Page 41 of Mate

He didn’t think she could be more perfect. Then she offered him her bite.

K OEN’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?”

“Yes, it does. Usually in wolf form.”

“But I’m . . .” I point at myself. I’m not in wolf form seems a redundant statement.

“Breakthrough heats are not unheard of in human form, either. I’ve been practicing for about ten years, and I’ve had several patients like you, triggered by all sorts of things.”

“Such as?”

“Stressful events. Medications. The most common cause is close proximity to a sexually compatible partner.” It’s remarkable how impersonally she delivers the last few words.

One would think she’s throwing out hypothetical scenarios, but I can see her hands rubbing under the desk. The fidgety bounce of her foot.

I’m not immune to the rising unease in the room, either.

There’s a string tied around my neck, and Koen is pulling at it.

I want to turn to him more than I want to breathe.

But if I did, we’d both be remembering the way I begged him last night, and I’m not sure poor Layla deserves to witness that mess.

“If I may ask, Serena, have you been having trouble shifting?” She smiles triumphantly at my nod. “Sorry. I’m not happy that . . . There is a biological premise for this that I could explain— ”

“No need,” I hasten to say.

“— but none of my other patients were able to shift until their cycle was over.”

“Why do the fevers get so bad at night?” Koen asks.

“Simple circadian fluctuations. They’re also happening more frequently, because the Estrus is approaching. Given Serena’s half-Were state, it’s hard to predict with certainty when it’ll start, but my guess is . . . soon.”

Unfortunately, this is when I cannot put it off any longer. The Question. I close my eyes. Mentally laser off the part of my brain that experiences embarrassment. Ask, “What will happen when Estrus starts?”

Maybe I should tell Koen to leave. The thing is, after last night he has the right to know the details of the special dumpster fire in which we’re frolicking, and Layla informing the both of us at once seems less painful than having to relay stuff to him later on. Using my own words.

“Well.” Layla clears her throat. Longingly gazes at a wall calendar, probably wishing she could turn back time and become a graphic designer. “There’s a lot to consider when it comes to— ”

“Just tell her,” Koen orders. Yesterday, in this very office, he sounded so angry, I briefly wondered if I was going to have to send an apology vase of hydrangeas to the Caine family. Today, I cannot get the slightest read on him.

Layla coughs, just to buy some time. “Some symptoms have already begun. Decrease in appetite. General aches. In the next few days, you’ll likely see a spike in nesting behavior.”

“Please, tell me I won’t be picking up twigs and weaving baskets out of them.”

“It has more to do with procuring scents, textures, and objects you find soothing. The goal is for you to build a space that will offer comfort in a time of need.”

“What do you mean by . . . What kind of objects?” I’m half terrified that she’ll recommend a list of vibrators.

The answer is somehow worse .

“There is no hard and fast rule. It can be a particularly soft fabric. A piece of clothing that belongs to someone who makes you feel safe. Some people hoard specific objects and arrange them in soothing ways. Combine different materials.”

“Why does this sound like a job that requires a master’s degree?”

“Not at all. There is no right or wrong way to nest, and it’s a very instinctive process.

” She scratches her nose. “You may have even already started, in your own way.” Layla’s eyes pointedly slide to the overly large red flannel I stole from Koen’s closet, and I can feel my heartbeat pounding in my cheeks.

“Oh.” I think about my room back home— the way I’ve been stuffing it with blankets of the perfect consistency, pillows filled with the right amount of feather. If Human scientists focused on their work as much as I did on my bed, herpes simplex would be a thing of the past.

God. It’s like being told that baby carrots are just regular ones peeled to be smaller: I should have realized what was going on a long time ago, but I didn’t, and now I feel stupid. Beside me, Koen betrays no emotion at the idea of contributing to my . . .

Nest.

“There will also be temporary physiological changes. For instance, your scent will become more appealing to potential partners.”

“As in, my smell brings all the Weres to the yard?”

“Well, I haven’t gotten close enough to you to ascertain whether the enhancement has begun, but— ”

“It has,” Koen said, settling Layla’s waffling.

