Текст книги "Mate"
Автор книги: Ali Hazelwood
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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 26 страниц)
CHAPTER 6
He’s going to take her lies and peel them off one by one. Then he’ll force her to show him what’s underneath.
MY PERFECTLY REASONABLE PLAN, AIMED AT PREVENTING the slaughter of a very cute child who once pointed at a drawing of an antelope and asked me if it was a “duocorn,” is received less than marvelously.
The protests are so vehement, I cannot help wondering whether they misheard me. Maybe they think I’m planning to hijack an SUV and run over the mother of newborn kittens? It would explain the full-throttle stream of objections, which includes words like “unacceptable” (Lowe), “death sentence” (Saul), “terrible idea” (Alex), “must be the Human half speaking, ’cause this sounds crazy” (Amanda), and “this feels wrong on so many levels, some of which must be legal” (Jorma), as well as an additional assortment of grunts and protests.
Misery, who’s taking to being an Alpha’s mate a little too well, commands me to “come to bed in the Southwest right now. Without dinner.”
“Wrong meal, Misery. Also, I don’t take orders from the chick who once gave me toenail fungus.”
“Shut up. Acknowledge me as your Alpha!”
“Love, we’ve been over this,” Lowe murmurs, patting her knee. “It’s not how it works.”
“And bring me gifts of gold, frankincense, and peanut butter!”
“Misery, I’ve seen you flick boogers at passersby.”
“I was a child.”
“You were seventeen.”
But she won’t stop protesting, and snarls that I’m “too valuable, too important, too loved” to be used as bait. God. What an inconvenient time for her to finally get in touch with her emotions.
“I’m not suicidal,” I tell everyone, “nor am I suggesting I walk unarmed into Vampyre headquarters. We can safely arrange to– ” I stop to hide a yawn in my palm, and that’s when Koen declares the meeting over and stands.
“I’m taking her to bed.” It speaks to his authority that not a single eyebrow lifts.
My abused feet make contact with the floor, and I grit my teeth. Koen instantly picks me up, one strong arm snaked around my rib cage as he presses me to his side, toes dangling a few inches from the ground.
It’s undignified. And pathetically befits my status in life.
“Once again, I am capable of walking,” I murmur against his shoulder. His beard bristles against the tender skin of my temple, ticklish but pleasant. He runs much warmer than me. The wonders of genetics not split between species with wildly different baseline temperatures.
“I heard rumors but dared not believe them.” He walks through the first door on the right. There is a bit of shuffling me in his arms, then he pulls back the covers and deposits me on a soft mattress, between sheets that smell like lavender. “Show me tomorrow, after your soles have healed.”
“It’ll be the performance of a lifetime.” I shiver at the sudden chill and pull the hem of his hoodie down my bare thighs.
I feel, once again, that something about Koen. How imposing he is. The kind of menacing that colors the air around him for miles. It comes not from height and muscles, but from something else, something undefinable with Human words– the only ones I have.
Vocabulary. That’s what stands between me and understanding Koen.
Maybe with time, I tell myself.
And then reply, What time, Serena?
“You get it, right? Why I want to take the attention off Ana?”
Downstairs, he didn’t say much– just sat next to me, a quiet, dark center of intense energy. It’s not that I want his approval, especially after he made it clear that he couldn’t care less about mine. But the others’ opposition to my plan is not rational. It comes from some soft place, deep within their bellies. Misery loves me, and so does Lowe, if only for some spousal transitive property. Being in charge, though, means constructing complex trade-offs. And Koen is nothing if not in charge.
“Yes. This is for you.” He deposits a satellite phone I’ve never seen before on the nightstand and holds my eyes disapprovingly as he plugs the charger into the outlet.
Shit. Did he try to call to warn me about Bob earlier today? I’ll never know, ’cause my phone was dead and I left it back at the cabin. Should I reiterate that I am, in fact, able to take care of battery-operated devices? “Thank you. For this.”
“You already thanked me, and I told you– not big into gratitude. Either return the favor by coming to my house and dusting the light fixtures, or shut up.”
“No, this is not about saving my life.” I sit up on my heels. “Thank you for taking my side. About Ana.”
“Is that your takeaway?” He scoffs. “I’m not taking your side, Serena.”
“Downstairs, you didn’t object.”
