I want to offer him some help with that. But . . . wouldn’t it just make things worse? “I’m sorry,” I say, and I am. I’m sorry for everything.
“That’s okay.” He sighs. Somehow, gathers me even closer. “I’ve never been less sorry about a thing.” Koen kisses me on the forehead. His hold never loosens, and we both fall asleep.
He didn’t think she could be more perfect.
Then she offered him her bite.
KOEN’S PHONE RINGS, AND WHEN MY EYES FLUTTER OPEN, HE’S lying back next to me, head on the pillow, the column of his neck golden in the morning light.
Once again, his stubble is on its way to a beard. His features, his hair, the line of his profile- everything about him has become so dear to me, I want to bury my face in his chest and scream about it till my vocal cords give out.
That’s when his lips part, and he asks, “Are you okay?”
He sounds perfectly awake, but his eyes remain closed. “Yeah.” I don’t get a chance to ask if he is, too. The arm that isn’t wrapped around me grabs the phone, picks up the call, and sets it on speaker.
His eyes are still closed. “Sem,” he says.
How does he know-
“Sorry about the early call. I may have some news about Serena’s condition.”
“No shit,” Koen mutters.
“Excuse me? I couldn’t quite make out- “
“See you at your office. Twenty minutes.” He hangs up. Wipes a tired hand down his face and, at last, looks at me.
“What’s that about?” I ask.
“You.” Gently, he extricates himself. He sits up, displaying an equally unsurprising and annoying amount of control over his core muscles.
“What can Sem have found out in less than twenty-four hours?”
“Fuck all. His partner, however, is a midwife.” He rolls his shoulders into a stretch, and I try not to stare at the masterpiece of architecture that is his back. Remind myself that he can hear my heartbeat speed up, and smell . . . everything. “I imagine he talked about your situation with her, and she realized what’s going on.”
“What do you mean?”
He ignores me and heads for the bathroom. “Get dressed. We’re leaving in ten minutes.”
“To go where?”
He looks at me from over his shoulder, a small smile curving his lips. “Biology class.”
KOEN INTERRUPTS SEM ABOUT THIRTY SECONDS INTO HIS CLEARLY rehearsed speech on why he decided to consult with another specialist regarding my situation. “Just call in Layla. We can safely assume that Serena should be transferred to her care.”
Two minutes and a greenish, flustered Sem later, Layla comes in and sits behind the desk. Sem never returns. “Koen,” she says. “I think it might be best if you and I talked about this for a minute. Alone.”
Koen frowns. “Isn’t this about Serena?”
She hesitates. Nods.
“Then tell Serena.”
“This is . . . delicate.”
“It’s also about her body. I’m not the pack HR rep, but my guess is that she should know before me.”
“Alpha, I . . .”
Lines appear between Koen’s brows. Layla instantly quiets. “Here’s what’s going to happen: I’m going to walk out of this office, and you are going to tell Miss Paris whatever she needs to know. Then, if she wants to, she’ll inform me of- “
“It’s okay,” I interrupt. “I’d rather Koen stay, for now.”
“Koen,” Layla says, and all of a sudden, she sounds less like a pack member and more like a friend. Someone who knew Koen when he was young- who was young with him. “You’re not going to like me doing it this way.”
A merry, careless shrug. “Then I’ll have to be a fucking big boy about it, won’t I?”
“I feel like I’m left out of an inside joke,” I interrupt. “Or like I am an inside joke. What am I missing?”
Layla’s smile is reassuring. “It’s more what your other doctors missed. They were so concerned about the cortisol surges that they rightfully blamed your most extreme symptoms on them, but they missed the broader context.”
“Context about . . . ?”
She pauses, clearly sifting through words. Meanwhile, Koen looks as though he’s watching a show for the tenth time. Nothing that’s about to happen is going to surprise him. He could probably take over the proceedings.
What the hell is going on?
“You see, your estrogen levels are also noticeably past normal thresholds, but because of the existence of CSD, Dr. Henshaw and Sem assumed that the complex relationship between estradiol and- “
“Layla.” I soften my interruption with a smile. “It’s very lovely that you don’t want me to blame them, and I promise I won’t, not for misreading the blood work of yours truly. But you’re saying lots of things that I don’t understand, and the suspense is killing me faster than the cortisol, so- “
“Estrus,” she blurts out. “You’re going into Estrus.”
“Ah.” I nod.
Sit back in my chair, scratching my temple.
Gather all that I know about Estruses- Estri?- which is a beautiful wasteland of nothing.
“People without degrees would call it going into Heat,” Koen says, and the realization crashes into me like a caravan of armored trucks.
My behavior last night.
The dreams.
Koen’s . . . everything.
“People with degrees, too,” Layla adds shyly. “But it can be a charged word. I wouldn’t want to upset you.”
“You aren’t,” I say.
Very upset. “Is this a thing that happens to Weres?”
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