Текст книги "Mate"

Автор книги: Ali Hazelwood

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It’s there in her eyes, the moment she realizes that there’s no way out.

“I’m not going to stick around,” I puff out, winded. “I’ll be out of your hair before you can swat me away. And you don’t have to worry about Koen and me. We’re not together. The mate thing has no bearing on our relationship. We’re not secretly in love with each other. We’re not even fucking.”

“Oh, I know.” Her smile is strained. “Believe me, we all know.”

“Good. He explained the situation to you.” I glance up and find him staring at us. At me. If he’s angry that I won, he hides it well. There is a shadow of a smile around his eyes, at the edge of him, that resembles . . . pride.

I hope what he reads in my wide, smug grin is Guess I’ll be living on my own.

And maybe he does. Because he nods, once, as if conceding that I’m right. I open my mouth to say something obnoxiously victorious– and that’s when I realize that my celebration was premature.

With an explosive burst, Brenna lifts me off her. She breaks free and takes full advantage of my absolute shock to wrap an arm around my neck from the rear, and . . .

“He didn’t need to explain any situation to anyone,” she whispers in my ear. “There are three things I believe with utmost certainty. Death will come for all of us. No matter what, the sun will rise every morning. And Koen is never, ever going to touch you. Not even if you beg him for it on your knees.”

She lets go of me so abruptly, I fall back against the mat, disoriented, dizzy, breathing in big gulps of air. When I open my eyes, Koen is staring down at me, mouth upturned in an unsurprised smile.

“For your sake, killer, you better not leave dirty dishes in the sink.”

CHAPTER 12

Cute, how she thinks he’d ever let her out of his sight.

ILOST FAIR AND SQUARE, SO I FOLLOW KOEN OUT AND KEEP MY mouth shut, gingerly moving my bruised, achy body. Any half-decent guy would solicitously ask whether I’m okay, but that’s clearly not him. He walks ahead, ignoring me, and when he comes to a sudden halt, I nearly bump into his back.

On the hood of his car there is a small parcel, carefully wrapped in brown paper. Someone wrote with a black Sharpie: For the former Human.

Instinctively, I round Koen to pick it up. A second later, I’m airborne: his arm is wrapped tight around my waist; my feet no longer touch the ground. His hand presses into my belly and pulls me closer to his chest. “Out of curiosity, do you have a death wish, or are you just being sewer-brained?”

I tug at his arm, with little success. I’m still suspended. “Oh, yes, the ultimate suicidal activity. Opening my own mail.”

“Serena, that is not normal.”

“Packages?”

“Packages for half-Human hybrids who are under my protection, and whose existence is under threat by multiple parties.” He shifts forward, aiming his words at the shell of my ear. A shiver travels through my spine. “Since you appear to need reminding, if some sketchy-looking cumduck pulls up in a white van and asks you to help him rescue his puppy– ”

“Okay, I get it.” He inhales deeply against my back. It’s like we share a single body. “Can you tell who dropped it off?”

He shakes his head. “They covered their scent.”

“Hmm. Does Brenna have security cameras?”

“Yes. But I doubt they picked up anything, or she’d already know.”

“Which means?”

“Just that the person who delivered the package knew where the blind zone was.”

“Is that a short list?”

“No. The point of the cameras is to monitor outsiders, not pack members.” Koen lets go of me and a new dance ensues, in which the package is reasonably ascertained not to contain explosives or biological hazards, then brought inside the car.

“Makes total sense,” I say.

“Hmm?”

“That the Alpha with responsibility over thousands of pack members would take on this super-risky endeavor, while the random unemployed hybrid watches at a safe distance. My life is totally worth more than yours,” I say sweetly.

He pretends to ponder the matter. “You’re right. I should just off you myself and get it over with.”

I bite back a smile and watch him slowly tear into the paper. There is a card inside, which has Koen’s features tensing with worry.

The note, unsigned, simply says, From your mother.

Underneath there is a silver necklace: a moon scratched by four claw marks.

“WASHER AND DRYER ARE DOWN THE HALL,” KOEN TELLS ME BACK at his house. It’s like we never left at all. “There’s a bathroom in your bedroom.”

