Текст книги "Mate"
Автор книги: Ali Hazelwood
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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 26 страниц)
CHAPTER 3
She expects little and is not easily offended. It makes pushing her away frustratingly hard.
Present day
KOEN ALEXANDER, THE FERAL ALPHA OF THE MOST DANGEROUS pack on the continent, undisputed ruler in a wild territory known for its exceptional bloodthirst, listens to Human classical music while driving.
I did not see that coming.
And yet here he is. Post Vampyre slaughtering, blissfully unaffected as he chauffeurs me back to the Southwest pack. Lightly tapping his long fingers against the steering wheel to keep rhythm like a connoisseur. Would it be insulting to openly manifest my shock? Do I care about offending Koen?
Yes. And yes, since I’ll be alone with him in this car for the next few hours. At the mercy he may not have.
“Is this Bach?” I ask, with no real clue what Bach sounds like. In my previous life, back when I was a Human financial reporter whose idea of a mightily stressful time included judging the ripeness of watermelons or having to sneeze while driving, I gravitated toward pop.
“Why didn’t you shift?” Koen asks instead of answering. His eyes never leave the road ahead.
“Sorry?”
“Why didn’t you shift to wolf form to run from Bob?”
“Right. Who is Bob anyway?”
The look he gives me lasts a quarter of a second but perfectly relays what Koen thinks about people who answer his questions with more questions. How lovely, to learn that his patience and willingness to filter himself have not increased in the weeks since he shuttled me to the cabin. I fidget with the sleeves of the extra-large hoodie he lent me, and for the tenth time since I got in the car, I tell myself to forget the way he stared at my naked chest in the woods.
It was a ruse. To distract the Vampyre. To save my life. He was never going to harm me, and I have zero reasons to be afraid of him.
Well, I have one: he’s objectively terrifying.
“I can’t shift when the moon is this small,” I tell him.
It’s the way it works with Weres: when the moon is fat and round in the sky, we can barely resist its call and need all our self-control to avoid shifting to wolf form. The feeling of something awakening inside me, clawing to be let out once a month, always during the same lunar phase– that’s what first clued me in that maybe I wasn’t all that Human, after all.
Conversely, when the moon is weak, only highly powerful and dominant Weres can shift. I’m neither, and my ineptitude should be plenty believable to Koen.
If only.
“And yet,” he muses in his deep voice, “back when I first met you, you could shift at will.”
“Not when the moon was like this.”
“When it was smaller, if I recall correctly. And I do.”
I force myself not to tense. Weres pick up on physiological changes like sentient lie detectors, and I nurse too many secrets to have someone as perceptive as Koen on my back. “Maybe you have me mixed up with someone else.”
He shoots me another dissecting, eviscerating look. “Does your sudden inability to shift have anything to do with the reason you decided to disappear on a two-month holiday in the middle of the forest?”
Yes, it does, and no, it’s none of his business. “The reason I decided to disappear, if that’s even a word you can use for someone whose whereabouts were never not accounted for, is that the things I had to deal with in the past year include, in chronological but not traumatogenic order”– I lift my hand and begin counting with my fingers– “the slow realization that I’m not fully Human; the even slower realization that I’m much wolfier than I ever believed; my abduction and subsequent imprisonment at the hands of the Vampyres; baby’s first mass murder– in which I partook as the murderer; and, at long last, coming out to the rest of the planet as the first Human-Were hybrid.” I thrust my splayed hand in Koen’s face like it’s the world’s most fucked– up bingo card and bat my eyes at him. “I think my need for rest and relaxation was justified.”
“Not to kill your buzz, but I doubt you get to claim a Mass Murderer commemorative coin if it was in self-defense.”
He’s probably right. And I don’t feel bad about the (two? Three? Seven? It’s all a blur.) Vampyres I killed to protect Misery. “Still. Rearranging my self-image from law-abiding citizen to opportunistic slaughterer did require some inward work. Ego-concept adjustments. Self-reflection. Bawling. That kind of stuff.” I gather my knees to my chest, pull the hoodie over my scratched– up shins, and ask, “How did you know, by the way?”