“I didn’t object because I don’t need to. It’s upstanding of Lowe and the Vampyre to try to convince you not to do something idiotic.” His eyes bore into mine and he leans forward, palms against the mattress, caging my thighs. He’s a wall of heat, all forest scent. This close, I could easily trace all the little scars on his face. “I’m simply going to lock you up, killer. If I have to chain you to my fucking bed to keep you alive, I will not hesitate.”
I refuse to cower backward. “You really are a dick.”
Well, duh, his gaze clearly states. “If you’re into self-immolation and dying, I can easily arrange it for you. No need to involve other species.”
“This is not self-immolation. It’s a strategy– putting oneself in danger in order to gain something. Taking one for the team. Like Misery did when she married Lowe.”
Koen’s eyebrows rise. “Those two are sickeningly in love. Whatever she’s taking, it’s not for the team.”
I wince. “Thank you for this highly disturbing mental image of my sister– ”
“You’re welcome.”
“– and yes, it worked out great, but she could have gotten mangled and eaten. She could be hanging out with Lowe’s gut bacteria. We all make sacrifices. Look at Lowe– he’s my age and has to take care of a whole-ass pack. You’re like, thirty-five, had much longer to grow accustomed to your role.”
His expression clouds. “I’m not thirty-five, Serena.”
I flush and scan his sculpted, complicated face. He doesn’t look old, just like he’s been through shit. “It’s the whole”– I lift my hand to his face, gently stroking his beard– “um, facial hair and stuff. Ages you. I could trim your hair, it’d take me ten minutes, tops. I used to do it for Misery– ”
“I’m thirty-six. Even more decrepit than you thought.”
“Oh.”
“I know. Highly disturbing that Weres are allowed to advance to such a ramshackle state.”
“That’s not what I– ”
“But rest assured, killer, that I am not so enfeebled that I won’t tie you up in my basement if you endanger yourself.”
The thing about Koen: He is an asshole, but a reasonable one. Which means that the more unhinged his threats become, the less believable they sound. And the stronger my impulse to just laugh in his face. “But what about the martyr character arc I’ve always wanted?”
“Not on my watch. Not in my territory. Not under my protection.”
I shift higher on my knees to gain a few inches. It brings our noses in touching range. “Koen, you know it’s a good idea.”
“If by good idea you mean bullshit. The problem with your plan, and I’m using that word generously, is that you do not have the resources to pull it off.”
“Then help me.” I try to wrap my hand around his wrist, but my fingers don’t meet. “You care about Ana just as much as I do. What if– what if I stay in the Northwest? Where’s your Den? Olympia? Take me there. Parade me around. We’ll make it so easy for the Vampyres to find me, they won’t even investigate Ana’s whereabouts. They’ll come for me, your patrols will capture them, and Owen will gain control of the council. Please. At least consider it.”
He straightens abruptly, freeing himself from my grip with no effort. A small shudder licks up my spine, and the way he looked at me earlier, the weight of his eyes on my bared body, it all flashes through me like a bolt. For a moment I am– I don’t know. Eager. Uneasy. Heated. Full. Empty. Heavy. Good, but bad. I don’t know.
I don’t know what I am or how I feel, because my stupid body isn’t mine anymore, and there seems to be no one like me in the whole damn world.
“You need food,” he says, heading for the door. “I’ll have Saul bring you something.”
My stomach rolls in vehement, impolite denial. “I’m not hungry.”
Koen folds his arms. Inspects me like he has a medical degree and I’m at my yearly checkup. “You’re not thirsty, either. Unusual, for a Were.”
“I’m only half Were.”
“You are.” It’s disquieting, frankly. The way he sees through the layers of bullcrap I painstakingly apply to my skin every day. “Maybe we could hunt together. Find some game. Fill that belly of yours.” His eyes lower to my stomach, and I’m suddenly hot.
“I told you. I can’t shift right now.”
“Ah, yes. I forgot that you’re . . . not very powerful.” He says it– not very powerful– in a deep, rumbly voice, making it clear that he thinks I’m a load of dung posing as a person. “Moon too small?”
I nod.