There is. Unfortunately, it doesn’t have a tub, which is a crucial part of my nighttime routine. Fortunately, I think I spot one in Koen’s en suite as he hands me a stack of towels that feel softer than a seal’s pelt. I bury my face in them and inhale deeply. Traces of soap and his skin fill my lungs, and I flush a little when his eyebrow lifts. “Um. Thank you.”

The plot twist I did not expect, given the scantiness of the furnishings, is the piano. I stare, intrigued. It’s mahogany. At once smooth and softened by time. Little scars. Faded spots. “Do you play?”

“No.”

“Then why– ”

“Family heirloom.”

I guess that explains the way it’s pushed against the wall in the far corner, almost hidden. I want to investigate, but Koen’s tone doesn’t encourage follow– up questions.

Back in the kitchen, he opens the fridge. It contains a single item: a purple box of something called “unicorn waffles.”

My eyebrow arches.

“From when Ana was here,” he mumbles, and I’m pleased to detect some sheepishness. No waft of cold air, though, because the fridge isn’t even plugged into the power outlet.

“Guess I’m not the only one who doesn’t know how electricity works,” I murmur under my breath. Koen slams the door closed, hooks his finger under the base of my jaw, and forces me to look at him.

“Wanna say that again to my face?”

“Not particularly.” I bat my eyes at him and don’t bother to free myself. I’m resigned to staying here, and I must admit it: he smells nice. His touch feels nice. Being here is nice. Nice, nice, nice. My mind’s spinning a little. “Are most Northwest members too badass to consume food? Do you only eat in wolf form?” That must be it. He can’t very well bust out his grandma’s silverware and fine dine with truffle risotto and densuke watermelon if 80 percent of the time he’s got paws and carnassial teeth. “Poor squirrels, getting chased up the gutter.”

“Squirrels have it coming. Smug little shits,” he grumbles. He cocks his head and surveys me closely, as though something just occurred to him. He inches forward and forces me to take a step back until my spine meets the counter. “Close your eyes.”

“What?”

He grasps my chin. “For once, do what I say and close your damn eyes.”

I acquiesce, since he’s now my Alpha and my landlord. Try not to shiver at his proximity. “What are you doing?”

“Same thing I do with unruly toddlers. Keep your eyes closed.”

“I– Excuse me?”

“Take a deep breath. Another. Good. Another.” His voice lowers to a rumble, not deeper than usual, but more resonant. Soothing and authoritative. It projects right inside my head, and listening to its bidding is like an itch that . . . I could help scratching, but why would I, when obeying feels so good? “Relax. I want you to think about the last time you were in wolf form.”

Of course. If that’s what Alpha wants.

“Don’t imagine yourself as a wolf. Focus on the way it felt, being surrounded by the noises of the forest. The other creatures. The scent of the soil and the trees.” His words are calm but feel as intense as a spear running through my abdomen. “Remember the last time?”

I’d gone on only four or five runs before my problems started, but they were . . . beautiful. Magic. Nature has its own, loving way of making sense to a wolf. Everything is body, immersive, physical. Easy. Sun drenched, rain soaked. A stride toward something meaningful. Reaching. Forward. Reaching, reaching, reaching even as everything slides out of—

“Stop,” Koen orders. His hand slips to my cheek. A gentle, soothing stroke. “It’s okay, Serena. You’re okay.”

Reluctantly, I open my eyes, somehow shocked to be standing in Koen’s kitchen. “What happened?”

My cheeks feel sunburnt. My shirt and my hair are soaked in sweat– so much so, the white fabric plasters to my breasts and my pebbled nipples. It’s wet T– shirt contest material. Spring break. Filthy.

Koen is staring, too.

I clear my throat. Cross my arms over my chest. “What just happened?”

“Not much.” His voice is rough edged. He swallows. It takes him a bit of time and a lot of effort to lift his eyes to mine. “Sometimes, when the block is mental, it can help. Being guided.”

“You mean, being commanded by an Alpha? It didn’t work, though. What does that say?”