“Know what?”
“That someone was going to come for me at the cabin.”
“Lowe called me earlier today. Two Vampyres, Bob and some other jizzmuffin, tried to hack the Southwest and triggered some intrusion detection systems. Alex, their IT guy, realized that they were looking for your location.” A beat. “And Ana’s.”
I cover my mouth with my hand. Ana and I have one thing in common: we’re Human-Were hybrids. But while I went public with my real nature, hers is on a strict need– to– know basis.
Because Ana is seven years old.
“Is she– ”
“Okay, yes. Bob was able to track you through your sat phone and followed you up north. There was no information on Ana. But Alex planted some to lure the other jizzmuffin deeper into Southwest territory.”
“And?”
“Lowe killed him, of course. But prior to his . . . untimely demise, Lowe’s mate did that”– he makes a vague circular motion– “hypnosis thing on him.”
“What hypnosis– Oh. The thrall?”
“Yeah. That.” Koen’s expression clearly states, Not a fan. It’s a common Were feeling.
“So Misery thralled Jizzmuffin? What did he say?”
“A member of the Vampyre council is offering several life-changing amounts of money for a hybrid.”
“Which member?”
“The fact-finding didn’t get that far. Either Jizzmuffin didn’t know, or Lowe got impatient and graduated early to the massacre part of the night.”
That’s unfortunate, but I’m inordinately proud. “Good on Misery. And to think that she used to say I was the only person she could competently thrall.” Koen’s glare is bemused, so I hurry to explain, “Consensually. She practiced on me when we were kids.”
“She practiced on you.”
“Of course. How else was she supposed to learn? She needed a brain to train on, and mine was right there.”
“Maybe there was permanent damage. That would explain it.”
“Explain what?”
“The many things that are wrong with you.”
I frown. “Like what?”
“Your self-imposed isolation. How much weaker you’ve gotten since I last saw you. The fact that you smell exhausted. Your affinity for lies. Your refusal to shift even when your life depends on it– ”
“You know,” I challenge him mildly, “if you’re accusing me of something, you can just come out and say it.”
“Nah. It’s more fun to corner you into admitting it.” He clearly has feelings about what happened tonight. They include frustration, worry, anger, and even a hint of distrust. I’m not sure how I know, since his stony profile hasn’t moved a millimeter. Maybe I’m getting better at guessing others’ emotions by scent, like a real Were.
Look at me, the little hybrid that could.
“There is nothing to admit,” I say blandly. “Do you think Bob told anyone about our locations?”
“No. He’s an idiot who entered Northwest territory on his own.”
“Was.”
“Was,” Koen concedes, disturbingly pleased. Were justice is swift and brutal, and the Northwest’s most of all. The pack is known for spending more time in wolf form than others, for being vicious beyond what is necessary to maintain their borders, and for holding grudges. The Northwest has fewer members than the Southwest, but its territory is wider and more remote. Which is why, when I decided that I needed to be alone, it seemed like the best option.
But now that I have Koen breathing down my neck, I’m rethinking things.
“You’re tired, and we have a long drive,” he says, abruptly changing the topic. “Go to sleep.”
I am tired. But: “What are we going to do about Ana?”
He frowns in surprise. “I told you, Ana is fine.”
“Ana is seven. We need to have a plan in place to protect her.”
“We?”
“We,” I repeat. When I was seven, I was an orphan. When I was seven, nothing but horrible things happened around me. Too much of this hits too close to home, and I don’t want her to ever feel like I used to.
“Ana has Lowe, and the Vampyre– ”
“Her name is Misery.”
“– and an entire pack that is ready to die and, more productively, to kill for her.”
“I should help, too. I can– ”
“Serena.” There is an edge to his voice. His grip on the steering wheel tightens. “Did you hit your head earlier?”
