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CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

“WE LIKE TO pretend, men do,” Athos was saying. He was a little bit drunk, and Tawny wasn’t, due to the possibility that she was pregnant, and the fact that she was being careful about that kind of thing.

The two of them were sitting at the bar at a local place. They’d eaten dinner here because there was nowhere to sit in the restaurant, and Tawny had asked if the bar was open, and the waiter had sat them here.

Now, they were in the middle of a conversation with two guys in suits, a squirrelkin and a foxkin, who were also a little bit drunk.

“Pretend what?” said the foxkin.

Tawny rolled her eyes. “I’ve heard this one before, I think.”

Athos grinned at her. “We can go. You’re done eating, right?”

“You’ve still got beer left.” She pointed. “You can finish that, finish your conversation, finish being a sexist jackass.”

He snorted. “I am not sexist.”

“Mmm,” she said, sipping at her own drink, which was a soda. “Sure.”

“I’m the opposite of sexist,” he said to the foxkin. “Pretend that women need us.”

The foxkin laughed. “Okay, I’ll bite. What the hell do you mean?”

“Women don’t need men,” Athos said. “Women have never needed men. You look at any number of species out there, including our own, and women are just fine without men. They do everything all on their own. They see to their own survival and protect their young and maintain family connections. So, men need women, but women don’t need men.”

“You spend a lot of time listening to podcasts about alpha men and red pills, don’t you?” said the squirrelkin, sipping at his cocktail.

“No,” he said. “I hear that stuff, the things those kinds of people say, and they’re right, but they’re also wrong. They make one critical mistake.”

The squirrelkin snorted. “You bring this guy into public often?”

“What can I say?” Tawny said, smirking. “I need him.”

“Oh, I see what you’re doing,” Athos said, pointing at her. “I see that. But look, here’s the critical mistake. The mistake is bringing value or morals into it. They assume that it’s better for us to follow nature, but nature doesn’t think that way. Nature just is .”

The squirrelkin and foxkin exchanged a look.

“What I mean is, it’s a fact that women don’t need men, that’s a fact,” Athos plowed on. “But that’s painful, so men don’t want to face it. They assume that men must be necessary, and—you know—we are. For one teeny, tiny thing, and that’s reproduction. Beyond that, we are pointless and we can just die, and nature, in fact, predisposes us to kill ourselves off—”

“Kill ourselves off?” broke in the foxkin.

“Oh, yeah,” said Tawny, nodding, quite serious. “This is his theory that the men are just there to attract predators.”

“They are,” said Athos. “Why else is the male of the species bigger and more brightly colored and stronger? It’s to be a—”

“Noble sacrifice,” she supplied.

“Well, huh,” said squirrelkin.

“Okay,” said the foxkin, “and it’s not as if predators don’t also get preyed on, you know? There can be only one at the top of the food chain.

“Exactly,” said Athos. “Exactly. Look, I get this is depressing. It’s much nicer to assume that nature gave us each equal purpose and equal value, isn’t it? That’s a very nice thing to assume. But, look, it’s not true, and men have always had a chip on their shoulder about it, and that’s why we’re dicks to women. It’s envy.”

“Envy,” Tawny scoffed.

“Totally,” he said, nodding. “Totally.”

She just shook her head.

The squirrelkin’s eyes were wide.

“Envy,” said the foxkin.

“You have got to be kidding me!” Tawny got out of her chair. “This is like the weirdest way on earth to say that you’re inferior and also superior and that everyone should feel sorry for men.”

“That… no.” Athos shook his head. “No, not even.” He paused. “You’re going to say, like, men have superior physical strength and we’ve used that to subjugate women in a number of civilizations, like, almost every single civilization, since the dawn of civilization? You’re going to say that?”

She sipped at her soda. “I was not going to say that, in fact. Do you simply like having arguments with yourself?”

The foxkin snorted. “Ouch.”

Athos held up both hands. “But, see, that’s part of it, that’s part of the whole thing. If you look at it like that, like ‘superior physical strength’ instead of, ‘being honed to fight off predators since you are the dispensable gender’ it hits different.”

She folded her arms over her chest.

