Текст книги "Mate"

Автор книги: Ali Hazelwood

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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 26 страниц)

Koen doesn’t nod, but I smell his assent. His head bends for a long, silent moment. When he looks up, his eyes are emptier than the space between the ocean and the cliffs.

And all he says is “Layla is waiting for you. You should go.”

CHAPTER 28

It’s odd, what her absence does to him. She is missing, but she fills and floods every part of his life.

IGIVE MYSELF A FEW MINUTES TO CRY IT OUT, THEN HEAD FOR my appointment.

Saul is leaning against his car, laughing with a young blond woman I have yet to meet. When she notices me, her eyes double in size, the Is that the halfling? expression that I’ve grown accustomed to. “Give me a sec, Jess,” he says, and jogs up to me.

“Koen left,” I tell him. “I’m going to head in and talk to Layla.”

“Okey-doke.” The corners of his eyes crease with concern. I don’t need a mirror to know that mine are red rimmed, but Saul saw me disappear behind the building with Koen and has enough pieces to put together an exhaustive picture. “Do you know how long it’ll take?”

“Not sure.”

“Okay. Well, I’ll be here, waiting. And hey, maybe later . . .” He leans forward. Winks at me in a conspiratorial way that has me bracing for what’s to come. I don’t know if I can deal with Saul now– his compassion, his kindness, his terrible music. Where is Brenna when I want to be bitch-slapped back to my senses by an expert?

“It’s okay, Saul, I– ”

“Maybe later we can discuss that werecrab thing?”

I frown. “You seemed pretty opposed thirty minutes ago.”

“Well, I had to. You know how Amanda and Koen are.”

“And how’s that?”

“Sticks in the mud. Unimaginative. But the werecrab thing has potential. And I’ve been thinking of writing a book, so– ”

I wave him off, give the woman my least Human smile, and walk into the building.

The waiting room is deserted. I knock at the same office as yesterday. After a few seconds I hear Layla’s feeble “Come in.”

Weird, I think, wrapping my hand around the doorknob.

So I let go of it. Take a step back. Why is this weird? My instincts tell me that something’s off. And by now, enough disturbing shit has happened that humoring my instincts feels less like indulgence and more like necessity.

I dig into my pocket, wrapping my fingers around the penguin knife. With my other hand, I unlock my phone and pull up Koen’s contact to—

Acute, piercing pain bites into my hand. My phone flies into the air.

“I don’t believe so,” a voice says from behind me.

I spin on my heels. It’s the blond girl– Jess. And she kicked my hand so hard, it might be broken.

I look around. My phone landed beyond the reception desk, so out of reach, it might as well be on the moon with the werecrabs. I hold on to my knife and scream at the top of my lungs, “Saul!”

“Saul’s taking a nap. Let the boy rest.”

I’m willing to– if only because Jess expects nothing from me, which puts me in a good position to slam the right side of my body against her and nick her with my knife.

“You little fucking– ” She tries to twist my wrist, but I free myself with a kick, get in another stab, and dart outside. That’s when the door to the office opens, and another Were runs out. I realize that Jess is not acting alone, and that I’m fucked.

I throw my self-defense kitchen sink at them, but the most it buys me is a three-foot escape before I’m recaptured. I kick, bite, cry out for help, but I’m quickly muffled with a sweaty palm and dragged inside the office.

Aside from me and Jess, there are three other Weres in the room. The one who helped Jess capture me is around my age. A second, much older man holds something sharp– a scalpel?– to the third’s neck.

Layla.

At first, I wonder why she isn’t shifting. We’d still be outnumbered, but a wolf would give us a fighting chance. Then I notice her droopy eyelids and limp hand. Her head occasionally lolls around the stem of her neck.

“What did you do to her?” I shout against the younger man’s palm. It doesn’t come out nearly as intelligible, but he must get the gist.

“Stay calm,” he orders. “She’s heavily sedated, out of precaution. Now, Eva, you have two choices. I can finish the job.” The way the older man waves the scalpel quickly clarifies what that would entail. “Or you can be quiet. Which one shall it be? The first one?”

I furiously shake my head.

“I thought so. Jess, are you okay?”

“I’ll live,” she mutters. Her blood overpowers every other scent in the room.

“Okay. Eva, I’m going to slowly take my hand off your mouth. Before you do anything stupid, remember that every action has consequences.”

I nod, sick to my stomach at the sight of Layla. “What did you give her? Is she– ”

“She’ll be fine, provided that you stay quiet,” the man says from behind me, his breath humid against my ear. “We know this is distressing, but you gave us no other choice.”

I swallow a hysterical laugh. “Who the hell are you?”

“The same as you, Eva,” Jess says. “We are people who were denied their families. And now we’re going home.”

