. “You can keep me forever,” I mumble into his throat, and his cock twitches under me. “Is this okay? I’m making a mess of you, and– ”

“Do more of it.”

I obey, rolling slowly, savoring every little bump. His blood pounds against my ear. I could lick his gland now, but I’m afraid that I’ll come, and this will end, and I don’t want it to. Not yet.

“Last night,” he says against my cheekbone, “you fell asleep, and I couldn’t stop thinking about your fingers. How they’d been between your legs. How I could have licked them.”

I squeeze my eyes shut. Imagine how difficult this must be for him. “What does . . . celibacy. What does it mean?”

He stares up, cheeks flushed dark. “I’ll get you a dictionary for your birthday.”

“Koen. Where is the line?”

“The line is everywhere, Serena.” A hollow laugh. His hand travels up my spine. Cups my nape. Our lips are closer than ever, but never meet. “My entire life is made of fucking lines. And you’re blowing past all of them.”

It doesn’t feel like it. It feels like I’m the one standing still in a storm. “What about this?” More grinding, and my clit catches against something that has my thighs shaking. “What if I’m doing all the work? What if you’re just my . . . Mine.”

“Stop,” he says.

I do. Inhale deeply. “Want me to move away– ”

“No,” he orders before I’m done talking. “You’re so– I just need a fucking second.” He squeezes his eyes shut. His head falls back. “I cannot come, Serena.”

“Why?”

He takes slow, long breaths. Collects himself.

“Is it because if you don’t come, we can pretend that this is not sexual? That it’s a favor you’re doing for a . . . friend?”

He snorts. Opens his eyes. They are pitch black. “It’s been sexual since the second I saw you, and . . . I have friends, Serena, and you’re not one of them. But yes. It’s easier to forgive myself if we make this about you.”

I bite my lip, ready to protest how unfair this is, but stop, mortified. I don’t want him to have to forgive himself. He doesn’t owe me anything. “I’m sorry. I– ”

He shakes his head. Twists his hand so that it curves around my cheek. “Hush,” he croons into my ear. “You’re all worked up. And wet. Just a handful of days from your first Heat.” His teeth scrape against my jaw. “It’s okay. I know how hard this is. I’m going to take care of you, okay?”

I agree with a mindless nod. The need in my blood is rising. I will die without this.

“I’m going to make you come, however many times you need. And then I’m going elsewhere to make myself come.”

“I can– ”

“No, Serena. You can’t. But I can. I want you to tell me what you need, and I want the privilege of giving it to you. I want you to use me.” A kiss on my collarbone. “If you think there is anything I would like more than seeing my mate through her Heat, you are fucking wrong. If this is all I get, I’m going to make the most of it. Okay?”

I nod again, which gives him a path to my throat. His mouth closes around my gland and it’s so sudden, so shocking, I scream. “Koen,” I gasp, moving my hips again. The pleasure is white-hot. “Feels so good.”

The curve of a smile. “Feels better for me than for you.”

“Impossible.” My breath tumbles out. “I . . . I tried.”

“Hmm?”

“Touching my glands. But it didn’t really– not like when you touch me.”

“Sweetheart.” He nips at it.

I shudder, full-bodied. “It has to be you, Koen. We’re like . . . lock and key? It has to be us.” I rock in his lap, demanding release. Closer and closer, clumsier and clumsier.

“You’re my mate, but I’m not yours. There will be other keys for you.” A flat-tongued, broad lick. When he bites me again, it feels a little more violent. Like he could easily break my skin, and he wants me to know. “And I’ll do my best not to kill them. No promises.”

“I don’t want them.” I sob in pure frustration, pressing harder, all soaked, sticky underwear and hard ridges, marks sucked into tender skin, deep inhales. “I don’t want anyone but– ”

The first orgasm hits me so hard, I dig my nails into his shoulders. Koen drags it even longer, wrings as much out of it as he possibly can without even touching me, just little slides of his hips where I need them the most. I tremble in his arms and let him take me apart as he tells me how beautiful I am, how good, how lost he is.

It ends too soon. It’s not enough.

“Okay?” he asks, and I shake my head.

“I’ll never be okay again.”

“Yeah.” He is hoarse. Desperate but amused. “We’re both fucked.”

