Текст книги "Mate"

Автор книги: Ali Hazelwood

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Текущая страница: 18 (всего у книги 26 страниц)

CHAPTER 29

He is afraid– not only of what might happen to her, but also of what he might do to the world in retaliation.

AS AWARE AS I AM OF IRENE’S MANEUVERS TO KEEP ME IN THE asscrack of nowhere, I still allow it, and I can’t help wondering why. It’d be a good case study. An interesting dive into hybrid behavior. Unfortunately, my temperature is climbing, and I’m starting to feel too shitty to ponder the wonders of the halfling mind.

“You should drink,” Nele tells me, holding out a glass. She’s the youngest of the women I spotted downstairs. When I returned to my room, Irene instructed her to follow me. I assumed she’d be my designated jailer, but Nele doesn’t have the look for it. Could be her homemade cutoffs, or the way her braid reaches nearly past her butt. She seems too sweet and innocent to be part of this mess. “It’s not drugged or anything, I promise.” She takes a seat across from me and swallows a big, performative gulp to prove it to me.

But I’m not thirsty or hungry. Layla mentioned that the closer I got to my Heat, the harder it would be to keep food down. She didn’t say anything about hammering headaches and the burning desire to bite the flesh off my skeleton, but that might just be a side effect of Irene keeping me here by holding Fiona’s letter hostage.

“Have you read it?” I ask Nele.

“Um . . . what?”

“The letter.”

“Ah.” She shakes her head. “I didn’t even know Fiona existed until you gave your interview. Hundreds of people died in the Harrowing, and I wasn’t even born, so– ”

“The what?”

She bites her lips in confusion. I don’t think she’s had many interactions outside of the cult. “The Harrowing? When the Weres from the Northwest came after the Favored and murdered Constantine.”

“Do you know why they did that?” I ask, toneless.

“We were growing in size and power,” she recites. “They felt threatened. And Constantine had won a challenge against their Alpha.”

This girl is as much a victim of Irene as I am. There is something disturbingly familiar in her mannerisms, something that reminds me of the boy on the cliff. I try to be gentle when I ask, “Why would a pack with tens of thousands of Weres feel threatened by a cult with hundreds of members, no political influence, and no allies?”

She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “People don’t always act rationally.” That, too, comes out a little singsongy. “The unwise is not moved by reality. His behavior is a product of wishes and delusions.”

She looks so cogent, I almost wonder if I’m the one who has it all wrong. “Do you really believe that you can be turned into a Were?” I ask her.

“Oh.” She blushes. “I wouldn’t presume to know if that’s what he wants for me. Not everyone will cross that river. Some of us are just here to aid the most favored. Such as yourself.”

“Okay. Let me rephrase this. Do you think that a Human can be turned into a Were? Has anyone explained to you that we are different species? Do you study science at all?”

“I . . .” She looks around. Her voice drops to a whisper. “I read a book, once.”

I’ll take that as a no. “Who gave it to you?”

“It was at one of our hideouts. I . . . We aren’t supposed to, but I was bored, and . . .”

“And now you know that it’s impossible.”

She lowers her eyes. Then lifts them again, to intone, “There are many things that science doesn’t yet understand. And there have always been tales, among us Humans. Stories about being bitten during the full moon and becoming Weres. And there’s you. You are proof.”

“I was born half Human and half Were. I’m a hybrid.”

She leans closer, so sorry for me, it’s impossible to resent her. “If hybrids were a possibility, wouldn’t we have thousands by now?”

“That’s not how random genetic mutations work.” I need Juno. Here and now. To lend me credibility with her doctoral degree and her stern looks.

“It was Constantine,” Nele says, with the same gentleness I attempted earlier. The condescension hurts more than the headache. “He proved himself through you.”

“Is that why you’re here? You’re hoping that’ll happen to you?”

“I’m here because my grandparents joined Constantine’s father, and I grew up among the Favored. But . . . I understand that our beliefs can appear unorthodox.” I don’t point out that the clinical phrase would be nuttier than banana bread. “Every society has its own idiosyncrasies. My parents told me Humans do odd, incomprehensible things all the time. They hoard resources others require to survive. They sometimes murder members of their own groups. They destroy the very place in which they live.” Her head tilts. “You were among them. Does that still hold true?”

“Oh, yeah. Big time.”

“See? And I’ve heard that other species are no better. Weres kill their babies for fun, imprison their women, and are violent and cruel to those who are weaker.” She must not notice my confused expression, because she continues. “I don’t know enough about Vampyres, but I’m sure they have their issues. My point is, the longer you remain with us, the deeper your understanding of our beliefs will be.”

Remain. “How many of y– of us are there left?” I feel a tinge of guilt at her delighted smile, but it’s too good a chance to find out more.

