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.
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