“I don’t.”
“No?”
“I’m Were. I produce my own warmth.”
Makes sense. “What I meant is, you’re clearly a catch. But I know very little about you. I have no clue about your age, your last name, your favorite color . . .” I study him. “It’s probably black. It’s black, isn’t it?”
“I’m actually partial to red.”
“Like Human blood?”
He does not deny it.
“Okay. Well. As I said, thank you for your consideration. Unfortunately, I’m not in the position to start a relationship, so I must decline your offer, and- “
“What offer?”
“The one that you . . .” I frown. Because he did not make an offer.
“This conversation is not an invitation, killer.”
That is . . . true, even though I’m not sure why I’m realizing it just now. Koen is not hitting on me. He’s not trying to cha-cha real smooth into my life. He did not decide that pairing up with me would perfectly round out Lowe and Misery’s nuclear family and allow us to host holiday meals at alternating intervals.
There is no expectation of anything.
But . . . “Why did you want me to know, then?”
“It’s the truth. You should be aware.” He says it matter-of-factly, like real and shared are overlapping constructs.
“And you and the truth are particularly tight?”
He assesses me for a beat. “I’m not going to lie to you, Serena.”
“Well, I’m probably going to lie to you a lot.”
“Yeah?” His smile is almost charmed. “What kind of lies do you tell?”
“All sorts.” I swallow. Glance at my own knees. “But only if it’s for the greater good.”
“You sure?”
Yes. “What about you? Are you sure?”
“Sure of . . . ?”
“How do you know that I’m really your mate?”
“I just do. Trust me on it.”
I do, surprisingly. In fact, I’m less concerned with what he feels, and more with . . . “How can I tell if someone is my mate? I want to know if I feel the same about you.”
He waves the question away. “You don’t.”
“How do you know?”
“If you did, you’d be aware.”
“That’s not true. Maybe the signs are there, but I’m missing them because I’m only half Were.”
“You couldn’t miss them.”
My throat is dry. My stomach, heavy with disappointment. Did I . . . ? No. Come on. I don’t want a mate, whatever that means. My sex drive’s cobwebs have grown their own cobwebs. I’ve always needed bucketloads of time alone. Plus, I’m still figuring out what I am. This isn’t the start of anything.
Except.
“I do feel . . . very safe. Here, with you,” I confess, retreating inward for a moment, groping at my unintelligible body and my tricky mind for clarity. Koen’s presence is cumbersome, and I feel like I’m stuffed too tight by him, but I am experiencing a stunningly quiet moment. No anxiety. No choking dread of what’s to come. “I’m usually . . . Well, it’s been a bit draining, finding out that I’m a hybrid. But right now, I’m not afraid at all.”
“That’s because I’m Alpha. We bring calm and order.”
“But I don’t feel the same with Lowe.”
He quickly discounts it. “Don’t read too much into that. It’s not a sign of anything.”
“But . . .” Why am I even pushing back? He just gave me an out. “Okay. Well, then, since this is clearly one of those unrequited lust situations we, um, all have to deal with sometimes . . .”
“Yes?” He seems amused. Like he knows something I don’t. Shouldn’t he feel despondent and rejected?
“You’re my closest friend’s husb- mate’s closest friend. And I’d love to get along with you. So maybe we could be, you know, friends.”
“What about polite acquaintances?” he counters.
I cannot tell whether he’s serious, so I nod. “Deal. And you may quietly pine after me, if you must.”
He exhales a rough, quiet laugh. It mostly sits around the edges of his eyes, but it envelops me all the same. “Thank you.” He doesn’t seem too devastated. Or maybe he’s just the type to find humor in every situation. It’s what Misery and I used to do whenever things went to shit, which was always: laugh about them. Watch them go to shit even harder. Become hysterical, but in a diverting way.
That’s still who I am. Misery may be settled, overflowing with belonging, but I’m a fucking disaster. “You wouldn’t want me anyway, if it weren’t for the whole biology thing. I’m a mess,” I say, subdued, barely audible.
He hears me, though. “Oh, yeah. You are.”
“Hey.” My chin juts out. “I can say it.
You shouldn’t.”
“Serena, you’re a half-Human Were who admits to being a serial liar, doesn’t know how electricity works, and is undoubtedly swimming in complex PTSD. Believe me, a toddler can say it.”
I really want to be indignant, but a laugh snorts out of me all on its own. And then Koen is standing, heading for the door, and there’s once again a weight in my stomach, one that seems to get heavier just because he’s leaving, and heavier still because I’d like him to stay for a second longer.
And then the understanding rolls into me, as inexorable as a little earthquake, that- this is it. The rest of my life. And maybe I could slowly, cautiously, start living it.
“You know,” I say when he opens the door and I’m brusquely reminded that a world exists outside the walls of this room. “I actually think that maybe I could . . .”
He looks at me over his shoulder.
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