Pleasure inches down my spine. I close my fingers around Koen’s palm, which is work-rough and large, and I try to pull it down to my inner thigh. He stops me halfway there. “Why?”

“I can’t, Serena. If I touch you there, it’s over.” His kiss on my cheek is light. “There’s this voice in my head, screaming at me that I should hold you down and knot you and shred your gland until it’ll scar in the shape of my teeth, and I’m trying very hard to muffle it.”

“So, I can touch you. But you can’t touch me.”

“Correct. Serena– ” he warns when I take his other hand, but falls quiet as I splay his fingers open. “What are you doing?”

I grip his wrist and bring his open palm up to my left breast.

“Fuck,” he bites out through gritted teeth.

“Technically,” I point out through the hitch in my breath, rubbing myself against his rough hand. “You’re not touching me. I’m doing all the work, but if it’s too much– ”

“No.” He shakes his head and adjusts his posture, like he needs to see this, how I’m moving. It’s undignified. Wild. Frenzied in a way I’ll be ashamed of later. But he orders, “Do not fucking stop,” and I can taste how much he wants me, feel it ricochet against my bones. His desire is so thick, all-encompassing, I don’t know how he can stop himself. But when I lean forward and nip at his gland, he simply lets out a deep, rumbly grunt and talks to me like I’m the only person in the universe. “The first time I saw you, I thought that of course the universe would deliver someone with the most perfect pair of tits I’d ever seen and then yank her away from me.” I press harder against his palm. He groans. “It’s hard to keep my hands off you, killer. And you never wear anything under my shirts– ”

“I hate bras.”

“I hate them, too. My afterlife will just be me, watching you move around my house in nothing but my clothes. Knowing that you’re warm and fed and safe and so damn soft.”

“Please.” I need to come again. Find a spot on the side of his throat, lick it, savor the tremors that shake him every time I cant my hips into his cock. On some strokes, he arches up. Once, I think he’s going to come. He does, too, and his intake of breath is so deep, I almost think he’ll throw me off him.

But he has better control than that. He urges me softly, patiently. Tells me to take what I want. His voice is hot against my cheek. The skin of his glands feeds me with something explosive. That’s why it wasn’t enough, my first orgasm. What I need is him in my bloodstream. Lock and key.

“Koen?” I slur, almost there. “Do you think this is the last time? Do you think we’re n– never going to do this again?”

He doesn’t respond. But right as I’m about to come I hear him say, “If it were, I would regret nothing.” That’s when my mind blacks out, and my body bursts into flames.

After, I wait for the shame to sink into me, but it never does. I revel in the sticky fabric, teeth marks, temple nuzzling. Prickly stubble and faintly green forearm veins as he gets himself under control.

“I can wash your clothes and– ”

His hand tightens around my scalp. Something between a mild threat and an invitation to back off. “I’m going to bury my face in them the second you go to bed, killer.”

It’s heady, how much he wants me. Mixes with what’s left of my Heat fever. Coats the inside of my nostrils and the buds on my tongue with delicious, unspoken requests. The idea of denying him is repulsive, plain and simple.

“I want to give you what you need so badly,” I say.

His large hand strokes down my hair, soothing me and himself. I burrow into him and feel him shiver in response.

“I know that you took an oath. And I know that this is doomed. But . . . Koen. There is very little that I wouldn’t do for you, if you were to ask me.”

“Serena.” I hear the blurry edge of his smile. A quiet sigh. “I would throw away my pack, my life, and my entire world for you. Which is the exact reason I cannot have you.”

CHAPTER 27

His nuisance. That’s what she is.

WHEN I WAKE UP THE FOLLOWING MORNING, AMANDA AND Saul are sitting at the kitchen table. Every single ingredient that one might need to make pancakes has been taken out of the cupboards and neatly laid on the counter. A few that one might not, too.

“Out of curiosity, at what point in the process do you think ketchup becomes involved?”

Saul shrugs. “For the stuffing, maybe?”

“Ah, yes. The famed pancake stuffing. That’s where the capers go, too?”

He nods so hard, I’m afraid his jaw will detach from the rest of his face.