“That there are other reasons at play.” He wets his lips. Takes a step back and then inhales deeply. Like the air around me is toxic, and he needs a break. “It was worth a try.”

“Why do I look like I just spent twelve hours in labor?”

“Because your body was trying to shift. Which is a strenuous and energy-intensive activity.”

“I didn’t, though.”

“Your cells still worked for it.”

I push back my damp, lanky hair. “Maybe I won’t be able to do it again. Shifting, I mean.” Even if Dr. Henshaw said that people with CSD usually can shift almost till the end. How fun, to be the exception to the rule.

“Then you won’t.” He shrugs. The ropes of muscles in his shoulders seem to say, I couldn’t care less. “As long as I know what I’m working with, I can keep you alive.”

I nod. My head is starting to pound. “I just want you to know, I really am grateful about the fact that– ”

“Serena,” he grunts. “What did we agree on?”

My mind is blank for a moment. “Oh, right. No gratitude. My bad. Wait– can I say ‘my bad’?” I produce my most angelic smile. “Are apologies okay?”

He sighs. “Just go to bed, killer. You’re going to have a long and unpleasant day tomorrow.”

“Am I?”

“Yup. It’s hybrid parade time.”

“Please, tell me it’s not what it sounds like.”

He folds his arms. “It’s exactly it. You want to lure the Vampyres to you, we’ll have to make sure they see you with me. Which means that I’ll have to show you off a little.”

“How, though? There are no Vampyres walking around the Den.”

“They gather information in other ways. Vampyres and Humans fly drones over our territory all the time.”

“And you let them?”

“Yup. It’s how we manipulate them into thinking that they know more than they do. It’s highly offensive, how inept they think we are, but since it’s to our advantage, I’ll give it a pass.” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “They probably already suspect you’re with me. We just want to give them proof.”

“Why would they suspect it?”

His stare is level. “Because with me is where I would keep my mate.”

I lower my eyes. He’s right. So right, I change the topic. “About the necklace . . .”

“I told you.” His voice hardens. “It’s probably just some ten-year-old trying to impress his friends with some dumb prank.”

“Still– ”

“Still, I’ll investigate the package and the note and then return it to you.”

“Are you . . . Do you think there’s any way that my mother could really . . . ?”

A knock at the door stops me. Jorma peeks inside. He nods politely at me, then says, “I have been calling you, Alpha.”

“Must have missed it.”

“Actually, you hung up on me. Twice. As soon as I mentioned the paperwork for the killed Vampyre.”

A deep, irritated growl rises. From Koen’s chest, I believe.

“I can help,” I offer. “I kinda like paperwork.”

“Go to bed, Serena.”

“But– ”

“Now.”

He glares at me like there’s little he wants more than having me out of his sight– a less than auspicious start to our cohabitation. I sigh, wave goodbye to Jorma, and stalk off like I really am an unruly toddler.

MY NIGHT IS DELIGHTFULLY DULL, IN THAT IT INVOLVES LOTS OF sleeping and no puking. True to his word, Koen skulks outside the cabin in wolf form. My eyes catch his through the window when I sneak into his room to steal more pillows.

And his duvet.

They keep me warm. Smell good. Are soft. With a few additions, my bed feels like sinking into a hug, and I have no regrets.

When I get up in the morning, he’s already awake. I spot him sitting on the porch, bare chested, like he just shifted back to human form and only pulled up a pair of sweats to spare my delicate sensibilities. Since I’m not allowed to verbally express gratitude, I decide to repay his hospitality by scrounging around his cupboards to make coffee. When I bring him a mug, I realize that he’s not alone.

“Oh.” I blink at the wolf curled on the porch, right at Koen’s feet. “Hi.” His scent tells me that he’s male, fully grown. Healthy. I wonder if I should introduce myself and . . . I don’t know, hold out my hand to shake his paw. Then, upon a closer look, I notice his size, the shaggy gray fur, the bushy, hanging tail, and it dawns on me. “Hang on. You’re not a Were. You’re just a . . . wolf.”