“I have no idea what you . . .”

I never get around to the end of the sentence. Because the man presses a cloth with a sweet, chemical scent against my mouth, and that’s the last thing I remember.

THIS AIN’T MY FIRST RODEO– AND BY RODEO, OF COURSE, I MEAN kidnapping. Still, what I learned in my previous experiences might not come in too handy.

I realize it when I wake up at some unidentified point later in the day, feeling hungover and flattened by an oxcart. My stomach tries to remind me that our usual post-drugs, post-beating routine tends to involve several bouts of vomiting, but I ignore it. My head pounds, but all my limbs are still attached. I’m bruised but not bleeding.

Outside, an incessant rain washes away all other noises.

My muscles shake as I sit up in bed to take in my surroundings. I’m in yet another cabin– two-storied, cozy, sandwiched between a pond and a pine forest. Late morning light filters in from the window, which is notable for its lack of bars. That alone would give me pause, but what really clues me in that this is a clear case of Not Like Other Abductions is the door to my bedroom, which is wide open.

No guard.

I consider climbing down the window. I could run south for the next four to five weeks and stop only when I enter Southwest territory and Misery welcomes me with her infamously cold, stiff embrace. Problem is, it’s prisoners who run away. And I might not be one.

So I make my way down the creaky yet sturdy stairs.

“Eva.” A slight Were woman glances up from a thick book, welcoming me with a warm smile. She has long straight hair, silver gray all over, but a look at the taut skin of her face tells me she must not even be forty yet. When she stands, her simple, flowy dress drapes down her body in waves of green. Bet you whatever that she has an herb garden in the back, a voice says in my head. “Good morning, dear. What would you like to drink?” She glides toward me, all witchy cottage-core vibes. My metabolism must still be working through the drugs, because when she briefly wraps her arms around me, I do not violently shove her away. “Anything to eat?”

“Um. No, thanks.”

“Are you certain?”

Is this for real? “You already drugged me once. I’m just going to assume that everything you offer me is roofied, if that’s okay with you.”

The woman sighs, looking remorseful. “You’ll have to forgive us. We usually have better manners than this. And please, let me reassure you that you’re not our captive. There are vehicles at your disposal if you wish to leave. All we wanted was an opportunity to speak candidly with you. We attempted to bring you here without too much fuss, but the Alpha of the Northwest . . . he is very protective of you. I hope that the unfortunate methods to which we resorted will not influence the tenor of our future acquaintance.”

I’m not sure what this lady’s grasp of sarcasm is, so I resist the impulse to tell her that it’s No big deal. All water under the bridge. Instead, I note the frequent use of we and glance around. We are alone in the kitchen, but through an open doorway I can see the living room, and three Human women sitting on the velvet couch. They seem to range from their late teens to early fifties. The button shape of their noses and their auburn hair suggest that they’re likely related.

They whisper feverishly at each other and watch me with wide, awestruck grins. Clearly, they’re guzzling the Kool-Aid. It’s all I can do to bite I’m a hybrid and your murderous prophet dude had shit to do with random genetic changes that lead to interspecies reproductive compatibility off my tongue. “In that case, I’ll be heading home now.”

“You are welcome to do so– ”

I whirl around.

“– but I thought you might want to visit with me. I am, after all, the only family you have left.”

It’s so fucking manipulative, I’m disappointed in myself for falling for it. Nevertheless, I halt. Even as the not-rotten part of my brain whispers, Keep going, Serena. Keep. Fucking. Going.

When I turn back to the woman, she doesn’t hide her smugness. “My mother was Human,” I hiss, just to get ahead of that specific turd of bullshit.

“Of course Fiona was Human.” She plucks a piece of paper from the table and holds it out to me.

Bile climbs bitterly up my throat. “I’m not going to bawl over a shitty stock photo, or some AI generated . . .” But it’s a lie that crumples the second my eyes drop to the picture.

It’s old. Not quite Kodachrome, but printed out on glossy paper that one doesn’t see much anymore, because these days everything lives on phones. The right corners are a little bent, curled into themselves from traveling among hands. Aside from that, it’s a very clear photo. Above all, it’s . . .

It’s me. Or it’s not. But it is. The tilt of her head. The dark eyes and darker hair– straight, long, just a hint of wave at the end. The smile, the full lips, the straight line of her nose. There are differences, too. She’s on the taller side, her jaw squarer, her complexion olive toned. But I recognize my softness in her, rounded edges that we shared until the last few months wreaked havoc on my body. The necklace at her throat is unnervingly familiar: a silver moon, scratched by a full set of claws.

I glance up at the cottage-core witch. Who has my attention and fucking knows it.