“Can’t wait for the full moon, then. I’d love to see your wolf form.” He says it suggestively, but not in the try-hard way of a third date dropping hints that they’ve been wondering about the view from my apartment. This is a purely intellectual pursuit on his part: I’d love to read that article on micro-dosing. I’d love to snorkel in the coral reef, if the opportunity were to arise. I’d love to catch you in a lie. Still, something twisted in my brain registers it as inappropriate and dirty and disturbing and glorious and . . .
I have seen Koen’s wolf form. The glossy black fur that reminds me of his hair. The large paws. That white tuft right on his chest, above the spot where his heart beats. The size of him. He is very much Koen at a level I cannot put in words. He could be standing next to a dozen identical animals, and I’d still be able to single him out.
God, am I about to use the word aura?
“In the meantime, I’ll have Saul bring you food. Since you look so gaunt.”
“I do not.”
“Right. Picture of health.”
I grin. “No need to mince your words. Just say that I’m fugly, call it a day, and– ”
“Serena,” he growls. His stare, the dull black of his eyes, is abrasive. Sands me down to the skeleton. “Sleep. When you wake up, I’m taking you back to the Southwest.”
“What?” No. No. That’s where Ana is. “Please, don’t. Just think about it– ”
“If you keep lying to me, I can’t properly protect you. And if I can’t protect you, I won’t keep you around.”
“I’m not– Which lie?”
He snorts softly. “You tell that many?”
“I . . .” I fidget with the sleeve of my hoodie. “I lie a lot.”
“You shouldn’t. Telling the truth can be therapeutic.”
I narrow my eyes. “You know what else can be therapeutic?”
“Punching me in the nuts?”
That’s exactly what I was going to say. “How did you know I– ”
“You’re pretty fucking predictable.” He’s leaving again, and I hate him. So much. Especially when I have no choice but to yell after him, “Fine.”
He doesn’t stop.
“I’ll tell the truth.”
Keeps walking.
I squeeze my eyes shut and force myself to admit it.
“I haven’t been able to shift in months.”
CHAPTER 7
It’s not the only secret she’s been keeping. It’s not even the worst one. For now, though, he’ll play. The alternative is unacceptable.
KOEN TAKES HIS SWEET, SWEET TIME TO TURN TO ME. HIS SURPRISE at my confession couldn’t fill a puddle. “Was that so hard?”
I clench my fist. “Since you obviously already knew, why did you make me say it?”
“Hearing you verbally acknowledge your limitations brings flavor and spice to my life. Why were you keeping it a secret?”
“I don’t know. I . . . Maybe I just didn’t want you looking down on me.”
“I will never not look down on you, chiefly because of our height difference. When did it start?”
“A while ago.”
“Was it before or after I allowed you to be alone at the cabin– ”
“You allowed me?”
“– under repeated reassurances that you could take care of yourself, killer?”
“I . . . Before. I already couldn’t shift.”
His jaw tics. “Here’s the deal: you’re not an idiot.”
“Wow. What a compliment.”
“Sure. Keep that in mind when I ask you why the fuck you are acting like one. How. Long?”
“It’s genuinely hard to tell. A few days after I moved to the Southwest?”
“How many?”
I try to recall. “Maybe a week or so? The first time I tried and wasn’t able to was the day after . . . after Ana returned.” The day after Koen and I met. “I also started feeling poorly, and– ”
“Feeling poorly?”
Tell him, I order myself. Tell him. Tell him everything. It’ll make things so much easier.
But it wouldn’t. It would be incredibly selfish. Things would be easier for me and significantly more complicated for everyone else. “Nothing bad. You’re right, my appetite has been low. Nausea. Issues sleeping. One of the Southwest physicians, Dr. Henshaw, said it’s stress from . . .” I shrug and smile. Artfully, if I say so myself. When it comes to my recent past, the ratio of what went wrong to what could have gone wrong is so high, it’s objectively funny. “Take your pick. Basically, I just need to wait it out and chill. Hence the cabin.”
“Are you in pain?”
I shake my head, instinctively. His expression looks so dubious, I wince. “It’s more like discomfort.”
Koen doesn’t want to believe it, but it’s obvious that he’s not sure where the lie’s at. “For someone juggling this many secrets, you’re pretty terrible at keeping them.”
“I’ll try to do better, Alpha.” I bat my eyes at him, which makes his scowl deepen by a factor of ten. “Could you please not tell Misery and Lowe?”
“Oh, you’re hiding shit from them, too?”
