Page 32 of Mate
Just this once, he could have done without being right.
D O YOU LIVE HERE?” I ASK. IN THE AFTERNOON SUN, I HAVE TO squint to properly make him out.
I guess he could be Sem’s brother— several years younger, similar hair color.
Slim build and soft, boyish jawline. He doesn’t seem hostile.
But he also doesn’t feel like he belongs to this place that smells like moss and brine.
I don’t lower my knife. “Who are you?”
He slowly looks up at me, a smudge of soil on his forehead, another on his cheekbone. “Oh, your eyes. They are so familiar to me.”
I take a step back. Quickly glance around, wondering if I should call for Koen. Except, would Koen kill this boy? Yes, probably. “I need you to tell me who you are,” I demand.
“What a joy. To speak with you. To be with you.”
What. The. Fuck. “I mean, sure. You should feel lucky, but . . . do I know you?”
He straightens further, whispering something that ends up swallowed by the breeze and the waves. Slowly, he stands, holding out his hand. When I change my defensive grip to something that could do some real damage, he remains undeterred. “Come with me,” he says.
His voice is warm, coupled with a smile that is .
. . unhinged, I should say. But this boy doesn’t seem like a crazed nutjob.
He’s coherent. Kind. Looks at me like we used to play hopscotch together and like someone told him that my boogers are made of emeralds.
So unabashedly adoring, I clutch my weapon tighter.
“Don’t be afraid. We knew he would take you here.”
“Who’s we?”
“You must have felt so alone.”
“If you come any closer, I will stab you.” I pointedly lower my eyes to his dick, which swings between his legs like the world’s wrinkliest Christmas ornament. “Wherever it’s most convenient.”
His smile softens. “I understand your reservations, but I am not afraid, and neither should you be. The moment has come. You were made, and so it has begun. His domain will flourish, and— ”
“Stop with the Bible camp talk.” I clench my teeth. “Did you call me Eva? Earlier?”
“It’s the name by which I have always known you,” he says simply.
“?‘Always’? Did you know me as a child?”
“Always. I learned the blood and the word, and therefore you.”
My heart stops. He looks younger than me. Too young. “Did we grow up together?”
“Not as such, no.”
“Then why do you know me?”
With a flick of his wrist, he once again offers his hand. “Come with me, and I’ll tell you. She will tell you. You should know the wonder that you are.”
“Nice try, but I’m not going to a second location with you. I’m not even convinced I want to stay in this one.” I’m getting tired of the cryptic speeches, that ethereal smile painted on his face. Fear is slowly melting into frustration. “Are you a member of the Northwest pack?”
“There is no Northwest. There are no packs, no species, no borders.”
“Right. Okay . . . if you don’t tell me who you are, I’m going to scream, and someone who’s much less nice and patient than me will come out of the house— ”
“I can be fucking nice,” Koen says, coming to stand behind me.
Most of my tension dissolves.
“Not patient, though,” he adds. “She got that right.”
His heat presses against my back. “Is he Northwest?” I ask under my breath.
“No.” Koen’s hand wraps around my hip, completely engulfing it.
It’s a deceptively relaxed gesture, protective and lover-like.
He pulls me into him, and the back of my head brushes against his chest. Worry and fear stink like acid, but I pick up neither from him.
“Which means that I can kill him for being in my territory. Want me to?” He’s joking. I think.
“He came alone,” I murmur. “I don’t think he’s a danger.”
“You’re right.” He continues louder, this time for the other Were to hear, “But why would he breach our borders? I must assume that he means to hurt you.”
The boy shakes his head forcefully, mussing up already tousled hair. “I would rather die than hurt one of us, Eva.”
I smell the truth of it. So does Koen, but his hold on me tightens. “What did you call her?” I can hear the frown in his question— and the way it deepens when no answer comes.
The boy stares for a long moment at Koen’s fingers on my stomach, and his smile falters for the first time. “You shouldn’t touch her,” he warns.
It is, demonstrably, the wrong thing to say to the Alpha of a territory he just breached. So wrong, it bothers even me. “Excuse me?” Koen asks mildly.
And that poor boy— he’s finally displaying some common sense, because he’s about to shit himself. But to his credit, even as he shakes like a leaf, he doesn’t back down. “You want her, but you are not worthy of her.”
“Man, you don’t know me. I think I bring a lot to the table.”
“Like several moldy unicorn waffles,” I mutter. In response, Koen playfully drums his fingertips over my stomach.
“He cannot keep you here, Eva,” the boy tells me. “I told them that there was no need to take you. No need for blood. I promised them that if you knew we were waiting for you, you would come.”
“Bro, she’s not going anywhere.”
“She is your superior in every way. You cannot speak for her, Koen Alexander.”
“He’s right, though,” I say. “I’m not coming with you.”
“Not all is lost, though,” Koen says, suddenly pushing me half behind his body. His posture switches— protective to predatory. “Serena is off-limits, but you may still have a playdate with me.”
“Eva,” the boy pleads, eyes never leaving mine. “Do you not remember us? Have you not been told the stories? You were hurt greatly, if so.” His smile folds into something else. Something sad. “Will you not join me?”
“I have no idea who you are. And since you’re calling me by the wrong name, I think that’s mutual.”
His shoulders slump. It’s like I cut the string that held him up. “If you won’t come with me, then I was wrong. And if I was wrong, before I leave, I will have to pay the price.”
“Good for you that you won’t be going anywhere, then,” Koen says.
“It was lovely to stand this close to you, Eva. To feel the same breeze and the same grass. The flesh will be reborn.” The boy bows his head. His attention shifts fully to Koen. “Koen Alexander. In another universe, one not as perfect as this one, I would have called you Alpha.”
“What a daunting threat,” Koen says, moving forward. When the boy begins to retreat, he sighs.
“We are many. And we have learned from past mistakes.”
“Sure.”
“What about you, Koen Alexander? Are you your parents’ son?”
Koen freezes. His shoulders go rigid. “Boy, I’m faster than you, and a hell of a lot stronger. If you run, I will catch you within one hundred feet, and I’ll probably end up hurting you.”
“You will pay for what you did. And Constantine will see you shortly.”
To me, it all sounds like nonsense. But I can smell Koen’s rage. It runs so deep, I have to make the conscious choice not to step away from him. “Constantine is dead,” he spits out.
“That he is,” the boy agrees with his widest smile yet, a grin of undiluted joy, and I realize that my initial assessment of his sanity may have been incorrect. Then it all happens so quickly, my glitchy, shocked brain can barely register the order of it.
Koen was right: he is much faster, and he could catch the boy in one hundred feet. Except, he doesn’t have one hundred feet. Because the Were doesn’t run away toward the forest. Instead he chooses the opposite direction, and I don’t understand—
Koen’s “Fuck” is muffled by the waves lapping onto the shore
— where does the Were think he’s going—
as Koen sprints to catch him
— that’s not where he came from—
or maybe to kill him
— not the right path—
and why is he not slowing down, he’s almost at the edge of the cliff, he can’t
— below the cliff, wasn’t there a—
The Were jumps.
He dives off the cliff without a single moment of hesitation, a perfectly symmetrical shape, a graceful silhouette against the sun. Even the wind ebbs, as if holding its breath, trying to keep still.
All Koen can do is skid to a stop. Let one hand tug at his hair. Watch as the boy’s body travels through the air. Listen to a long, long silence, broken only by the sound of bones crashing against stone.