“About fifty or so.”

“Do you all live here?”

“No. This hideout is very close to the northernmost border of the Northwest, and to the Canada pack, too. We almost never use it. But we have better ones. Mostly, we live scattered, hideout to hideout. We meet often, but we cannot live clustered in a compound like we once did.”

“Why?”

“Because of the Harrowing. If the Northwest knew, they would come after us. Separate us from our families. Did you know that my grandfather has been in a Human prison for decades? I have never hugged him.” Her eyes shimmer with tears. “But we are getting stronger. We’ll grow our numbers again. Irene says that you’ll bring us visibility.”

My throat feels like sandpaper. “Is that her plan? Keep me here like a symbol of the Favored?”

“There is no plan,” Nele reassures me, her pretty face guileless.

“Come on, Nele. Did you not hear her downstairs? If nothing else, she’s using me to draw Koen here and hurt him.”

“Oh, no. You don’t know her.” Quickly, she comes to kneel beside my chair, taking my hand between hers. My gut churns.

“What does she plan to do to him?”

“Nothing! We’re not like that. We just want to live in peace, Eva. We abhor violence.”

“You abhor– Nele, I was taken against my will. I was assaulted and drugged and– ”

“That’s different!” Her grip tightens. “We had to bring you here so that you could decide whether you want to be with us.”

“I don’t,” I say sharply.

“But you don’t have all the information.”

“There is nothing that– ”

“You can’t be sure. You’ve only heard Koen’s side of the story. There are others. And when Irene reveals them, you might change your mind. See that he and his seconds are inhumane.”

We are not Human. Funny that if Koen were here, he’d probably agree with her. I shiver and pull my hand away from Nele’s to hug my knees. That’s exactly what I need– Koen, here. With me.

“I didn’t mean to upset you. I just wanted you to know that you are one of us. Will always be.” Her smile is apologetic. Young. “Irene sent me up to help you prepare for your Heat.”

“Prepare?”

“She said it’s coming soon.”

My stomach drops. My mind races with horrifying possibilities. “Prepare how?”

“The ceremonial markings.” She picks up a small jar full of a thick black liquid. When she holds it closer, I realize that it might be closer to a dark blue. Or green. “Don’t worry, the dye will stain lighter.”

“Stain . . . what?”

“Your skin. Are you not familiar with the tradition?”

“I’ve been a Were for about twenty minutes.”

“Oh. Well.” She glances at the door, clearly considering getting Irene.

“I– I don’t care about traditions, I mean.” I bite my tongue. To punish myself. “No need for the markings.”

“But Were customs are important. And if you don’t . . . Irene might be angry.” In the slight tremble of her lips, I hear what Nele doesn’t say. At me. And I don’t want that. Irene is a stand– up gal– good to know.

“Eva– ”

“It’s not my fu– ” I stop. Take a deep breath. The abduction/Heat combo isn’t doing my temper any favors. Or maybe I just take after Irene. “Nele, will you please call me Serena?”

“The name the Humans gave you?” Baffled lines appear on her forehead. “You want to honor it?”

“It’s not that . . .” Deep, I want to say. Except, isn’t it?

Serena is the name by which my sister calls me. The name on my diploma. The name Koen whispered in my ear last night. Eva might be what Fiona chose when I was a child, but it belongs to someone who was at the mercy of others, someone who doesn’t exist even in her own memories. Serena was a spur-of-the-moment decision by a nurse, but it’s my name because I made it so. Everything I built is attached to it.

“Yes. I do.” I glance at the jar in her hand. “How do I know it’s not poison?”

“It’s not at all! Look.” She smears a large quantity of the liquid on the inside of her wrist. When she wipes the excess away, the stain is a dark, brilliant green. It reminds me of a forest at night.

It reminds me of Were blood.

“Can I, then? Irene taught me, just for you. I’ll do good.”

I nod and let her guide me into the bathroom.

FOUR HOURS LATER, THE RAIN HAS YET TO STOP, AND IRENE HANDS me Fiona’s letter.

She calls me from downstairs and asks me to join her for tea, addressing me as dear once again. I put on the hoodie that Nele laid out for me and stumble out of the room, stopping by the hallway window to press my burning forehead against the glass.

It’s bad, this fever. My abdomen is cramping. I desperately need new underwear. My thoughts feel slippery, difficult to chase and impossible to catch. Every once in a while, I snag the tail of one and am dismayed to find that they have little to do with my insane aunt wanting to use me as proof that orgies and drinking Were blood are Good, Actually. It’s usually a large, coarse hand closing around my hip. The scrape of stubble against my throat. A soft kiss on the curve of my shoulder. My nest, back at the cabin.