“I’m an equal opportunity liar. And really, it would just give them one more thing to worry about, when Ana should be their– ”
“Priority, yeah. You’ve mentioned her.” My craning neck weeps in gratitude when Koen takes a seat on the edge of the mattress. His posture is lazy, but his eyes stay sharp. “Under Were custom, I cannot keep this from Lowe. He’s your Alpha.”
“Is he, though? I didn’t, like, go to the DMV to sign paperwork– ”
“To the what, now?”
“– and I didn’t take a blood oath. You said it yourself, that I have no pack– ”
“You are not an official member of any pack. You are, however, affiliated with the Southwest. The alternative is for Were society to deal with you as a rogue Were, and you do not want that.”
“I don’t understand, why does it matter– ”
“Correct. You don’t understand. Were packs are not chummy extended families, killer. To safely set foot in a pack’s territory, you’ll need to be affiliated with that pack or with their allies.”
“And if I’m not?”
He gives me a flat look that– Okay. Got that loud and clear. “Can I change? If I were affiliated with the Northwest, then it would be okay for Lowe not to know, right?”
“That would make me your Alpha.”
“Would you mind that?”
He stares like I’m trying to sell him a pouch of magic beans. “To be clear, I know that I’m being played. I’m just allowing it because I love the idea of telling you what to do that much.”
I cannot help my smile. “Very well. Deal. Now that I’m officially a Northwesterner– ”
“Not a name we go by.”
“– in the name of Alpha-member confidentiality– ”
“Which doesn’t exist.”
“– I ask you to please not tell Misery that I’m . . . I don’t know, regressing to my Human self? She already has plenty to be nervous about.” I chew on my lower lip for a moment. “Will you take me in, then? It’ll ease the pressure off the Southwest. And . . . I feel safer when I’m with you.”
His tongue prods at the inside of his cheek. “You do?”
I nod, wondering why it’s the truth. I’m sure Lowe and his seconds are just as capable. They may even have more of an incentive to protect me, since . . . well. Lowe has never felt the need to remind me that the part of him that matters could never be interested in me. “Yeah. I do.”
“Well, that’s too bad. Because I don’t want you to feel safe.”
“You . . . don’t?”
Glaring, he leans toward me, full of something vicious that I cannot name. “I want you to be scared shitless, Serena. I want you so fucking terrified of me, you won’t even dream of not doing what I say. I want you to feel like your soft little throat is in my hands, and I want you to be so afraid that I’ll tear into it that when I tell you to do something for your own fucking safety, you won’t consider saying anything but ‘Yes, Alpha.’ ”
The last words are hissed just inches from my face, the puff of his breath hot against my cheek, and the thing is– he is terrifying. He could carve me open like an overripe pomegranate. And he’s definitely capable of forcing me to do whatever he wants. I’ve seen the way even his seconds look at him, love and trust and respect mixed with circumspection. I’ve heard Lowe and Misery whisper their worries. I am aware that there is an edge of unpredictability to Koen.
And yet the only response I can muster to his threats is a small, apologetic smile.
He didn’t ask for me to be his mate. I didn’t ask to be a hybrid. And yet here we both are.
I cannot help myself. I lift my hand, and with the backs of my fingers I stroke the skin of his cheek. It’s the lightest touch, barely anything. But it sends currents trembling down my arm, clamoring for more.
Koen’s muscles tense, and he flinches from my touch. With a roll of his eyes, he unfolds away from me, and cold seeps back into my bones.
“You’re such a fucking nuisance,” he murmurs, almost softly.
“I know.” I press my lips together. “Thank you again for– ”
“Serena.”
“I know, but I have to say it, and– ”
“Just mulch Saul’s rose beds, and we can be even.” He spins on his heel. Is he leaving?
“Are you going to bed?” I ask after him.
“After I’m done.” He doesn’t specify with what.
“Where will you be sleeping?”
“There are half a dozen beds in this cabin.”
What a nonanswer. And on top of thank you, he must also not be big into good night, because he opens the door and—
“Koen?”
He stops. Turns to me with an expression that’s equally patient, insulting, and dismissive. The quintessential Alpha has shit to do look.
“Just . . .” I swallow. “The mate thing.”