“What?” I instinctively massage the back of my skull. “I don’t think so. Why?”
“Just trying to figure out what caused the memory loss.”
“I don’t have– ”
“Clearly you forgot that you were assaulted about forty-five minutes ago.”
“I didn’t.”
“Really? That’s fucking great.” There is a deep V between his dark, reflective eyes, one that makes his scars pop. “Then I won’t have to remind you that you’re twenty times more at risk than Ana is.”
“That’s not true.”
“Ana is the sister of an Alpha, and her existence is a well-kept secret. You have no family, no pack, no influence, no resources– you don’t even have a home. You are virtually alone in the world, and you’ve been under surveillance your entire life, which makes predicting your next move very easy for a specific contingent of people. And don’t forget that for the last few months, your face has been plastered on every single news segment all over the world. Now, for a thought experiment: If someone decides that they want to play mad scientist with a hybrid, who do you think they’ll go for, killer?”
Koen is angry– whether at my stupidity or at being saddled with me, I’m not sure. Still, the depth of my lack of . . . of everything is not something I want to contemplate at the moment. “You are correct,” I say calmly, feeling a burning pressure behind my eyes. “And I’m not going to say that I can fend off whoever comes for me. However, if I know about a threat, I can prepare and take care of myself– ”
“I will take care of you,” he says roughly.
Oh. “Oh.”
He sighs and runs a hand through his thick, unkempt hair.
“Koen, you don’t have to– ”
“Serena.” I hear it in his voice, how little patience he has to spare. For the first time, it occurs to me to wonder what his night was like before he appeared to take care of Bob– and of me. The warning phone call from Lowe. The furious drive to reach me. The fear of being too late.
The part of me that matters isn’t interested in you, he’d said, and I do not doubt it. But even if the mate thing means nothing to Koen, even if he doesn’t care about me as a person, I’m still a hybrid who could bridge the gap between Weres and Humans. I’m under his protection, and hearing that I was in danger cannot have been easy. “Thank you,” I say with sincere appreciation. “For coming to get me. For being there right on time.”
“Don’t thank me.”
“Why?”
“I fucking hate it.”
“You hate to be . . . thanked?”
“Yup.”
“I . . . Why?”
“If I’m doing something, you can be sure that I chose to of my own free will.” He falls silent for a moment. Then his nostrils flare and he turns to scan my face, his expression increasingly horrified.
“What?” I ask. “Is a moth crawling up my nostril, or– ” I pat my cheek with my palm, and it comes back wet.
That’s what’s upsetting him.
“Oh.” Koen just killed someone without batting an eye but cannot take me shedding a single teardrop. “I’m fine,” I reassure him. His alarm doesn’t abate. It’s like I’ve just been shot in front of his eyes. “I’m okay, I promise. I’m just tired.”
“Then go the fuck to sleep,” he orders, panicky. Big Bad Murderous Wolf in Charge of Thousands Cannot Handle Girl Crying. What a headline. “What are you waiting for? Do you need a bedtime story?”
I chew back a smile. Settle against the headrest. “Why? Do you have any?”
“Me?”
“No– Weres. Us, I guess.”
“Sure, but they’re bleak. Humans and Vampyres coming for us if we nip our teachers too hard. The gods of nature toying with their beastly children. Cosmic horror– that kind of shit.”
“Wow. Do children like them?”
“I didn’t. Had nightmares about them for years.”
I nod slowly. “That explains it.”
“What?”
“The many things that are wrong with you.”
Even under the beard, I can see it. A small smile. A soft snort.
“Go to sleep, Serena.” This time, his tone is a gentle push that has me instantly yawning. It’s an Alpha thing, Misery said. They’re great at making their suggestions sound like the best option for everyone involved.
So I close my eyes and let the time and the road flow by. Until I remember something. “Koen?” I’m almost fully asleep, my lids too heavy to open.
“Yeah?”