Several new people have appeared, including three male Weres, bringing the total in the house to too fucking many. Everyone smells putrid. I need a shower. I need to bury my face into the T– shirt I’m wearing and chase Koen’s scent. I need that hormone shot, right now.

“Would you like me to introduce you?” Irene asks when I sit at the table. “You will have to make a choice soon.”

The acquisitive glances of the men are hard to miss. They stand by the entrance, fidgety, pupils blown wide. Maybe I didn’t overreact by too much when I broke the ceramic soap dispenser in the upstairs bathroom and stuffed the sharpest piece in my pocket. “No. I would like to read the letter, then leave.”

She surprises me by handing it over instantly.

“The photos, too,” I say.

“You have seen them already.”

“And I want to see them again.”

“Very well.”

“How will I know that the letter is real?”

“You won’t. You’re going to have to make a decision, but you are an intelligent girl, thanks to your parents. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

The letter is not addressed to me. It’s the first thing I notice– the Dear Irene in unexpectedly round, neat handwriting. Mine is slanted and messy, hard to make out. Looks like an ECG line, Misery always says. You make people work for every damn letter. No one should have to expend that much effort to know that you want them to buy zucchini. As if she ever once went grocery shopping.

But this, this is bubbly. Girly.

My mother’s.

Dear Irene,

I don’t know if or when you’ll receive this letter. I don’t know if you’re alive. It’s been approximately three weeks since we went our separate ways. Like we agreed, I’ll be vague about names and locations, in case the Northwest intercepts our communications. Without going into detail, I dearly hope our time apart has been less eventful for you than for us.

Originally, it was just C., P., E., and me. A few days later, we encountered three other Favored on the run and joined forces. A larger group of adults allows for more night shifts to ensure that we’re not being surrounded, or ambushed. These days, we always need at least two people to stay awake to sound the alarm. Luckily, only E., H., and I are still Human. Our senses being what they are, there is not much we can do. H. sometimes helps me take care of E., even though she remains wary of men. We have settled in one of our old safe houses, the most remote we could reach. You may remember it as the place where our dear friend G. gave birth a few years ago. It’s nice to have that lovely memory as we face this cold winter.

You must be wondering whether C. has had any revelations about the current situation. Sadly, I don’t have good news on that front. He believes that the Northwest is closing in, and I suspect he might be right. I feel a great deal of guilt about the skepticism I expressed when he first informed us of his plan to take over the Northwest, and I now realize that I shouldn’t have questioned the prophet’s word. After long meditation, C. has informed us that objectors like me are the real reason the takeover did not go as planned. The least I can do to atone is stay by his side and take care of him.

You probably want to know about your favorite, E. Frankly, I regret bringing her with us. She is deeply unhappy, and perhaps even regressing. She eats little, rarely pays attention to us, and at times she won’t speak at all, not even when asked direct questions. In the first few days on the run, she would ask after her friends, but has since stopped. She is so withdrawn, the others sometimes make fun of her. Call her slow. They say that she cannot be trusted to obey orders, and are worried about her giving our location away, and about her behavior in a crisis. Do you recall that battle at Glacier, right before we ran? There was so much blood, and so much death. I tried to shield E. from it, but she hasn’t been the same since. All I ever wanted was for her to grow in the presence of her father. C.’s greatness has been a constant throughout my life, and she deserves to be inspired by him, too. But he rarely has time for her these days. I try to carve out moments for just the two of us, slices of the day to play or draw or snuggle together, but is it enough? Would she be better off elsewhere? My love for her is boundless– and much stronger than my pride. Her happiness matters to me, more than being able to say that I am the cause of it.

As you’ve probably realized by now, this is why I’m writing. You and E. have a special bond, and if you are in a safe place away from conflict, I cannot help wondering whether that’s where she should be, too.

There is another possibility. The news has reached us that the new Alpha of the Northwest offered to hear any Favored who will turn themselves in, and will spare the lives of those who were not directly involved in the attacks. C. says that he’s an illegitimate Alpha and cannot be trusted. However, I’ve heard rumors of Humans successfully taking advantage of this stipulation. Would he offer grace to E.? Would it be foolish to expect him to keep his word?

Let me know your thoughts. And whatever you decide, do not let the tone of this letter bring you down. These are hard times, but if we follow C.’s instructions, we will prevail.

Much love,

Fiona

I finish reading, and my timing must be pitch perfect. Because I set the letter on the table just as Irene says, “Ah, he is here. Welcome.”

I lift my eyes and Koen is there, blocking the light from filtering through the doorway.

There are more than half a dozen people in the room, but his gaze falls on me instantly, like I’m the center of mass of his universe. The violence of his relief is so strong, I don’t think anyone in the room is immune to it. Irene herself recoils, before collecting herself and adding, “We sent our location early this morning. It took you much longer than we expected to get here.”