His face doesn’t move a millimeter. His biological predestination to want sex with me seems to interest him less than the favorite yogurt flavor of the fifteen– to– twenty-one demographic.
“The rest of your pack, do they know?”
He shrugs, one shouldered. Truly, he does not give a shit about the stuff I spend my nights overthinking. “Everyone does.”
“You didn’t . . . It’s not a secret?”
“We made sure every Were knew, Serena.”
“Oh. Why?”
“No sane Were will touch you if they think you’re important to me.”
If they think.
I scratch the back of my head. “Do they think we . . . ?”
“No. We made that clear, too.”
“So they know that I’m your mate but we’re not together?”
“Correct.”
“And doesn’t it bother you?”
“Why would it?”
“I don’t know. Just . . . big bad Alpha. Everyone’s boss. I thought you might want to . . .”
“Spare myself the humiliation of having been rejected?” He huffs a laugh. “Serena, there are much worse things than that.”
Are there? I’m not so sure. The good and the bad of my life correlate strongly with feelings of being wanted– or not. But Koen is not a Human orphan, let alone one whose claim to fame is being useless in therapy because of an overgrown case of infantile amnesia.
Like me, or don’t. I really couldn’t care less.
God, how many times do I have to make him tell me before I turn it into a long-term memory? “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I asked. I’m just tired.”
“Right. If only you had a bed to sleep in.”
His sarcasm is a jolt of electricity. “I hate you,” I say mildly.
“You need me to check the closet for monsters?”
“Nope.” I already know where those are.
“Glass of water? Brush your hair one hundred strokes? The fucking chamber pot?”
I let out a small laugh and shake my head, and before I can force my “Good night” upon him, Koen is gone.
My heart feels cavern hollow. I ignore it, spend five minutes punching my pillows into shape, and fall into a deep sleep.
IT STARTS LIKE IT ALWAYS DOES. THAT IS TO SAY, NICELY ENOUGH.
I wonder how universal a truth it is that the closer to the end we get, the more mundane our oneiric activities become. Mine used to be ridiculous, equally fun and horrifying, but lately they’re about only one thing: sex.
It just seems so . . . unambitious. I could be dreaming of castles, or deer with Jell– O antlers, or pizza pies in the sky. Instead, it’s all work-rough palms wrapped around my kneecap, and bare, sweat-slick skin. Outdoor scents. Sticky, dripping, hazy warmth. Bites into unyielding muscles. Rolling murmurs, whispers of something dark and good I can never make out, and laughter pressing into my throat. Red cheeks, a hot olive flush, heavy, lingering touches, aches that don’t hurt. Twitches of pleasure, a white-knuckled grip, the pulse of something hungry and needy. A hitch of breath. A sharp inhale. Low bass, vibrating through me. A quiet exhale. Hard and soft, muted swallows, a sloppy, lazy rhythm.
It’s not even sex. At least, not as far as I can tell. Just the components of it, the pieces and not the whole, cluttering my mind, taking up every corner. Like I said, it’s nice enough– until I wake up.
An agonized moan slips out of my throat, and I press my palm to my mouth.
I don’t waste time. I know by now that hoping for the rippling pain to subside is no use. My temperature would spike even higher, and the heat would probably kill me. Fisting the edge of the mattress, I manage to roll out of bed and crawl to the bathroom. Once I’m a heap of perspiration and tears and shivers on the soft shower mat, that’s when the fun starts.
Some nights, I only deal with the fever. Others– more and more frequent– my stomach demands its due. Luckily, when the first bout pours out of me, I’m standing right by the toilet bowl. It smells like acid and sickness and rot, and I gag even more, but once that’s done, the pain recedes long enough for me to catch my breath.
So I focus on the real issue: I’m about to burst into flames.
It could be an exaggeration– or not. Will my organs melt out of my orifices if I skip the next step? It sure feels like it. So I elbow myself into the bathtub and flick on the cold water.
The first cool splash against my sizzling skin always has me sighing in relief, but it’s ludicrously short-lived. It’ll get better, though. Once I’m neck deep, I’ll stop feeling like a small, violent mammal has crawled inside my abdomen and is gnawing at my flesh while breathing fire. For now, though, my heart hammers against my rib cage, my body arches and contracts, and I swallow the pain of a hundred bones crumbling.
And since it’s all I can do, I sit, bury my face in my knees, and wait.