“And remind me, the vinegar– ”

“Listen,” Amanda says bluntly. “As much as we love setting our alarms one hour earlier to come visit with Mommy and Daddy, if we knew how to make pancakes, we would not be here.”

I cock my head. “Am I Mommy in this scenario?”

“Or Daddy,” Saul offers. “You get to pick first, since you provide the pancakes.”

“Nice. I’ll take it.”

Twenty minutes later, when Mommy steps out of his room freshly showered and cleanly shaven, they are in the middle of a bitter argument.

“My editorial position,” Amanda is saying, not bothering to finish chewing, “is that it would be like shooting pure, undiluted moon in your veins. A super-soldier. Leviathan, but in space. And on steroids.”

“Baby . . . no. There’s no atmosphere up there. You’d just be a pincushion for radiation.”

“Weres on the moon?” Koen asks, walking up to me in the kitchen. He doesn’t look like he slept much.

I hand him a mug of coffee. “Yup.”

“Have they been over moonless planets yet?”

“Yes.”

“Can’t howl ’cause sound doesn’t carry?”

“Yes.”

“Pluto’s five moons?”

“Also yes.”

“The asphyxiation?”

“Just now.”

“Great. They must be about to wrap up.” He reaches for the sugar. I stop him with a hand on his wrist.

“Already in there.” It takes a moment for my fingers to let go, and another for him to glance away from the difference in our sizes. My paler, softer skin.

He leans back against the counter next to me, even though there are yards of surfaces for him to use. He could even go sit with his seconds, who were there when he still thought potty jokes were the height of humor and have saved his life countless times. He chooses to be here, though. Looks at me as he takes a sip, while Amanda and Saul’s bickering continues.

“A house divided,” I say. “Want pancakes?”

He shakes his head. “They’ve been working on a space Were book for years. The disagreements started early in the planning phase.”

“I didn’t know they write.”

“That’s because they don’t.”

I smile. He does, too, if only with his eyes. The discussion winds down, and Saul and Amanda stare at us, seeing who knows what. “Good morning.” Koen cheers in their direction with his mug. “I am overjoyed that you decided to deal with this pressing issue in my home.”

Amanda waves a forkful at him. “You can disapprove all you want, Alpha, but the matter is not yet settled.”

“Nevertheless, we will proceed with our day. Unless anyone has other important, fully theoretical matters to add to the agenda?”

“Actually.” I steeple my hands. “I’ve been wondering about something for a while. We are Weres, right?”

Encouraging nods.

“But why are we part wolves? Why are there no werebutterflies, or werecrabs? What’s so special about wolves?”

Three pairs of eyes blink at me. Then Saul winces. “That’s just . . . weird, Serena.”

“How is it weirder than the moon thing?”

Amanda stands, grimacing like her stomach and her soul are equally upset. “Don’t. Just, don’t.”

“Wait. You guys, tell me how a Were on the moon is any more plausible than . . .”

But they’re gone.

I turn to Koen, who’s setting his mug down. He shakes his head, an expression that could be mock or real disappointment on his face, and follows his seconds outside.

KOEN NEEDS TO DRIVE BACK TO THE BORDER TO OVERSEE THE EXTRADITION of one of the Vampyres to Owen’s team but decides to drop me off at Layla’s on the way. Saul tails us in his car, listening to dubstep so loudly, Koen mutters something about brain tumors growing in his auditory cortex.

I should introduce Saul to Misery. Maybe meeting someone with the same terrible taste in music is the mirror she needs to rethink some life choices.

“I need a minute with you, before you go in,” Koen tells me, parking in front of Sem’s office.

I don’t like how grave and serious he sounds, stripped of the usual gruff, irascible facade. Then again, we have much to discuss. Preferably, while I’m not squirming in his lap. Last night was a moment out of time, but we’re back in it.

“Me too. I wanted to– ”

“Not here.”

“Oh?” I bite into my thumbnail.

“It’s a very small space, Serena, and you are . . . Your scent destroys my focus. It’s better if we’re not too alone.”

He leads me to the green area behind the building, past the playhouse that must have been installed for Sem’s youngest patients. The breeze is lovely in my hair. I force myself to enjoy the fresh air, the faint scents of salt and moss, and not to dwell on the fact that the conversation about to happen is a losing game. By my side, Koen is silent. I pick a white bench that’s still covered in droplets of dew and point at the spot next to me, but Koen ignores it. Instead he stands, back to the east, the rising sun a halo around his head.

