“And vice versa.”
I tilt my head. “It doesn’t bother you that she’s a Vampyre?”
“They obviously care for each other.” He sounds as though nothing else would ever factor into his approval, which I find very endearing.
“So.” I run my tongue against the back of my teeth. “Love at first sight, huh?”
Koen winces. “Not quite. Lowe’s a bit of a romantic.”
“Oh?”
“A side effect of all that decency, probably. Colors his perception of the world.”
“But your perception is unmarred. Because you’re not decent?”
He doesn’t reply, but he smells like he agrees. “What’s happening here has very little to do with loving or liking, Serena.”
“What does it have to do with, then?”
A beat. His lips curve. “Really?”
I stare at him, stumped.
“Oh, killer. I’m happy to spell it out for you, if you need me to.”
“I do need you to. Like I’m five, preferably.”
“Not sure I can make it anything under NC- 17.”
“What do you- ooh.” My cheeks flood with heat. After gawking owl-eyed at Koen for a long stretch, I realize that I’m clutching my chest like a Victorian governess and abruptly let go.
“I . . .” I shake my head, not wanting to come across as some sex- ed- deprived orphan who thinks that childbirth occurs when nose boogers reach critical mass.
I’m not. Although I used to be, in my teens. Misery was the Vampyre Collateral, obligated to live among Humans, to be killed if the Vampyres violated the rules of the ceasefire between the two species. I was her companion- an orphan randomly selected to be her friend and make sure that she wouldn’t get too lonely (something no one gave a shit about) or too disruptive (something everyone was scared shitless of). Except that the Randomly Selected Human Orphan turned out to be more like the Purposefully Chosen Human-Were Hybrid Who Needed to Be Kept Under Surveillance by the Vampyres to Prevent the World from Finding Out That Humans and Weres Are Actually Reproductively Compatible and Might Therefore Decide to Not Hate Each Other or Even Form Alliances Against the Vampyres.
Plot twist.
But at the time, no one knew that. Back then, my entire value was exclusively reflected in Misery. My education hinged on hers. And since no one was certified to teach reproductive anatomy to a Vampyre, I didn’t get sex ed, either.
Once we got out, though, we had unlimited access to the internet and dates and boyfriends. And, of course, sex.
Except, that was a lifetime ago. A handful of years that might as well be entire geologic eras. Back then, I was
Human. I wasn’t terrified of the full moon, or of what color my blood would spill if I cut myself. Once I began to realize that there was something very, very wrong with me, the entire concept of sex became laughably trivial. At the beginning of my abduction, I was briefly concerned that it might be forced upon me. When that wasn’t the case, it was pleasantly forgotten.
And now here I am. Thinking about it. Sex is a giant winged dragon, stretching awake in my head.
“Can you . . .” I swallow. “These biological changes you mentioned. Can you control yourself?”
The meaning takes a minute to sink in. When it does, I half expect Koen to resent my question, but there’s no trace of defensiveness in his firm “Always.”
It makes it easier to believe him. “So, basically, you just want to . . . ?”
“Correct.” He nods casually.
Yes, I would love a cup of Earl Grey. Yes, I’ll respond to a brief survey in exchange for a ten percent discount on my purchase. Yes, I do want to f-
“I hope I don’t sound conceited, but . . . how is it different from the reaction of most Human men I’ve met?” I cringe the instant the words are out. “God. I do sound conceited. I’m sorry. I promise I don’t walk around thinking that my face launches a thousand erections- “
“You’re the most beautiful woman that I’ve ever seen,” he says simply.
Like it’s not a big deal.
Like he’s complimenting my taste in socks.
Like I could resemble the reflection of a wart on a doorknob, and it would change nothing for him.
Which might be just what I need. My looks have always been a sore point for me. Something ugly, to be ashamed of.
Sexualized too young, a friend with a psychology degree once said. Misery and I turned twelve, and our paths diverged. She became longer, graceful, ethereal. I, softer. Rounder. Suddenly my body burst. I bloomed into something with hips and breasts, and people- mostly adult men- would look at me in ways that hopscotched between uncomfortable and dangerous.
Maybe it’s a good thing, Misery said skeptically, noticing the way Mr. Elrod would track my movements.
Maybe it means that you’re beautiful?
I doubt men twice my age looking at me is a proxy for anything other than them wanting to take advantage. And that was the crux of it. Misery was the Collateral. Misery needed to be kept alive, or an interspecies war would ravage the south of the North American continent. Above all, Misery was special, and therefore off-limits.
I, on the other hand, was a Human orphan. Replaceable. A dime a dozen- less than. My value was null, and the staff was fully aware. I saw it in their stares. Heard it in the comments they never bothered to whisper. Felt it in how intensely I had to request, press, beg, advocate, to receive my first bra, or clothes that I wouldn’t outgrow in a few months. I was there at their discretion, and without protection. If I wasn’t careful, who knew what might happen?
I knew. And when I was twelve, I began wedging a chair under the door of my room every night.
“I don’t doubt you’re approached by many men. But I’m not Human, so I’m not sure how it differs.” He shrugs, once again bored by the conversation. “It might be just quantitative. In the end, it’s hormones. Sex. The rest- liking, or loving, doesn’t come with it.”
“I see.” I drum my fingers over my armrest and lean back, observing. Not just Koen, but also the way Koen makes me feel. In my previous life, I wouldn’t have spared him a single glance. Were Serena, though, studies the lock of black hair falling over his forehead; the clean-shaven, aggressively handsome face. He is too intense, too brash. Too rough around the edges, and at least a decade older than me.
I have- had?- a type: cute, polite, solicitous. Boyish. My age. Gentle guys who underlined their favorite prose passages in books we buddy read, and who were secure enough in their masculinity to borrow my moisturizer when they spent the night. I never enjoyed being overwhelmed.
Koen is the Alpha of a pack that takes up a quarter of the country. Koen confuses me just by breathing the same air. Koen is so diametrically opposed to the kind of men I prefer, a protractor must be involved. “The gist of this,” I summarize, as though taking minutes for a meeting, “is that you find me attractive.”
“That might be the dictionary definition of ‘understatement,’ but yes.”
I’m a little heated. “But you won’t, um, die of a broken heart over me?”
He sighs. “Humans are so fucking dramatic.”
“And Weres are such dicks,” I reply sweetly.
“Lucky for you, you’re a mix of both.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, desperate to hide how entertained I am. Going by the swirl of amusement in his eyes, he’s perfectly aware.
“Well, this attraction you have for me is clearly beyond your control, so I won’t tell you that I’m flattered. And you seem like a great guy. You’re, um, gainfully employed, and look like you spend lots of time shirtless chopping firewood- “
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