And that’s that. We all marinate in those two little words for a handful of seconds, which happens to be just long enough for me to wistfully imagine being swallowed by a river of magma.

“Is this going to . . . Should I be worried?” I glance at Koen, who doesn’t get my meaning.

“How appealing is my scent going to be to others? Should I get online and order a Taser?”

He blinks. “You already own a knife. But let me reassure you that any Were in this pack who touches you without an express request from you is going to come into a windfall of pain. And then die.”

“I’ll take that as a no.” I smile, disappointed to find that his lips don’t curve in response.

Is he angry? He should be. I made him break an oath. And he didn’t even . . . But does it matter? Where do we draw the line? Will he feel compelled to do it again in the near future?

“Koen,” I say softly. “I think you should leave now.”

He doesn’t protest. “I’ll be outside. Call if you want me back in.”

The second the door clicks behind me, Layla asks, “Do you know what covenant the Alpha of the Northwest must abide by?”

I nod.

She seems relieved. When she resumes speaking, most of the awkwardness has melted away, and I realize that the tense atmosphere was due to her awareness that Koen is, by law, not allowed to touch me.

Her newfound directness is refreshing. “The main symptom of Estrus is that you’ll want to have sex.

A lot. So much so, it might be hard to engage in any other activity.

Some people equate the experience to being intoxicated, but that has a negative connotation many healthcare professionals reject.

Estrus is its own unique state. You will be able to make decisions.

The brain fog and arousal noise will just make it hard to think of the consequences and delay gratification.

This will last for anywhere from two to five days.

You will spend this time alone with a chosen partner, or partners, depending on your preferences. ”

The idea of allowing anyone but Koen to touch me is ludicrous, but I nod anyway.

“Estrus often accentuates sexual behaviors. For instance, you might find yourself wanting to please your partner more than usual. In turn, a partner tends to become very protective of a Were in heat. They will not take well to threats against them, but they also won’t necessarily be able to distinguish a real threat from, say, someone dropping by with a casserole.

That’s why isolation is usually considered the ideal scenario. ”

“What if a Were doesn’t have a partner? Does anyone just do it . . . alone?”

I’m not surprised by how swiftly Layla shakes her head. “I highly discourage it. Plainly, you won’t be able to orgasm without interaction with a partner, which will make the experience miserable.”

Keep touching yourself and lick the base of my throat.

Yeah. I can picture that a little too clearly.

“But,” she continues, “you’ll easily find a partner.

I remember reading that sexual activity can be perceived as something shameful and taboo among Humans .

Weres have a highly pragmatic attitude toward sex, and I’m sure many would volunteer to help.

And I would be remiss if I didn’t point out that even though I fully understand how disorienting the situation must be, most Weres who go through a Heat find it a highly pleasurable bonding experience.

Not to mention that it’s not always easy for us to conceive, so the increase in fertility is often appreciated. ”

I cover my mouth. “I’m an idiot.”

“Why?”

“Pregnancy is the whole biological reason behind this, isn’t it?”

“Well, yes. Is that something you’re interested in?”

I used to be. Funnily enough, when I thought I was a Human orphan, the idea of having a child was magic: someone who might share my DNA.

Someone to take care of. I used to picture it like a do- over of sorts: my child would not be traumatized into forgetting the first six years of its life.

My child would suffer zero assassination attempts before its eighteenth birthday— or after.

My child would never know true fear or hunger, and its happiness would soak up all the sadness I’d generated and polluted the world with.

Back in college, whenever Misery would catch me playing with the neighbor’s kids, pinching their cheeks, calling them cute, she’d roll her eyes so hard, her contacts nearly popped out. I hear they shit everywhere . And eat all your peanut butter.

That’s true of you , too.

Precisely. Do you really need two of me?

So, yes. I used to be interested. But now . . . “It’s unclear whether it’s even possible. Because of my genetic makeup.”

“I see. Well, in the eventuality that you can, let me make it clear: you will never be asked to put your body through anything you don’t want to. And my job is to help you do what’s best for you.”

I smile at her, genuinely grateful. “In that case, I need one thing from you.”

“Of course. What is it?”

“I need you to make sure that I do not go into Heat.”