He is so handsome, I have to close my eyes against it.

And I like him so much, I’m going to have to close my heart, too.

But not yet.

“Can I . . . Is it okay if I start?” I ask. “I don’t want to . . . It’s important to me that I get to say this.”

In lieu of a reply, he drops down. Crouches till we’re eye to eye. And . . .

I really am absolutely gone over this man. Fully, irreparably lost.

“Two nights ago, and maybe even last night . . . I feel like I pressured you. I put you in the position of having to take care of me. Forced you to break a promise you made to your pack. And . . .”

“Serena.” He sighs. “You think I didn’t want it?”

“The thing is, I grew up with very little control of my life, of my choices, of my body, and maybe because of that, I’ve thought about things like consent and agency a lot. And . . .”

“I grew up sure that one day I would become Alpha, surrounded by people who knew that, too. I also thought about consent and agency. You understand what that meant for me, right? Knowing that the kids I played with felt a pull to do as I ordered? That any girl I wanted to ask out might feel a strong urge to say yes, just to make me happy?” I nod, and he continues. “I get where you’re coming from, Serena. But we are Weres. A different species, with different customs. Consent is a value we always uphold, but you’re my mate, and you were approaching Heat, which is a Were biological state that has no parallels in Human society. It’s more complicated and nuanced than any theoretical scenario you thought through as a Human. So give yourself some grace.” The corner of his mouth twitches. “Maybe it’ll give me permission to grab some for myself, too.”

“You never did anything wrong, though. I wanted you to . . . I needed you.”

“And I could have walked away at any moment, but I stayed. And . . . come on, killer. There was no need for me to do half of what I did. I had a choice, and I made it.”

I want to hang my head. Close my eyes. I want to forget what he said last night, pretend I don’t remember, but it feels so cruel. To leave him alone to deal with all this . . . This.

The burden should fall on both of us.

“It’s not fair. That they won’t allow you to– ” Fall in love. Have a family. A chance at happiness. A chance with me. “It’s inhumane.”

“Maybe it is.” He smiles, a little lopsided, like he has made peace with this. “But we are not Human.” He stands, and I can no longer see his expression well. Which, I suspect, is precisely the way he wants it. Because after a pause in which he doesn’t take his eyes off me, he says, “My mother was the previous Alpha of the Northwest. And my father was her mate.”

My heart is in my throat. This is why he asked to talk. What he meant to tell me. So I fist my hands around the edge of the bench and listen.

“They met young. Teens. They said they knew it immediately, which I was always skeptical about. It was hard to imagine that you could find a person, and they’d instantly become everything. That they’d take up all the space inside you and leave no room for doubt. Of course, now . . .” He shrugs. Reaches forward to free a strand of hair stuck to my lips. “I’ve changed my mind. But . . . Well, their bond was mutual. They paired up, were ready for a life together– until the previous Alpha of the Northwest, who’d been a great leader for several decades, lost a challenge to some twenty-year-old piece of shit.

“Highly dominant Weres tend to have other traits, too. Not just strength, but also calm under duress, integrity, empathy. The new Alpha did not, and all of a sudden, the head of the pack was a jackass who couldn’t be trusted with slicing a meatloaf, let alone deciding how to maximize resource allocation. Everyone was scared shitless. So, about two weeks into his leadership, my mother took him in the challenge and saved the day. Except, she happened to be pregnant. With me.”

I clench my teeth. “Was she allowed to . . . ?”

He shakes his head. “They call it ‘the celibacy covenant,’ but it’s a misnomer. It puts all the focus on the sex, when what’s really forbidden to Alphas is to form bonds that might interfere with their ability to serve the pack. An Alpha’s decisions should always benefit the Northwest. An Alpha’s family could serve as a tool of manipulation. Therefore, an Alpha shouldn’t have one.”