Koen huffs a gravelly morning laugh. “Not even.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s half dog.”

“Wait, really? Can I . . .” But yes. I can. The wolf dog eyes me, eager to make my acquaintance. I set the mug aside and let him sniff my hand first, then butt against it. My fingers comb through his thick fur, and the loll of his tongue as I scratch around his ears feels like pure joy.

“You are so handsome.” I laugh when his tongue slobbers against my cheek. Let him do it again. “Yes. I’m a hybrid, too. Let’s be best friends. Who are you?”

“He hangs out around these parts,” Koen says, amused. “From time to time.”

“What’s his name?”

“He’s a wild animal.”

“I know. But what’s his name.”

Koen’s brow furrows. “He doesn’t have one.”

“What? Why?”

“What does he need a name for?”

“I don’t know. For when you talk about him?”

“With whom?”

“The vet? The store clerk, when you buy his kibble?” Koen looks like I just suggested that we take the river otters and put them up at a five-star hotel. “Okay, clearly you don’t do that. But– ” Abruptly, the wolf dog tenses and gallops away. “Don’t leave. Did we offend you?” I pout– until I spot the squirrel he’s chasing.

“Those fuckers,” Koen mutters, clearly empathizing. He turns to me. Scans my face, then my body under the flannel I stole from his closet to sleep in. “You look better,” he declares. “Less like you’re going to collapse and start fertilizing the meadow.”

Hard to believe, after I caught sight of my reflection in the mirror this morning– something I’ve been studiously avoiding. “You’re just saying that to be kind.”

“If I’ve given you the impression that I’m kind, something is very wrong, either with me or with you. Ready to make your debut in Northwest society?”

“Almost.”

“Almost?” He’s amused. “What important business do you have on your plate, killer?”

I pretend to think about it. Then, still cross-legged next to his chair, I lift my two closed fists and ask, “Which one?”

He sits back. “There’s nothing in your hands, Serena.”

“Doesn’t matter. It’s all in my head. Choose.”

“What the hell is this, now?” He sounds fed up. A little pained.

“It’s a game Misery and I used to play growing up. We couldn’t exactly go out shopping and buy presents most of the time, so when we wanted to do something nice for each other . . .” I show him my fists. “Choose one.”

He points at my right. Which is for the best. “You get coffee,” I tell him, holding out the mug.

“Hang on. What would I have gotten if I’d chosen the other?”

“A hug.”

His eyes widen. Then squint. “What if I want to change my answer?”

“First of all, we both know you don’t.” I nudge the mug up at him until he has no choice but to accept it. “Secondly, you can’t. This is like when Misery decided that she wanted me to clean her room instead of giving her a kiss on the cheek.”

Koen frowns. “I want a kiss on the cheek.”

“You can’t change your mind after you pick– that’s the whole point of the game. And the kiss wasn’t even an option for you.”

“Bullshit. I want both options.”

“No way.” I snort. “That’s not how the world works– you can’t have your cake and eat it, too. When you make a choice, you miss out on what you didn’t pick. There’s always a price to pay. In real life, and in the game.”

“It’s a dumb fucking game, then.” He looks at his coffee like it’s made of decaying organs. “How do I know that you didn’t switch the prizes?”

I gasp. “How dare you accuse me?”

“You are an infamous and self-admitted liar.”

“But I would never violate the sacrosanctity of the game.” I rise to my feet as haughtily as I can. “Enjoy your coffee while I get dressed.”

It’s not until I’m in my room that I remember: I do not own a single stitch of clothing.

CHAPTER 13

Look at her. Just– look at her.

ONCE AGAIN, I SHOW A SHAMEFUL LACK OF RESTRAINT AT THE way the coast unfolds before my eyes. I take in the rugged shorelines, gasp dramatically, and say “Oh my God” about fifteen times, pressing my forehead to the cool glass of the passenger window to get a better view. Everywhere my eyes land is blue and green, dense and jagged, beachy, woodsy. When Koen catches me craning my neck backward to study a sea stack, the car slows down for me to admire the view.

Or maybe there’s a speed limit, who knows?