“I think you owe me an apology.”
“For what?”
“The way you stared at my tits.”
Silence. Then, instead of the I’m sorry or Go to fucking sleep I expect, he says, “I think you owe me an apology.”
“For what?”
“How spectacular your tits are.”
God, he really is an epic asshole. “You might be the worst person I’ve ever met.”
“Wouldn’t be surprised,” he mutters.
I fall asleep with a small smile on my face. And for a few hours, I don’t think about how little time I have left to live.
CHAPTER 4
He’s toweling himself off after a shower, and the call is on speaker. It gives him hope that he may have misunderstood.
“Are you serious?” He doesn’t wait for Lowe’s reply. As a rule, Lowe doesn’t joke. “Who the fuck gave her the idea?”
“Maddie Garcia asked.”
“For fuck’s sake, the Human governor’s the one who leaked her existence to the press to begin with. She can suck shit out of a straw.”
“We cannot be sure.” A pause. “But yes. Her team likely did. And when the knowledge of the existence of a hybrid wasn’t enough to sway public opinion, she asked Serena to publicly come forward. Serena said yes.”
“And you let her.”
“I have no say in the matter.”
“Do you realize the danger she’ll be in afterward? Being known as my mate won’t protect her in Vampyre or Human territory.”
“Serena believes that the benefits outweigh the costs. And, Koen . . .” A sigh. “However much you hate this, Misery loathes it more.”
He doubts it.
“But,” Lowe continues, “if Serena’s sister is willing to acknowledge that a lot of good can come from this, then you, too, should– ”
“I fucking won’t.”
“That bad?” Lowe asks after a long silence.
No. It’s worse than that.
Two and a half months earlier
Human territory
THE THING I HATE THE MOST– AND THERE’S PLENTY TO HATE here– is the sticky heat of the camera lights. It sends little beads of perspiration down my spine and makes the skin of my back plaster to my (“Light pink!” per Ana’s request) blouse.
“We cranked the AC all the way up,” one of the producers tells me, apologetic, “but Governor Garcia sent over twenty Secret Service agents to protect you. We’re working on a skeleton crew, but the studio’s not built for a crowd this size.”
I smile, grateful. Nod, appreciative. Wonder if he knows that on top of the Human agents, there are approximately fifteen Weres milling around incognito. Half Koen’s, half Lowe’s.
Maddie said that she’d provide security, I pointed out to them two days ago, when they briefed me on their plan. Don’t you trust her?
Lowe’s diplomatic Yes, but completely overlapped with Koen’s curt No. His favorite word, coupled with his favorite tone.
I cocked my head at him, fascinated. Do you trust anyone at all?
With your precious life, killer? How could I?
This is Koen in a nutshell. Mocking and unreadable and maybe even a little cruel. He does, however, get shit done.
“We’re on in five,” the producer reminds me. “Anything else you need?”
“I’m good, thank you.”
A few feet away, the star journalist who’ll conduct the interview is recording a teaser. “. . . the answer that every Human has been seeking for the past month: When was the first known Were-Human hybrid born? How did she manage to stay undetected until her early twenties? What was her life like? Who is she, and above all, why is she coming forward right now? Stick around to learn more . . .”
I zone out. Dissociate. Try not to think about what’s at stake. In a shocking revelation, the business of going on TV to speak on how alien one is can be a bit alienating. Solitary. Misery and Lowe insisted on being here, but the less obvious my link to the Southwest, the better for Ana. Maddie’s presence would only fuel the (correct) rumors that I’m her carefully chosen political pawn. And it’s not as though I could’ve asked Danny, the last guy I dated before realizing I was a Were, to be my plus-one as I out myself as the Hybrid Whose Existence Has Been Leaked to the Press.
Hence, Koen.
The stage lighting fuzzes the crowd behind the cameras, but the tallest outline, the cross-armed, stern one, can only be him. I smile in his direction, fully aware that even if I could see it, there would be no response.