“But what about an Alpha’s siblings? Those bonds can be just as strong. What about parents, or friends? What about platonic relationships, or– ”

“Believe me, I know. It’s old-fashioned, flawed reasoning, and that’s why most packs did away with it a while ago. But the Northwest had no reason to worry about it for decades after most packs began having these discussions. My mother was the moment of reckoning. The huddles didn’t stand for it. Became independent. But we didn’t close the borders. Socially, we were still one pack, even as each huddle leader made their own decisions. But we wouldn’t always share information. And we had different perceptions of what constituted a threat. And that’s where things started to go wrong.

“I was born. About five years later, my sister was born, Anki– she lives with her mate in the south.” His mouth twitches. “My parents figured that if one of us was going to inherit all those Alpha traits, it would be her. But she took after my dad, who was a musician with no interest in pack leadership. And when it became obvious that I was likely to be the next Alpha, they were relieved. My mother was beloved, and I would take over when she was ready to step down. No need for challenges. The shit Lowe went through with Roscoe? I didn’t have to worry about that. Until the cult, at least. Because Constantine was out there, taking advantage of fools, promising them they’d run with the wolves, and . . .” He snorts. “Only Humans would believe this shit. No offense.”

“None taken. Well, some taken.”

He doesn’t smile. “Constantine was intelligent. And greedy. And as the cult grew and he kept making promises that he couldn’t keep, he decided that what he and his followers needed was an enemy, and maybe a kingdom that was their due but had been wrongfully taken from them. He told his followers that as soon as they took back their birthright, they would become all-powerful, immortal Weres.”

I’m starting to feel nauseous. “Was that kingdom the Northwest?”

“And the villain, my mother.” He runs a hand through his hair, and the movement angles his face just so, enough for me to see his expression. I was sure he would look angry, and he does. I didn’t expect so much sadness. “The details aren’t important. But Constantine and his followers exploited the lack of communication between the core and the peripheral huddles. They killed my mother and made sure that the pack knew it was under threat. When the adults in the pack gathered to discuss how to react, Constantine carried out a series of coordinated attacks that wiped out all our leadership and most of our adult members. Thousands of people died. And . . . we just had to step up. Amanda, Saul, Jorma, Brenna, me– hundreds of us. We didn’t even have a chance to mourn our families. There was a power vacuum, and the cult was trying to use it to take over, and we had to react quickly. Those are some pretty fucked– up memories for a bunch of teens to have to carry. But when I’m about to fall asleep at night, that’s not what I think about.” He swallows. “You know what is, Serena?”

I wish I didn’t. All I want is to have come to the wrong conclusion. “What your mother did.”

He nods, and it breaks my heart. “They used my father to lure her out. And even though everyone told her it was a trap, even though her seconds were forming a plan, the idea of my father suffering was so untenable, she refused to wait. And honestly?” He squats down again. Locks eyes with me, so that there is no misunderstanding him. “Now that I’m in the same position, I’m not sure that I wouldn’t do the same.”

And this is how it all fits together. This is the crux of the issue, and why I can finally make sense of it all.

To Koen, the covenant is not something that’s been imposed by the huddle leaders– an arbitrary, unjust restraint. To him, it’s a guarantee that history won’t repeat itself. And that guarantee has never mattered more than it does now, with the cult threatening the Northwest once again.

And the last thing I want is to ask him to make an impossible choice.

So I reach out. Run my hand through his hair, trying not to sigh at the way he leans into it, like my skin is his North Star. “You know me as a liar, but . . .” Laughter bubbles out of me, sticky. “Can I try honesty? For once?”

He nods, patient, open, in the morning air, like he rarely is. Making it so easy.

“I like you more than anyone I’ve met since Misery. And when I’m with you, I feel . . . a little less like half of two things, and a little more whole. And when you touch me, it feels right. So right that I forget it’s wrong. I forget that you’re the heart of this pack. I forget that thousands of people rely on you, and that every moment I spend with you, I’m taking something away from them.” I manage a labored gulp. My throat is tight and dry. “So this is what’s going to happen. I’m going to walk in there and take the drugs Layla gives me. This Heat won’t happen. And as soon as the issues with the Vampyre council are officially over and Ana is safe, which will be any day now . . . I’ll go back to the Southwest, where I won’t be keeping you from the people who need you. And you and I . . . we’ll make sure to avoid each other in the next few decades. Won’t we?”