This place is so peaceful. So mysterious and nostalgic. The vegetation is not unlike the forest around my old cabin, but that was inland. The ocean makes it even more breathtaking. In my previous life I longed to travel, but that required money, and I tended to use what little I had on other luxuries. Eating, for instance. Not sleeping on park benches. Paying taxes that financed my very own surveillance. How very full circle of me.

“This is the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen,” I declare, and Koen’s self-congratulatory smile has me shaking my head with laughter. “You know you have no reason to look so smug, right? It’s not your coast.”

“It is my territory.”

“Sure, but it’s not like you built that offshore rock formation over there.”

“As far as you know. And you might want to stop contradicting me in the heart of my region, where my every word is law.”

“All I’m saying is, you can’t take credit for it.”

He gives me a flat look. “I can tie you to an anvil and throw you from that cliff, though. And no one will ever know.”

I chuckle, wondering how many of these threats he follows through with. “It’s not the huge compliment you’re making it out to be.” I lean into the back seat to pilfer Koen’s zip– up hoodie. He doesn’t need it, because he has furnace genes. I’ll repossess it. Use it as a blanket. “I’ve only ever been in the Southwest. We’re working out of a pool of two.”

“At least you like mine better than Lowe’s.”

“We’re still talking about the landscapes, right?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

I laugh again, and we roll into a place that looks like the quaint seaside towns I sometimes see in movies, the ones where fiscally conservative people go for weekends of antiquing, dinner parties, and discreet cheating on their spouses. “Where are we?”

“A bit outside the Den. A friend of mine owns a store here.”

“Look at you guys. Having stores.”

He pulls the hand brake. “And indoor plumbing. And statistics.”

“And sarcasm?”

“You catch up quickly. Come on.”

There’s a decent amount of foot traffic: shoppers, children playing on swings, and, of course, several Weres in wolf form. They lounge under trees, perch on branches, lie next to the statue of a book in front of a local library. They acknowledge their Alpha and then study me with a sleepy, lazy sort of curiosity.

“Hi.” I wave my hand in the direction of a group huddling in a nearby pocket park. They blink in response. I instinctively recognize it as a friendly greeting.

I guess standing next to their Alpha goes a long way.

“Should I go introduce myself?” I whisper at Koen. “Is that part of the hybrid parade?”

He snorts. His palm finds the middle of my back and pushes me toward a sidewalk.

“Wouldn’t it be the polite thing to do?” I truly don’t know. When I was with the Southwest, I didn’t exactly socialize. I holed myself up in Misery’s house, let Ana braid and unbraid my hair upwards of forty times a day, and retreated into my room whenever someone new would visit.

“Killer, you’re proof of concept that Humans and Weres can fuck– fruitfully so. Not only are you the most recognizable face on the continent, but there’ll be a photo of you in every time capsule shot into space for the coming century. You’re good without introductions for the next couple of years.” He opens a door and signals for me to go ahead. “Come on. Let’s get you some clothes.”

I do need them, considering the rate at which I’m stealing his. But. “Do you know how I can access my bank?”

His hand slides up, between my shoulder blades, and guides me inside. He doesn’t reply.

“I do have some money,” I insist.

“You do? No need to flex, Serena.”

“I mean, I just need to– ”

“This conversation is very tedious.” He sounds distracted as he glances around.

“Well, prepare to be tedioused even more. You’re not going to pay for my stuff. It’s infantilizing.”

His dark eyes travel down my body. Slowly. “As if I could ever do that,” he drawls.

My cheeks burst into flames. The rest of me, too. His gaze doesn’t let go of me. I’m about to blurt out something supremely stupid, when: “Koen, you’re early! A first.”

Our heads whip around as the most elegant man to ever walk this wretched globe emerges from the back. I admire his wing tips, the perfect tan of his skin, the bounce of his gravity-defying tawny forelock. I used to be handy with a can of hair spray, back when I had a job that required personal hygiene, but boy, do I have a lot to learn from this dude.

The two men exchange one of those almost-hug handshakes. “Serena, this is Carter. Carter, Serena, who we won’t bother pretending requires introductions, needs something to wear that fits her.”