He’s so opposed to what I’m about to do, it’s almost funny. His disapproval vibrates through time and space and anchors me to this moment. Nothing else here feels real.
“You ready?” the interviewer asks, taking a seat across from me. She’s older. Elegant. Her scent betrays how disquieting she finds me, but her poker face is titanium solid. Honestly, I’m impressed. “That’s what the viewers at home are seeing now.” She points at the monitors. “An interview with the geneticist that I recorded yesterday.”
The road to this hothouse of a studio was paved with buccal swabs, blood draws, and lab testing. Six independent groups of scientists have confirmed that I am “an interspecific cross” (Latin for freak, I believe) and not, as some pundits and social media trolls have decreed, “a grifter making shit up for clout.”
“. . .was not believed possible. We don’t have reports of hybrids, even from territories such as Europe, in which Weres and Humans live more amalgamated lives. What changed?”
“The most likely hypothesis is that random genetic mutations have occurred within North American packs.”
“Genetic mutations like what?”
“It’s impossible to say without more data. My hunch would be mutations in the genes that encode for gamete recognition, or regulatory genes. The bottom line is that these mutations made Weres reproductively compatible with Humans.”
“And these mutations, they affect all Weres, all over the world?”
“Unlikely. Were packs tend to be self-sufficient and isolated. For instance, packs such as the Northwest and the Southwest are known allies, which may come with genetic exchanges between them. But according to most Human observers, those two packs rarely interact with the New En gland packs. And the same is true for other North American and European packs: very few connections.”
“So what are the chances that Humans and Weres will become one single species?”
The geneticist laughs. “I wouldn’t worry about it. Keep in mind, most hybrids are not fertile.”
“What about this one?”
“She’s highly unlikely to be able to have children, with Humans or with Weres. The difference in chromosome structure will make it hard for her to produce functional gametes . . .”
An out-of-body experience, that’s what this is. My soul is up on the ceiling, dangling monkey-bar-style from a truss, staring down at my unresponsive body as it learns that it might not be able to have children.
For the first time.
In front of dozens of people.
From someone who laughs it off as a best-case scenario.
It’s okay, I remind my body as the inside of its stomach is being raked bloody. It changes nothing. It’s the least of your problems. You knew that this would be supremely shitty when you agreed to it. Stay on task. Focus on—
“. . .made you decide to come forward and speak to us?” the interviewer is asking.
We’re on air. I switch on. Plunge back into the moment. “Frankly, realizing that it was either that or letting others take control of the narrative.” I smile the same confident, self-assured smile I used to pitch stories to my editor or to charm the pizza place guy into giving me the slice with the most pepperoni. “Since my existence was made public three weeks ago, a lot of inaccuracies have been reported. I’d like to set the record straight.”
“I see. And to remind our viewers, The Herald, Ms. Paris’s former place of employment, received information about the alleged existence of hybrids from an undisclosed Human source. Its veracity was widely debated. Then, a few days ago, you made a statement to the press revealing your name.”
“Thank you for giving me the opportunity to share my story.”
“Could you explain why you believed you were Human until last year?”
People adore being served a good conspiracy theory. However, one must choose its platter and garnishments very carefully. Take my situation: I could tell the truth– that I was under surveillance my entire life because a few despotic members of Human, Were, and Vampyre societies were so power hungry and pathologically unwilling to coexist, they engaged in a complex web of sloppy but decades-enduring deceit. Problem is, it sounds . . . sketchy. Far-fetched. The responsibility is too diffused.
More importantly, it would only reinforce Humans’ hostility toward the other two species, and there are buckets of that going around already.
That’s why, after agreeing to this interview, Maddie, Lowe, and I put our heads down and workshopped a few talking points. The title of our story is An Evil Human Ex– Governor Locked Poor Little Hybrid Me in a Basement Because He Hated Peace. It’s palatable. Easy to understand. Might even allow the average Human to feel morally superior.