“I have a box full of photos. I was always very partial to Fiona. Out of all the girls . . . I like to think that part of me knew how special she would be. However, if you want to see the rest, I would like for us to sit down.” A smile. “Don’t worry. You’re not making a commitment by hearing me out. I know your friends make us out to be a dangerous terrorist organization. In truth, we are very reasonable, and that’s why they’ve been keeping you away from us. We are not attempting to convert you and ask for tithes. This is not Hades. I won’t serve you pomegranates.”

I don’t believe a single word, but my fingers burn to touch the photo. That must be why I find myself sitting at the head of the dining table.

“Irene,” the woman says, taking the chair next to mine. “Is my name. I forgot to mention it, since I know yours.”

“Actually, you have the wrong one.”

“Forgive me. It’s out of habit. You prefer Serena?” Her tone is so perfectly sensible, I briefly feel guilty about acting rudely. Then I remember that I’ve been abducted and swear that if I make it out of this alive, I’ll go back to therapy and divest myself from my people-pleasing tendencies. “I don’t want you to think that we didn’t care about you. We would have searched ceaselessly, if we’d known that you survived.”

“How exactly are you and I related?”

“Ah, right. Constantine, the leader of the Favored, was my older brother. Which makes me your aunt.” Her smile seems genuine. This should be a heartwarming moment, but I shiver anyway. “I know your memories are lost, and even if they weren’t, you couldn’t possibly recall this. But I held you on the day you were born and adored you from the very start. I will continue to do so, no matter what you decide. Welcome to the family, Eva.”

So much for using my real name. “Does this mean that Constantine was my father?”

“Yes, naturally. You were his miracle. His ‘little sunlight glint,’ that’s what he called you.”

A sudden chill runs down my spine. I wait for the shock of Irene’s revelation to fully sink in, but it never does. Given the cult’s interest in me, I was near certain of my connection to them. Constantine being my father . . . well, it was just the worst possible scenario. “Of course it materialized,” I mutter.

“Pardon?”

“Nothing. Just excited to hear that the weird jingoistic nutjob everyone hates was my father.”

“Is that what they told you about him?” Her head tilts. “What else? That he was insane? Violent? Power hungry? Because I can explain.”

I’m sure she can, but I’m not biting. “I’d rather discuss . . . Fiona.” Calling her my mother feels wrong. Even if my hands itch to touch the photo. “Why was she with the cul– excuse me, this totally legitimate social club?”

Irene chuckles. “Your father would have enjoyed you. This humor of yours, you get it from our side of the family.”

“Actually, I get it from the need to proactively cope with a staggering amount of unprocessed trauma. Back to Fiona, please.”

“Of course. Your mother was born among us. Her family was very devoted to the Favored. They aspired to become Weres. They would have been so proud of what their granddaughter accomplished.”

“You mean, my college degree? That time I ran a half-marathon?” I’m starting to get impatient. My temples throb, and I’m almost certain I’m running a fever. I want the box, I want out of here, I want answers. “Because if what you mean is me being a hybrid, there was very little accomplishing on my part, and a lot of me twiddling my not-yet-existent thumbs as morulation and blastulation happened.”

Irene must be getting tired of the family humor, because her lips purse, but she continues, “It’s an interesting story. When Fiona became pregnant, she maintained that the baby was Constantine’s. At the time . . . there were a lot of women in his life. He was a hardworking man, often in need of rest and comfort. Fiona was one of many who saw to that, and Constantine was a reasonable leader who didn’t demand exclusivity. But Fiona was loyal. No one could picture her with another, and no one else would admit to having touched her.”

She pulls the box closer, still out of my reach, sifting through photos until she finds a square one. When she shows it to me, I don’t lean forward, but rather wait for her to set it in front of me. The smile on her face tells me that she knows what pissing contest I entered us in but doesn’t mind humoring me.

The woman in the picture is the same as before. This time, though, she’s not posing. She looks up at a handsome older man who stares into the distance, absorbed by other matters.

“That is Constantine. Your father.”

My interest in him is subterranean. He could be wearing a fresh lobster costume, and my eyes would still be drawn to the curve of Fiona’s belly, clearly visible under the stretch of her top. She cups it with both hands, a gesture that seems more intentional than a simple I don’t know what to do with my arms.

And then there’s her profile. Several weeks ago, Ana asked Lowe to draw girls-only portrait: Misery, Ana, and me. And, somehow, Sparkles. He chose a three-quarter view for me, and it could have been a tracing of this photograph. Maybe that’s why in an odd, inexplicable way, I feel like I am her, and she is me.

I don’t owe her anything. Having given birth to me doesn’t buy her my love or my gratitude or my compassion, but the problem is—

“How old was she?”

“When she had you? I cannot say for sure. Around twenty.”