“Does she?” He gives me the once-over. Purses his chiseled mouth. “She seems to like your flannel.”

Koen’s grunt is unintelligible. I attempt a smile, but it comes out tense– which he notices. “You’re not afraid, are you.”

It’s not really a question, and I decide to be truthful. “Just intimidated by how sophisticated Carter looks.” It doesn’t help that my pants are Koen’s sweats rolled up about five times, giving me an exquisite toddler wearing life buoy at the pool je ne sais quoi.

“You can handle it,” Koen says. His hand slides under the collar of my flannel, between the layers of fabric that rest on my neck. All heat, no skin– to– skin contact. He squeezes me with something that could be reassurance, or a threat of strangulation. “Since you’ve had so much exposure to my good looks.”

Carter and I burst out laughing, then stop when we notice Koen’s narrow-eyed stare.

“Absolutely,” Carter says, recovering faster. “It’s a valid narrative choice. The scruff, I mean.” He scans Koen like he’s a vision board. “The story I’m picking up is that you are resourceful enough to survive forty days and forty nights in the desert by sucking the moisture out of a prickly pear. If it isn’t what you’re going for– only if it isn’t, may I recommend a haircut and a shave?”

“Don’t criticize my looks. It hurts my feelings.”

“Your what?” I ask.

Koen gives me a deadpan look.

“We just want what’s best for you,” I explain.

Carter nods. “And what’s best for us. The Alpha is the face of the pack. And right now, we’re looking pretty . . .”

“Disheveled,” I finish.

“We are wolves,” Koen retorts. “We eat our prey alive. We shove our noses up each other’s junk. We roll in shit to mask our scents.”

“Point taken,” Carter concedes. “Although some would argue that no wolf has ever stooped so low as to walk around with an unkempt and obviously unpremeditated topknot– ”

“Carter,” Koen growls. “Get Serena something to put on right now, or I’ll topknot your intestines.”

“On it, Alpha.” Carter bends his head, once, deep, and escorts me to the back of the store. “Koen said you need a bit of everything?”

It’s not quite true, since I have no plans to venture away from the cabin or to interact with anyone who’d judge me for spending my life in a bathrobe. “I don’t foresee many cocktail parties in my near future, and I don’t know that this is the best time for me to take up scuba diving. Just the basics?”

“Perfect.”

So, jeans. Sweats. Thermal shirts, sweaters, a heavy jacket. Carter’s store is great, and I don’t want to impose any more than I already am, so I agree to whatever he has me trying on, even though my skin has been very sensitive for weeks, and the denim and wool scrape against it like emery boards. The texture of fleece makes me wish there were enough traffic for me to walk into. A normal evolution of your condition, said Dr. Henshaw. Make sure you dress to minimize your sensory issues.

I used to be fastidious about my appearance. I spent a huge chunk of my first few paychecks on building a wardrobe, and I miss it– the professional grays and beiges, blue hues, strategic little splashes of color. My power blouses, Misery called them. Power slacks, power blazers, power turtlenecks. That’s exactly what they were: me, asserting the little power I had scrounged for myself. After years of hand– me– downs and uniforms that never fit my ever-changing teenage body, I used to take a lot of pride in looking the way I chose. Learning how to dress, how to style my hair, how to do makeup felt like a radical act of agency. Joyful and fun. Liberating. Finding myself.

But the sallow, emaciated girl blinking at me in the changing room mirror is no one at all. Her dark hair hangs limply from a middle part, far too long. Her collarbones are sharper than knives. Her identity has been peeled off layer by layer.

“Everything okay?” Carter asks from beyond the curtain. “Does the jacket look nice?”

It looks like shit, because I look like shit. I guess I saw myself as the kind of person who’d hold on to her dignity in the face of great hardship. Apparently, I’m just a damn slob– and the thought has me snorting out laughter. “Great. Love it!”