They would never imprison an orphan and lie to them.
They could even be inclined to open their hearts to a victim of injustice.
They might decide to see Weres as people, instead of glowy-eyed butchering machines.
And in the end, this is what we hope to accomplish: buy goodwill for Maddie Garcia, the new Human governor, and enough public support to make reforms possible.
“My real nature was kept from me. The former governor was afraid that as a hybrid, I had the potential to become a symbol of unity between Weres and Humans– an unwelcome one, since his political career was based on divisiveness and fearmongering.”
“You’re talking about former Human Governor Davenport, who unexpectedly died in prison two days ago?”
“Yes.”
It wasn’t us, Lowe was quick to say when the news broke of the governor’s death. A little too quick, considering I hadn’t even asked.
You sure about that?
Tragically, yes. Koen sounded disappointed. Though his Vampyre and Human accomplices may have had something to do with it. His death is very fortuitous for them.
My demure nod and murmured “Yes. May he rest in peace” should earn me several acting award statuettes. “He knew that I was half Were.”
“How?”
“That, we’re still researching. Unfortunately, I don’t have many memories of the first few years of my life, or of my parents. All we know is that by the time I was seven, I was living in a Human orphanage in The City. I suspect that through some routine checkup, one of the doctors realized that I was part Were and alerted Governor Davenport.” None of what I just said is a lie, which is highly unusual on my part.
“And what did Governor Davenport do?”
“At the time, he knew I was genetically half Were, but I presented as Human. Still, he thought it best to keep an eye on me.”
“And that’s why you grew up in the Vampyre Collateral’s mansion, as Misery Lark’s companion. She was the second– to– last Collateral before the program was discontinued.”
“Correct.”
“And when did you start exhibiting Were traits?”
“About two years ago.”
“By then, you were living freely in Human society, correct? Was Governor Davenport still watching you?”
I nod. “He had me abducted and imprisoned for several weeks.”
“Why?”
“I believe he felt threatened by the Human public’s possible reaction to my existence. At the time, Maddie Garcia’s gubernatorial campaign was picking up steam, and she was later elected. It was clear that many voters wanted to see some change in the Were-Human relationships, and Governor Davenport thought my presence might galvanize them even more.”
“Did he act alone?”
“As far as I know.” Blatant erasure of the Vampyres and Weres he was in cahoots with. I’m sure I’ll hear all about it when we meet again, in hell.
“How did you get free?”
Oh, boy. “I shifted to wolf form and escaped.”
“So you are able to shift?”
“I am.” Is it a lie? I’m not even sure anymore. “But it’s a new skill for me.”
“In what ways are you Human?”
“Well, my blood is red. My strength and senses acuity are somewhere in the middle between a Were and a Human’s.”
“I see. Serena, this must all be very painful to relive– thank you for sharing it with us. What about the rumors that there are others?”
“Others?”
“Other hybrids. The Herald’s article suggested that you might be one of two.”
And this, this, is the real reason I’m here. Everything else– Maddie, peace, reforms, public opinion . . . well, it all matters. But not as much as shoving the spotlight away from Ana.
That’s why I spent the last week leaning across the porcelain sink of Lowe’s bathroom, rehearsing my frown until it was flawless. When I see it furrow my brow on multiple screens, I decide that all that practice was worth it. “If there are other hybrids, I’ve never heard of them. But I’d love to meet them.”
The interviewer leans forward a little, ready to dig. I recognize the ambitious gleam in her eyes, the thrill of the chase. I was like her. I used to ask the hard questions. I wanted the truth.
Now all I want is to get this over with.
“The article that outed you,” she says, “alleged the existence of a younger female hybrid, one who lives with the Weres.”
“Oh, right. Yes.” I force a kick of understanding to spill onto my expression. “I wonder if the source was mistaken. What was said about the other Were used to be true of me when I was younger . . . Maybe that’s where the confusion originated?” I shrug cluelessly.
