Page 34 of Mate
Serena: Would you love me less if my name was Eva?
Misery: Yes.
Misery: But not like, by a lot.
I bury my face in the pillow to laugh and cry at the same time.
I WAKE UP A FEW HOURS LATER, ON FIRE.
Pouring sweat.
Shivering.
In pain so visceral, I am willing to do anything, absolutely fucking anything to not feel it. Even something as drastic as dying.
I roll out of bed and drag myself to the shower. Loud whimpers spill out of me, and I slap a hand against my mouth, until I remember that Koen won’t be home until morning. If I use his bathtub, he won’t know. Or care.
I stumble across the hallway, taking three pit stops on the way— two to dry heave, and one to just collapse for a little while. As one does , I tell myself. Totally normal. Nothing to see here.
My head spins as I pull myself up. It helps that my claws are somehow out, something to stick through the wooden walls to lug myself to a semi-upright position.
You’re doing amazing, Serena. Eva. Killer. Whoever you are.
My heart has never beaten this fast, not even after a sprint, not even after killing someone. I remember when Dr. Henshaw listed the many ways in which the fevers could lead to my death. Septic shock and widespread inflammation. Brain damage and neuronal death. Dehydration.
Cardiac stress.
I was kinda partial to metabolic imbalance, but maybe this is how I go?
Either way , I inform my body, things end in cold water. That’s non-negotiable.
I lurch into Koen’s bathroom. The underwear and flannel I’m wearing are so sweat-soaked, it hurts to peel them off my skin. I turn on the faucet, make sure that the water is gelid, and when I feel my stomach twist to expel something, I trip back toward the sink.
That’s where I see my eyes.
I freeze, because this is new. Or maybe, in all the fever attacks so far, I never looked at my face in a mirror.
My pupils have shrunk to pinpricks. It’s like my irises are eggs, and someone punctured them open with a needle.
The dark brown spills out, filling the white like a puddle of something viscous that could almost be blood —
“Serena.”
I turn around. My heart sinks.
Koen is wearing yesterday’s clothes and must have just returned. He inhales deeply, staring at my nearly naked body, focusing on the fat drops of sweat rolling between my breasts. The hot flush that blankets my skin. My eyes, still leaking into themselves.
“I’m sorry.” I’m hoarse. Weak. I force myself to take a deep breath, because I need to— cold water. Can’t deal with him now. I hug myself tight, forgetting about my own sharp claws, ignoring the way they pierce the skin of my ribs. “It’s b- better if you leave.”
His eyes are shadowed. He takes a step forward, bringing inside a tidal wave of his scent that’s safe and clean and healthy and—
Oh my God. Sex. It’s so delicious, so indecent, so fundamentally erotic, I want it even more than the cold water. Which I need to survive .
“Please, Koen. I need you to leave.”
“Where does it hurt?” He comes closer, clearly unaware that I’m scary and unpredictable. His heat should bother me, but by some miracle of biology it doesn’t add to the fever. “And how bad?”
“It’s fine. I just need to— ” I can’t bear his gaze on me.
I turn away and spot my eyes in the mirror once again.
They’re even worse than before, swallowed by a rising tide of dark green, and .
. . “Oh my God,” I whisper, reaching up to touch them, but Koen traps both my wrists against the small of my back.
He slides his other arm around my chest, plastering me to him.
“Your claws are out, and you’re already bleeding. You need to stay still.”
“My eyes— ”
“It’s okay.”
“But they— ”
“Serena.” That Alpha voice. “Calm down.”
I do. For about a second. Then panic rises, higher, stronger. “That’s not normal.”
“Stop looking at them. Deep breaths.”
“I can’t. What is happening?”
“Don’t look at them.”
Tears slide down my face. I’m about to explode. “But why are they— ”
Koen’s fist darts out to punch the mirror, shattering my reflection into a thousand small shards. “Here. Now they’re not doing that anymore.” His palm rests against my forehead. “You’re burning up. This is not the first time, is it?”
Yes. No. I don’t know.
“Answer me.”
“N- no.”
“Good girl. Is it a fever?”
I nod, and the simple gesture makes me dizzy. I sink into Koen’s body even more. There is no way to describe the fabric of his clothes other than offensive . I need them off .
“Cold baths work to bring it down?”
“Yes.”
He glances at the almost-full tub. A second later I’m submerged in water. Distantly, I register some surprise. Because Koen gets in with me, clothes and all, and pulls me between his spread legs.
The sudden icy cold feels like unicorns and kittens building a pillow fort on a pink cloud, then snacking on a tub of frosting. “Better?” Koen asks.
I nod. The soft weight of his lips presses against my temple.
“Anything else you do?”
I shake my head. Open my mouth to tell Koen that in a second the shock will knock me out, and I’ll wake up shivering in a couple of hours.
That he should let go of me. That people in my condition can harm those around them.
But one of his hands splays wide on my abdomen, and the other curves around my inner thigh, and even though this might be the most shameful moment of my entire life, I’m too tired and comfortable to do anything but fall asleep.