The process takes about twenty minutes. Koen stays out of the way, leaning back against the glass door like the world’s most obstructing bouncer, never taking his eyes off us. He answers his phone a couple of times, has a few low-pitched conversations that could probably be marketed as “highly soothing white noise” and sold for eye-watering profit. I smile at him whenever our eyes meet.

He doesn’t respond.

“Koen,” Carter calls, tossing a plastic package at him. “Will you grab some more of this for her?” It’s underwear. Koen Alexander is choosing and paying for my panties. The situation is so ludicrous, I can’t quite bite back a hysterical chuckle.

Before we walk out with half a dozen bags, Carter whispers in my ear to please “do something about the facial hair situation,” and Koen flips him off without bothering to turn around. In the car, though, I realize that we didn’t stop at the register. “Hang on. Are you guys some kind of currency-less postcapitalist utopia?”

Koen blinks. “What?”

“You didn’t pay. Is it some kind of Alpha feudal right?”

His eyebrow lifts. “You think they don’t know where to send their bills?”

The next stop is the department store, where Weres obtain their food when they’re not in the mood for marmot kebabs. “Must be where the Northwest purchases unicorn waffles,” I muse, which earns me an ear flick.

This place is much more crowded. Most of the Weres in the parking area are in human form, getting out of cars with their families or loading groceries into their trunks. A couple walks by the edge of the lot, holding hands, fully naked despite the chilly breeze, and disappears past the trees.

“We’ll get you food. And other shit you need.”

“Such as?”

“If you think I’m going to giggle while saying feminine hygiene products, you don’t know about the number of young Were couples I’ve caught in compromising positions and subjected to the sex talk.”

I laugh. “No offense, but . . . there has to be someone better suited to that.”

“Fuck off,” he says mildly. “I’m great at explaining the dangers of parasitic STIs and the importance of mutual consent.”

Why can I picture that so well? “Shouldn’t you guys hire a professional?”

“There is one. Now. Back then, we didn’t have lots of people with degrees.”

“Yeah?” I look up at him. From this angle, I can’t see his eyes very well. “What changed? Did you get scholarship programs or something?”

He huffs, amused. “We just grew up, Serena.”

It’s a bit of an odd thing to say, and I want to dig deeper, but more Weres turn toward us. They wave at Koen. Smile at me. A small group introduce themselves, the warmth of their welcome undeniable. “I thought they’d hate me,” I say as we walk through the sliding doors.

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Because I’m a freak? Because I’m putting the entire territory in danger? Because I’m taking up their Alpha’s time? Pick your poison.”

“Most people really do see you as a symbol of unity.” He fetches a cart. “And the ones who don’t know better than to say anything about it.” I remember the necklace. Koen’s near certainty that it was just a prank. Maybe it’s the only way for pack members to protest my presence?

“The Southwest has been pretty shitty to Misery. Still is.”

“Vampyres are more controversial than Humans, and the Southwest is a hotbed for conflict– three species practically living on top of each other? Fuck, no. Plus, Lowe’s only been in charge for a couple of years and inherited a pack from a neurotic nutjob whose decades-long power structure was built on fearmongering and misleading information. It’ll take him a lot of work to undo that.”

“What about you? Was your previous Alpha a nutjob?”

His jaw shifts, as though he’s biting the inside of his cheeks. He eyes some fruit, pensive. “Our former Alpha made mistakes, but none came from a place of malice, like Roscoe’s. We’ve had issues with some of the neighboring Human settlements, but we also owe them. That part of our history speaks too loudly to be ignored.”

“Well, that’s certainly very convenient for us half Humans.”

He picks up a bag of oranges. Takes a step toward me. “We live to serve.” For a moment I think he’ll– Is he going to hug me? But no. He’s just dropping the fruit in the cart. “Why’s your heart beating like that, killer?”

My stomach flips. I’m about to blurt out an excuse, but a young woman interrupts us. “Alpha? Do you have a moment?” She’s holding the hand of a boy of eight or so, who stares at me open-mouthed. When I wave at him, he hesitantly waves back, somewhere between starstruck and petrified. Maybe I should offer him an autograph. Capitalize on this new fame while I still can. Sell jerseys. Run for office. Sign partnership deals.