“The article itself did state that the source could not provide evidence on the existence of this second hybrid,” the interviewer agrees. My posture doesn’t change, but I feel my muscles melt into the chair.
I had a single fucking job, and I did it. I’m so ready to go home and throw up in the bathtub, but this lady is still asking questions. “. . .you’ve been staying with the Southwest pack. Do you miss living among the Humans?”
“Yes, of course,” I say, instead of a more truthful Not at all.
The thing is, Humans have been less than outstanding to me of late. My former colleagues at The Herald wrote an op– ed about feeling betrayed and traumatized by the way I “deliberately misrepresented” myself “in a professional setting, no less.” A waiter from a restaurant I never even set foot inside went on record about the time I ordered a steak and promised a 40 percent tip to make it extra rare. Pete, an engineer I went on three dates with, sold his story to a tabloid. I always suspected there was something wrong about her. She didn’t seem to enjoy what most women do. His dick, he meant. I can’t believe I’m getting internationally dragged for refusing to screw a guy who told me that I looked just like his mother.
So, yeah. Humans are on my shit list, and I don’t miss them. What I do miss is the period of my life in which the word problem could apply to the printer not working.
“However,” I add, “I’m very grateful for the opportunity to spend time with Weres and learn their customs.”
“And what do you say to those who believe that hybrids such as you are a threat to society and should be eliminated?”
I smile pleasantly, like she didn’t just ask me, What’s it like when people want to watch you croak with their beady little eyes? Gotta love journalism. “They are free to believe what they like. But centuries of conflict have benefited no one except those in power. I think that the genetic bridge between the two species could be the harbinger of a better future.”
There are a few more softballs, and I spout a few more platitudes, which should get me a seven-figure aphorism book deal any day now. Once the interview ends, Koen waits for me on the side of the stage, looking as pleased as ever.
Which is not at all.
“Are you her, um, Alpha?” the interviewer asks, taking him in. She smells terrified. And aroused.
“Sure,” Koen drawls, right as I snort, “He’s more like my babysitter.”
“And she’s more like a pain in my– ”
“Let’s go,” I nearly scream, tugging at the sleeve of his plaid shirt. He’s the only person in the building not wearing business attire. I’d say he didn’t get the memo, but knowing Koen, he sent it back with I do whatever the fuck I want scribbled all over it. In blood, most likely.
In the elevator it’s me, him, and a gaggle of Human agents standing behind us.
“Did you know?” he asks under his breath, staring ahead at the doors.
My heart plummets. He’s talking about what the geneticist revealed about hybrids having children. I have no clue how, but I’m certain of it. “No.”
His jaw shifts from side to side.
In the network’s lobby, a valet timidly approaches him. “Sir, your car is waiting outside.”
Koen’s eyebrow, the one dissected by scars, arches at an angle that clearly states I’ve never been called Sir before, and it better not happen again. I turn my head to hide a smile, and that’s when I hear it.
“– the gall of coming here and forcing Secret Service agents to guard her. Like we won’t be first in line to get rid of her.” The man in black behind us is mumbling in his buddy’s direction. Low enough not to be overheard– if Koen and I were Humans.
But we aren’t. And the agent is apparently that stupid, because he continues, “Can’t believe her fucking kind.”
I spin, ready to politely request that he repeat it to my face, but Koen wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me into the hard heat of his body. From the outside, it probably looks like a playful, affectionate gesture. I take it for what it is: a firm command not to kill.
“Not with an audience this big, at least,” he murmurs lightly against the shell of my ear. Without letting go of me, he uncoils to his full height. “Listen, bud,” he tells the men, at once easygoing and assertive.
This is Koen, being in charge, herding people, straightening spines. I wonder if the agents know he’s an Alpha. For me, it’s impossible to miss. Those eyes. His overpowering scent. How difficult it is to tell him anything approaching no. “I don’t like her kind, either. Do I think she should have come here? Fuck no.”
