“Koen has a lot of seconds,” I tell Jorma half an hour later, on the porch. There are over twenty people milling around, and someone explained to me several live too far away to show up.
“Not everyone here is a second. Some brought their relatives. That girl over there? Elle’s partner. And that’s Brenna’s brother. The woman and the twin toddlers? Pavel’s family.”
“Disappointing.”
“Why?”
“Was hoping the babies would be involved in pack leadership.”
Jorma looks at me like the concept of humor slashed his tires and shat in his rose bed, but it’s pleasant, being with a group with this level of camaraderie. There’s obvious affection going around, the kind that reminds me of my relationship with Misery: people who grew up together and went through shit. It’s etched in their omnipresent scars, the lines on their foreheads, the crinkles at the sides of their eyes when they smile.
There’s always someone around Koen. He trusts me enough to not be my shadow, but every few minutes I feel his inquisitive, lingering looks.
Everything okay? I reassure him with a nod, but I still struggle with streams of information too intense to filter quickly, and slip to the back of the house for a breather.
“. . .is he doing?” I overhear someone asking, and immediately stop in my tracks. The sun has set, and a gentle sea breeze rustles through the trees.
“Same old.” It’s Saul’s voice.
“Highly doubt it.”
“Oh, yeah, he is so fucking . . .” Laughter. “Gone. She killed him, and now she’s haunting him. But he’s not going to admit it. Or make it her problem.”
“Does she know?”
“Never will. So . . . same old.”
“That’s rough. And the Favored shit?”
“We’ve been looking into it. It’s not too unlikely.”
“I thought we kept track of . . .”
“Well, yeah. But we were busy.”
“Right. I remember.”
“You were eight.” Laughter. “There are missing pieces. But he won’t tell her unless he’s sure. Maybe not even then.”
A ring clinks against a beer bottle. “If it was me, I’d rather not know.”
“Yeah. No one deserves that. What about you? How’s stuff up north?”
“Not bad. Did I tell you about the mountain goats incident?”
The wind picks up, and I take advantage of the sudden rise in noise to sneak back inside.
My thoughts bubble. Is it unhinged and self-centered to assume that Saul was talking about me and Koen? I’m debating the matter, but a gaggle intercepts me, and I end up having a really nice conversation about cross-species exchange-traded funds with Carl, a lovely hipsterish guy who clearly regrets making my acquaintance the second I step away for a glass of water.
“Are you insane?” I overhear Elle asking him. “Hitting on Koen’s mate?”
“Dude, no. We were just talking.”
“Just remember to tell Koen that while he’s hanging you with your own large intestine,” someone else suggests.
“Shut the hell up. He would never.”
“No- he has never. Because no one has ever hit on his mate before.”
I shake my head and rinse a few glasses, once again combing through what Saul said. When I turn around, I find . . . Boden, I think, is his name. Brenna’s brother, though they don’t look much alike.
“Clean cups are on that rack,” I say with a smile.
“You have no right to be here.”
I blink. “Okay. Clean cups are still on that rack.” I lean back against the edge of the sink, studying the boy. He’s tall. My age or younger. Not movie star handsome, but could snatch a TV role. He’s also highly . . . dominant, I believe is the word, and the awareness sits in the marrow of my bones. Not as much as Koen or Amanda, though, not yet. Whatever juice they use to baste future Alphas, he’s going to need a few more passes.
Still, it’s clear that he feels like he has something of value to say. I fold my arms and wait for it, and he doesn’t disappoint.
“You’re a half Human who grew up with a Vampyre.”
“Misery Lark.” I nod. “She’s my sister.”
“She’s a leech.”
“True. And therefore, not the slam dunk insult you believe it to be. But if you have more biographical facts about Misery you want to get off your chest, by all means.”
“I think that people with your allegiances have no place in the Northwest,” he says slowly.
His demeanor is calm, but I can tell that he’s furious. And in pain. And very unwilling to really listen to me. There is no point in engaging in this conversation, and I wish I could be more like Misery- take provocations as pathetic attempts at riling me up, shrug them all off, never be upset. The problem is, I’ve maxed out the amount of shit I’m willing to take. “Well,
I think that people who grew up with the privilege of moral grandstanding could give some of us a little more credit.”
“It’s basic decency. Not moral grandstanding.”
“Yes. It is.” I push away from the counter and step toward him. “Good and evil are wide brushes that can’t always paint the fine details of real life. Lots of Vampyres and Humans and Weres have done terrible things, but Misery is not one of them. And, as I’m sure you know, my presence here has been approved by your Alpha, so if you have a note for the complaint box, you may take it to him. I did not ask to be born a hybrid, and I’m not some little princess on vacation from her blessed life of leisure, so you can take your snark- “
I cut myself off. Boden’s eyes have doubled in size, and while I’d love to assume that it’s my little speech’s doing, they’re trained on a spot behind my shoulders.
When I look over, Koen’s a couple of feet away. Looking bored. “Mouthy, isn’t she, Boden?” He sighs. “Never thought I’d be into that, and yet. Bane of my fucking existence.” His eyes flit to mine. “Don’t stop on my account,” he says with a lopsided smile. “I love watching asses being ridden. It’s my favorite kind of porn.”
Boden tenses- with anger, embarrassment, or a mix of both. “If I were Alpha of this pack, she wouldn’t be allowed here.”
I cringe a little, because he feels so young. One day his frontal lobes will develop, he’ll think back to this interaction, and his friends will have to remove all sharp objects from his household. Koen, too, seems mostly embarrassed for him. “Boden, given the number of new sphincters this girl just tore you, I don’t need to tell you . . .” He stops and makes a pensive face. “Then again, I do love indulging in gratuitous displays of authority. So here you have it: Serena is my guest. Bother her again, and I’ll make you regret it.”
“She’s not your guest.” A sneer twists Boden’s mouth. “Half of the members of this pack want her dead.”
“Is that so.”
“Yes. And we all know that you despise her just as much as everyone else does.”
“Do I.”
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