“He’s more my family than- “
“Serena!” Amanda runs inside the room, naked, covered in blood and other unidentifiable fluids that should never be found outside a body.
“Are you okay?” I frantically inspect her limbs.
“Yes.” She grins. Saul bumps her hip with his muzzle, looking just as worried. “Come on, you guys. This shit ain’t mine. Serena, are you okay?”
“Is the fight out there- ” The cabin has gone quiet. “Are they . . . ?”
“Yup. And the others went after Irene and another Were who escaped. Serena, we were so fucking worried about you. Shit, you’re bleeding. But it’s just a graze. Let me make sure you didn’t break anything.” She gently presses against my jawbone- and instantly pulls back.
“Serena.”
“What?”
Her hand touches my forehead. I’m seized by the sudden temptation to break her wrist. “Did they give you something? You’re burning up.”
“I’m okay.”
“You’re not okay.”
“I am. Just, could you . . . not touch me?”
“What?” She examines my face. I do feel like I’m boiling.
“My skin. Could you please not- “
“What the fuck?”
Touch me.
“Serena? Serena!”
And that, as they say, is that.
WHEN I OPEN MY EYES AGAIN, IT’S DARK. THE MIDLEVEL HEADACHE that has been my loyal golden retriever companion is finally gone. In its stead, a dragon-worthy migraine pummels at my temples, clear proof that I’m dead and my corpse was sold to med students for skull-trepanning practice.
And yet.
If I were waking up in any other angle of the observable universe, I’d be rolling off the bed and lurching toward the toilet, ready to vomit my stomach lining. But whoever brought me here had the good foresight to deposit me in the only place where I’m not constantly surrounded by hostile, belly-churning stimuli.
Koen’s room.
The scent of him has a morphine-like effect on me. I bury my face in the pillow, take several deep, lung-filling breaths, and use the bathroom. On my way to the living room, I make a pit stop on the bed, inhale a few more times, and walk down the hallway feeling like new.
I expect- no, I want to find Koen alone. Instead, I count six more people, maxing out every sittable surface: his three closest seconds, Sem and Layla, and Karolina.
I stand in the doorway, and a crystal-clear thought seeps through the atoms that make my being:
How dare they be here?
It’s rapidly followed by:
I’m going to kill them.
What? No. I’m not. I take a preventative step back. Hold on to the wall and remind myself that I do not want any of these people to be dead. In fact, I’m invested in them staying alive. But my instinct tells me that they should go away, stop invading my space, spreading their scents, their too loud voices, and their bodies in our-
This must be some new Heat bullshit. I firmly shove it back where it came from and interrupt the ongoing conversations to ask, “Did you find Irene?”
Seven pairs of eyes rocket to me. Six pairs of legs stand and come fuss around me, asking how I’m doing, telling me that I was out for hours, attempting to feel my temperature. My father was directly responsible for the deaths of their friends and family, and yet here they are. Clearly not wishing ill on me. The thought forms a lump in my throat.
I ignore it and focus on Koen, who’s unimpressed with me. He sits on a chair someone brought in from the porch, legs spread wide, elbow folded atop the back, and orders the others in his most dispassionate tone, “Get the fuck away from her.”
A bunch of
Oh, right. My bad. Amanda points me at the spot she vacated on the couch. “I forgot about the whole, um, hypersensitivity thing.” I take a seat, and they all gawk at me as though I may have forgotten how to perform the complex enterprise of bending my knees. It’s offensive, how wonderstruck they are when my butt touches the cushion. Except for Koen, who just exudes a mildly irritated aura.
“You guys, I’m fine.”
“Still, I’d like to look you over,” Layla says. “I brought my equipment.”
Thank God it’s injection time. I cannot wait to be rid of these Heat symptoms. “Yes. But first- “
“No, we did not find Irene,” Koen interrupts me. “We were able to track her scent for a few miles, but the rain erased her trail. There were eight other Weres in the cabin. Four are dead. Jess is injured and has not regained consciousness yet. Another Were escaped, and we captured the remaining ones, who have been questioned but don’t appear to be sharers. We’ve interviewed everyone who has had prolonged contact with Jess, as well as the family who raised her, and they’re all shocked by her ties to the cult. The six Humans are now in Northwest territory and under surveillance, because
“- he continues, noticing my frown- “Irene left. We’re not sure whether they are self-sufficient or, even worse, whether Irene will decide that they know too much and have them killed. We have contacted the Human authorities. In the meantime, they are not our captives, but our guests. They are terrified but unharmed. This is the gist of it, but if you’d like to know more, there is the report”- he glances at Jorma, who appears pleased with himself- “that I was asked to turn in.”
“It’s not all of them. The cult, I mean. They weren’t all in that cabin. They told me that there are- “
“Over fifty of them, yes. We are devoting considerable manpower to tracking the others. Anything else you’d like to know before you allow Layla to make sure that you’re not fucking dying?” The last few words are strained. I really don’t want to make him snap, but.
“Could you- is anyone going to be checking on them? The Humans, I mean.”
“Me,” Amanda says.
“When you go, could you give Nele a way to contact me?”
“Who?”
“The youngest Human girl. Long auburn hair, freckles? If she needs anything . . .”
Amanda glances at Koen, who nods. “I will,” she says.
“Thanks, Amanda, I really appreciate it. Are you okay, by the way? Was anything- “
“Serena,” Koen grunts. “I swear to fucking- “
“I’m going, I’m going.”
“I’m sorry about what happened at the office,” Layla tells me as soon as we’re in Koen’s room.
“Don’t worry about it. Let’s not blame each other for stuff we did at scalpelpoint.”
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