That is the problem. She was younger than I am now. Pregnant with the baby of a Were cult leader whose restraint was worthy of Caligula’s orgies. Lost girl to lost girl, I cannot help wondering whether she felt alone. Overwhelmed. Scared. Proud, I’m sure Irene would say, but . . .

Am I just projecting? Because we have the same fucking cheekbones?

Get it together, loser. She didn’t love you because she’s cupping her bump. Lots of people like babies in theory but not in practice.

“No need to make that face.” Irene’s tone is gently reproachful. “She was very happy to become your mother, Eva.” More pictures slide into my field of view. Smiling lips pressed to a baby-fat cheek. A tiny infant foot, much smaller than her palm. A candid, breastfeeding. Sitting in a meadow. Smiling up at the camera while a toddler fists the stem of a columbine.

I see the splotch of tears on the mahogany before I even realize I’m crying.

“She was very good with numbers. So are you, I am told. And she loved the ocean. Even though she had little access to it.”

I look up, unsure of how to deal with all of these– these feelings. Irene, though, seems genuinely sympathetic.

“She also kept a diary where she logged all your milestones. First step, first word, favorite foods. I believe it was destroyed, because I couldn’t locate it. We had to be very careful with our records– the downside of being constantly ostracized and persecuted. It was a wise choice, since the Northwest’s inability to know the full extent of our ranks is the only reason we were able to rebuild. But I can tell you that she adored you. And you adored her back. You were such a little angel. Very well behaved.”

I try to swallow a sob. Fail. This is ugly. Shoulder-shaking, tear-slick, full-bodied crying. For a woman I’ve never even met. What do I care about the tragedy of her life? And why, when Irene covers my hand with hers, do I allow it?

“You may not have any memories of the Favored. But you must recall what it was like, being alone. Away from your people. I can assure you, Fiona didn’t let go of you. You were taken from us when the Northwest decided to hunt us down, snuff us out– ”

“Why did they do that?” I snatch back my arm. Curl it into my lap. Allow myself one last sniffle before I confront her. “What was the reason?”

“You are too young to remember– ”

“But I’ve been told. Is it a lie that Constantine targeted the Northwest leadership and killed thousands?”

Her mouth curves in a displeased line. “Did they tell you why? Did they explain that Constantine won the challenge against their Alpha, but the Northwest refused to allow him to step into the role that was his right?”

I lean forward. “And what about Koen’s father, Irene? Did you not use him to lure Koen’s mother?”

“Koen Alexander is an illegitimate leader.” Her dark gaze sharpens. “Your father . . . he may have used the Alpha’s mate to draw her to himself. But after, he won fair and square.”

“That’s not how the challenge works.”

“And who decides that? Who establishes the rules? The Alpha. The pack. The system was rigged in their favor– but Constantine outwitted them. He should have been the leader of the Northwest, not hunted down like a beast, forced to hide in more and more remote locations, and then killed in cold blood.” She closes her eyes. Collects herself. “I struggle to understand why you do not see that Koen is your enemy. But maybe it’s your approaching Heat talking.”

I recoil. “How do you know about that?”

“Oh, dear. Jess has been good to us. Very helpful indeed. She was one of the Favored, did you know that? They slaughtered her parents and gave her to a Were family. But unlike yours, her memories remained. She gained access to your clinical file and told us that you lost the ability to shift. She delivered the necklace. And, of course, she let us know about your Heat.” The line of Irene’s mouth softens. “You are very close, I hear.”

Fuck this. “I want to go back.”

“Ah, yes. That injection. You know, there’s no need. We have a handful of Weres who’ll be happy to service you. You may choose whoever you prefer among them. And who knows, there might even be a baby from this Heat. Constantine’s heir. He has performed bigger miracles than that. After all, we’re close to the anniversary of his birth.”

“I think I . . .” Just threw up a little in my mouth. “It’s a pass for me. I’ll be fine.”

“No, you won’t. Heats in human form are dreadful. I must say, I was surprised to hear that the current Alpha was willing to allow you to avoid yours. But then again . . .” She sighs. “Koen Alexander was always unpredictable. We could never take him by surprise. Before you arrived, that is. We are very grateful to you, for making him a little more like his mother. And his mother, we were able to deal with.”

I clench my teeth. “If you’re thinking of using me to trap him, he won’t come. He’s smarter than that. He has spent his entire life aware of how you ruined his family, and– ”

“Eva. There is no smart when it comes to falling in love. Haven’t you learned that?”

“Koen’s priority is the pack. He won’t jeopardize it.”

“We’ll see.” The tilt of Irene’s head gives me goose bumps. “You should ask him when he arrives. He won’t be long, dear. But you’ll have all the time you need.”

“Time for what?” I hiss.

“To read your mother’s last letter.”