As we exit the building, Koen halts briefly. His throat works as he looks into the distance, tight-lipped, running his tongue over his teeth. Composing himself.
I bite into the inside of my cheek, feeling powerless.
I’m sorry, I want to say.
I know you care. I know it’s hard. But he’s unreachable- a large, silent presence at my side as we walk to the car, his legs so much longer than mine, I have to break into a light jog to keep up with him. “Will you slow down?”
“No.” He nods at a group of pack members who wave at him. Speeds up even more.
“Hear me out for a second.”
“I am.”
“You are not- “
“I can walk and listen at the same time.” He stares straight ahead. “Must be one of those elusive Alpha traits.”
“Please, can you just- ” I round him and block his path. When he tries to walk past me, I close my hand around the hem of his flannel. “I know how you are feeling.”
At last, his eyes meet mine. They do not look pleased. “You mean, angry as fuck?”
“No.” I stop another attempted sidestep. “Well, yes. But that’s not the real issue, and- I know it takes some adjustment, learning that someone you lo- care about is going to die.” I swallow. My smile is tremulous. “I’ve been there.”
Koen’s jaw shifts. Clenches and releases. I’m afraid he’ll try to leave again, and maybe, just for good measure, run me over as he pulls out of the parking lot. Instead, he says, “This is why you didn’t want to stay at my cabin.”
I hesitate. “I . . . It’s safer, I think. I can’t control myself. What if I harmed someone in the pack? What if I harmed you?” His look is full of pity, like I’m an ant trying to stuff a full-size anvil in her cute pink backpack. “Oh, fuck off. It’s very sexist of you to assume that I couldn’t beat you up.”
“There’s a long list of women capable of kicking my ass. In your current state, you are nowhere on it.”
“What if I accidentally attacked a weaker pack member?”
“Guess I’d have to spank you.” He seems unbothered by the prospect. “I’m more concerned about you sleepwalking off a cliff. But don’t worry, I’ll be making sure that doesn’t happen.” His smile feels like a threat. I’m proud of myself for not flinching.
He tries to move past me again, and this time I take his hand. “I know you want to be mad at fate- “
“I’m mad at you, killer.”
“- but I’m at peace with it. I wish I had more time. With . . . with the people I love. With the universe. With”- I gesticulate around me- “with the ocean and the trees and . . . I love this territory so much. But it’s such a privilege, to know that even if I won’t live much longer, Misery is taken care of, and so is Ana.” It’s the first time I’ve verbalized this out loud. And it makes my chest feel at once light as a feather and deep as a crater. “When I die- “
“Not on my fucking watch, Serena.”
“Okay. But when I die- “
Koen’s fingers abruptly slide into the hair at the side of my head. Bend my neck back, none too gently. “Serena.” He stares down at me, eyes a few inches from mine. His fury is a physical, formidable thing. It doesn’t scare me. “If you say anything like that ever again, I’m going to kill you myself. Understood?”
It likely speaks of how much my sanity has devolved that I exhale a laugh. “Got it.”
He grunts, a fraction mellower. I wonder if he really thinks that he can will my illness into nonexistence. Maybe someone who’s been Alpha for two decades is too accustomed to power to entertain the idea of something not going his way? But slowly, eventually, he lets go of me, and I take a step back, nearly walking into the parked car. I let the sleeves of his hoodie swallow my hands, and God, that shopping trip was so unnecessary.
“The thing is,” I try to explain, “it might be for the best.”
The way he looks at me is so indignant, it makes me chuckle again. Which is not appropriate for the conversation.
“I mean, it’s not like you and I could . . . You have the covenant. And I’m not exactly available for a long-term relationship.” My smile feels a little forced. I hope it’ll work on him anyway. “The reasons why it couldn’t work between us are not just yours, or just mine. None of that one-way unrequited crap. Isn’t that better?”
I half expect a dismissive scoff. A curt command to get into the car. Instead, Koen studies me at length, his eyes opaque. “If I weren’t Alpha,” he asks, eventually. “And you weren’t sick. What then, Serena?”
“What if Earth was modeled after a giant parsley leaf? What if Humans pissed moondust? What if- “
His fingers trap my chin. Tilt my head back, hitching my breath. Once again, I have no choice but to meet his eyes. “What then, Serena?”
I can’t bring myself to say,
I think we both know, but he hears it anyway, because his nod is there, barely perceptible. This time, when the pressure swells behind my eyes, I let the tears flow. I feel them splash down on my collarbones. Dampen the tips of my hair.
“Anything that’s going to happen to you,” he promises, voice honest and pitched low in the swish of the breeze, “is going to be over my dead body.”
I laugh softly, because . . . what else can I do? I follow him with my eyes as he opens the passenger door for me. Since this is an opportunity, one of few I have left, instead of sliding inside I wrap my arms around his torso, fisting the flannel at his hip. My face presses into his side. I inhale the scent of him, wondering if anything else this good has ever existed, and ask, “Can I say something really, really selfish?”
I feel his assent. I think he might want to know everything that’s in my head. I think he could shake every thought I’ve ever had out of my skull, rummage through them for years, and still not be bored.
I think that in a parsley-shaped world, he and I would have had some fun.
“If today was my last day, I’d be happy to have spent it with you.”
Koen cups the back of my head. I lean into the soft press of his lips against my brow. He says nothing, barely breathes, but his hands don’t let go of me for a long, long time.
He easily resigned himself to a lifetime without her, but . . .
Simply put, he is unwilling to contemplate a universe in which she no longer exists.
THAT NIGHT KOEN HAS A PACK MEETING AT THE CABIN.
I get out of the shower, quickly put on leggings and one of his shirts (which I sniff for over a minute, with inappropriate enthusiasm). I’m about to move to the living room and not mind my own business, when my phone lights up with a call. From someone who usually prefers a string of twelve multi-paragraph texts over a one-minute chat.
“What’s up, Bleetch?” I ask, terrified that Koen might have gone behind my back and told Misery about my situation.
I will stab him, I vow.
I will chop him into pieces and sell him at a wet market. For pennies.
“Not much.” A beat. “First question: Are you alone?”
“You mean, existentially, or . . .”
“Is there someone around you?”
“No. Why?”
“Second question: Are you in the right headspace to receive information that could possibly hurt you?”
My heart drops. “Misery, if- “
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