Page 24 of Mate

He overhears her talking with Pavel.

“Hey, is it true that Humans put gnomes in their gardens?”

“Oh, yeah. It’s totally a thing.”

“Spine-chilling.”

Her laughter adjusts the spin of his atoms.

T HEY START ARRIVING IN THE LATE AFTERNOON.

I spend several hours cross-legged on the couch, trying to reconstruct my lost letters, until the door bursts open. Two men walk inside like they were just handed the deed to the place. They’re both tall, both well muscled, and both completely naked.

“Oh, Serena. What’s up?” the first says.

The second just grins, waves at me, and bends over to stretch his hamstrings, giving me a thorough view of his butthole. “I slept wrong last night,” he moans. “Everything hurts.”

“Is that why you were so slow?”

“Fuck off. At least I have an excuse.”

I blink, wondering if this is a new symptom of CSD: vivid dreams of naked men bickering in Koen’s living room.

That’s when an ash-colored wolf with thick fur and green eyes trots inside, comes to stand between me and the two men, and growls in their direction.

In a quick symphony of bones cracking, keratin shrinking, and muscles unfolding, it transforms into a familiar shape.

Amanda.

Naked, of course. And pissed. “You guys are way early, and Koen doesn’t want anyone he hasn’t preapproved alone with Serena.”

“Oh. We did not . . .” The men exchange looks of sheer terror. “Sorry about this. We’re going to . . .” One points at the door.

“No, please. Stay.” I quickly hide my writing in the pages of a book and rise to my feet. “You are . . . ?”

Amanda sighs and points at the one with freckles and a spiky red mullet. “Colin.” She switches to the barrel-chested guy who clearly skips leg day. “Pavel.”

“Nice to meet you,” I say, relieved by the lack of handshakes. “No, really. I’m glad you came over. I’m even getting used to your junk just . . . dangling there.”

Colin cocks his head. “Is it not supposed to?”

“Maybe Human genitals are usually retracted?” Pavel suggests.

“Ah, yes. In those cloacal openings.” Colin nods knowingly. “Like koalas and alligators.”

“Precisely. Now that I think about it, I remember reading somewhere that Humans shit and piss from the same ho— ”

“Guys,” Amanda snaps. “Do you want Koen to come back and find you here?”

They pale. Colin clears his throat. “Actually, we’re pretty hungry. We’ll go hunt some dinner and be back later— ”

“I can fix you something,” I offer. A vein starts pulsating on Amanda’s forehead, so I hasten to add, “I wasn’t doing anything, anyway. And, Amanda, you’re here and you’re preapproved. Koen won’t mind.”

In fact, Koen’s behavior is less predictable than a stock market crash.

But a little over an hour later, when he returns to find Amanda and five more of his now-clothed seconds eating meatballs, salad, and freshly baked bread, no one ends up impaled on his claws.

They all scramble to their feet to salute as he comes in, like he’s the strictest teacher at the boarding school, but return to their meal and conversation quickly enough.

“Do you always have guests sitting on the floor?” I ask him when he walks up to me, handing him a bowl of scraps. “And could you take this out? For Twinkles.”

“For who, now?”

“The wolf dog I met this morning. I sent Ana a picture and she picked a name for him.”

Koen crosses his arms, refusing the bowl. “What about a feral mutt covered in mud screamed Twinkles to her?”

“I believe she decided that he’s Sparkles’s long-lost brother, and she’s committed to the theme. Elle, since Koen won’t, will you put this on the porch?” I smile at the girl, who looks like a very badass kindergarten teacher. “Thank you so much.”

“Did you cook for my seconds?” Koen sounds less than enthused.

“Yeah. Isn’t that why you brought me here? To keep your home?” His face has me snorting out a laugh.

“I tried to stop her,” Amanda says, joining us. “But I couldn’t.”

Koen glares at her. “You were unable to physically prevent a hybrid half your size from producing a vat of homemade marinara sauce.”

“Well, the thing is . . . she’s kind of a good cook.”

“Aw, thank you. Want another helping?”

“Yes, please.”

“It’s on the stove.”

“Nice. By the way, boss, what did the Humans say? Anything useful?”

Koen shakes his head as Amanda disappears past him with a soft “Bummer.” He and I are left alone in the middle of the crowded room, and I go back to chopping veggies for my stir-fry.

“Serena.”

“Hmm?”

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“It’s this chicken dish that— ”

“Why?”

“You’re the one who invited over some of your seconds so I could meet them— without warning me beforehand, by the way. Thank God for Amanda.”

“I invited them because I wanted you to know who these twatwaffles are in case you need something from them— not to play house and entertain them.”

“But they were hungry. And I love to cook. And I never get to do it for anyone.” It’s always been a bit of a pipe dream of mine. Showing off my culinary chops. Feeding others. I enjoyed food a lot, before , and became good at preparing it, but never got to do much with those skills.

In my ideal, remarkably unremarkable future that will never be, I’d go to a job I love, come home, make dinner for someone whose face was in my head and heart all day long, and spend the rest of the night watching boring TV shows with them.

Of course it’ll never happen, and it sounds so basic, I’m almost sure that if I had a chance to play in that particular sandbox, I’d grow bored of it in two weeks.

But maybe I wouldn’t? Mundane things can feel so exotic when your entire life has been one plot twist after another.

“Really, I don’t mind. Would you like a plate of— ”

“No,” he barks. But more people are trickling in, and he’s too busy telling them that “Serena doesn’t want to see your sad, wrinkly scrotum, and neither do I, so stop being a turd and put on some goddamn clothes” to spend time in the kitchen.

“It’s a Human thing,” Colin explains to every newcomer. “They have cloacas.”

I smile and work on my fruit salad.

“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.”