Koen steps inside. He’s drenched in rainwater, hands tied in front of his body. His forearms and neck are smeared with blood, green swirled with red. Some of it trickles slowly down his temple, where it mats his thick hair. Just below, a deep cut dissects his right cheekbone. He’s wearing a black shirt and black pants, which makes it impossible to tell whether he was injured in any vital spot.

I can’t believe he came alone. After what he said about his mother, he made the same mistake. He’s so outnumbered, even he can’t make it out of this.

And yet his smirk and “Thank you for having me” fill me with some temporary optimism, even after three more Weres walk inside behind him. It’s Jess and her two friends, clearly proud to be delivering the Alpha of the Northwest. They bend their heads to Irene. When she invites Koen to take a seat, the younger man pushes him and sends him staggering forward.

The boy gets to gloat for about three seconds. Then Koen spins around, uses his bound hands to deliver a hook, and trips him with his foot.

Every Were in the room takes an attack stance, ready to intervene, but Koen barely notices. “Tell your boyfriends to get their hands off me,” he orders Irene, not even winded.

“Alpha.” She clicks her tongue. “Are you in the position to make demands?”

Koen’s response is a glance toward the boy who’s currently in fetal position on the floor, holding his bleeding jaw.

“Point taken.” Irene chuckles, and pulls a chair back for Koen. She’s a spider, willing to bide her time for a juicy reward, and I want to warn him, but my mouth won’t open.

“I see your bitchboys are eager to step up to the plate,” he says, glancing at the male Weres’ obvious arousal.

“They are ready to be of service, yes. Would you like some tea, Alpha?”

“That would be lovely. Chai, two sugars.”

“Nele? Do we have . . . No? No chai, unfortunately. Can we offer you anything else?”

Koen sits back. “Lady, fuck you and your tea.”

“Oh, there is no need for such hostility,” Irene chides. “I have greatly enjoyed my time with your friend.”

“Bully for you. My mate, though, doesn’t seem to enjoy your company. She’s crying, and smells like she’s in distress.”

I lift a hand up to my cheek. It’s slick with tears.

“You and I have never met, have we?” Irene asks Koen, sizing him up as she returns to her chair.

“We both know that one of us wouldn’t be here if we had.”

“That’s likely correct. Our families wouldn’t have approved of a friendship between us, would they? Oh, how rude of me– I haven’t even introduced myself. My name is Irene. I believe you were acquainted with my brother, Constantine.” Her smile is polite, even gracious. Too gracious. From my seat, I can see the clench of her right hand in her lap, visceral white-knuckled hatred in her fist. “Ah, I see from your expression that you had no idea.”

“We had a list of his siblings, and you weren’t on it. If I’d known that any of Constantine’s relatives stuck around, we’d have met much earlier.”

“Yes. Well, these days I cannot avoid a leadership role, but I used to fly under the radar. I was very young, and the spotlights weren’t for me. Then . . . you know what happened.” She turns to me. Before I can lurch away, her palm covers mine. “But how can I complain, now that I am reunited with my niece. Family must stick together, mustn’t it? It’s what her father would have wanted.”

Koen walked into this room bound and beaten, but now is the first time I pick up any real tension from him. And all at once, I can no longer ignore the truths that have been drilling at the walls of my skull for the last few hours.

My father killed Koen’s mother.

My father killed Koen’s father.

My father killed thousands of Weres, including Brenna’s, Amanda’s, Saul’s, and Jorma’s families.

My father is the reason Koen was forced to become Alpha at fifteen.

My father.

“Koen, I– ” Am not sure what to do. Don’t know what to say. Am sorry. Will make amends. There’s no good way to finish this sentence. I stare at him, willing him to meet my eyes.

When he does, the black of his gaze holds absolutely nothing.

Say something. Say something. Please, Koen, say something.

His expression remains closed, jaw set, chest heaving in slow breaths.

A wave of nausea grabs me by the throat. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry—

“There is no need to cry, dear.” Irene pats my shoulder. “We are just chatting. Let me guess– you feel guilt because of the history between your father and Koen’s pack. Maybe you think a debt is owed. But you only know little pieces of the story. That letter you just read . . . Would you like me to tell you what happened after it was sent?”

I nod, ashamed. She’s trying to deal me into her game, and I’m allowing it. Because I need to know.

“You see, the letter was with a friend, for safekeeping. I didn’t read it until months after it was written. But Fiona . . . she died less than twenty-four hours after it was sent.” Irene’s head tilts. She and Koen regard each other in a way I don’t fully comprehend. Two people who have made impossible choices. Two people defined by what has come before them.

And then Irene smiles sweetly, and asks, “Out of curiosity, Alpha. How long have you known that you killed her mother?”