“And everything we do, men, it’s all a rebellion against this,” he said. “It’s this weird, stupid drive, deep down, to prove we’re more than body fodder, to prove that we, in fact, matter, in some way. And more than anything, what we want is to be absolutely indispensable to a woman, to trick a woman into thinking she needs us for anything at all. Did we, in history, keep women ignorant and refuse to educate them just so we could feel important? Yes. Did we try to make women out as weak and fragile just so we could feel as if we were necessary in some way? Yes. And this is right in the face of the fact that women are obviously stronger and sturdier than we are—they give birth, they live longer, they are less susceptible to all manner of diseases and ailments. Women are superior; men know it. Sexism is envy.”

“Whoa,” said the foxkin. “You’re kind of blowing my mind right now.”

Athos continued, “And when those guys on podcasts try to further their little agenda that there’s some great and wondrous reason for men to be alpha-strong-men, like men matter all that much to the grand scheme of the natural world except for two ways, which is fucking and fighting… they’re just playing the same game. They’re just sad, sad little boys who can’t accept their place in the world.”

“Fuck, man,” said the squirrelkin, downing the rest of his drink. “That’s kind of heavy.”

Tawny threw her hands up. “Sun and moon,” she said. “Sun and moon.” Then leaving her drink on the bar, she just walked off through the restaurant.

Athos winced.

“You, uh, going after her?” said the foxkin.

“Yeah,” said Athos. “But I need to pay for this first.”

The squirelkin and foxkin both thought this was hilarious.

Athos paid for their meals, for their drinks, and then went looking for her. She was nowhere to be found.

He got out his phone, thought about sending her a text, and then decided just to call her.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” she greeted him.

“Don’t hold back there,” he said.

“I mean, have you thought about the fact that if you make men out to be tragic little boy figures that they don’t ever have any incentive to grow up? Is that what’s wrong with you? You just want to be a little boy forever?”

He was quiet.

“Nothing to say to that?”

“Is this done, then?” he said. “You finally figure out you’re done with me? We both know you don’t like me.”

“Stop saying that,” she snapped. “Should I get a Lyft or should I meet you at your car?”

“Obviously, meet me at my car.” They lived only three blocks away from each other, it turned out. Driving her back didn’t mean anything. She could hop out and walk home very easily.

When he got to the car, she had her arms folded over her chest again. She looked annoyed.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” he said.

“You’re sorry.” Her nostrils flared.

“I can do better. You’ve got to train me,” he said with a little smile.

“Train you?” she said. “I do not believe you.”

“I mean, yeah,” he said. “You’re very good at knowing what’s right and what’s wrong, Tawny. So, if I don’t get it, you’ve got to help me. Just like this. This was perfect. You were crystal clear. I will take the notes. I’ll do better.”

“You’re not mad?” she said.

“I’m the one who fucked up,” he said.

She furrowed her brow. “What did you do wrong, then?”

“I mean, I talk too much. I say dumb shit. It’s just… I don’t even mean half of it.”

She eyed him for several long moments. “You do say dumb shit,” she said eventually. “Really dumb shit.”

He shrugged. “I’ll stop.” He gave her a little smile. “Set me straight, Tawny. Tell me what you want. I’ll do whatever you want.”

She tried the door to his car.

It was locked.

He unlocked it.

She threw herself inside.

He got in, too. “I really am sorry.”

“Stop apologizing,” she said, shaking her head.

He raised his eyebrows. “Okay. But if I pissed you off—”

“Take me home,” she said in a soft voice. “Sir.”

He drew in a breath. He took her home.

When they got there, she pushed him backwards on her bed, undid his belt, freed him and used her mouth on him.

He wasn’t entirely sure what had prompted her to be that way, but he was also not going to complain.

STOCKTON WAS WAITING outside the building after Rora’s last class of the day. He wouldn’t have resulted to ambushing her like this, except he was anxious.

It had been days since he’d walked her to her car in the middle of the night with the taste of her still on his lips, with the imprint of her lips on the most sensitive part of his body.

And she’d been evasive ever since. Waiting much longer than she usually did to respond to his texts, claiming she was busy when he tried to set up a time for them to hang out, and he kept telling himself he was imagining things, but he couldn’t help but feel panicked.

He’d done something wrong. He must have.

He kept thinking about how she’d had to explain to him to lick her clit, that he’d been so stupid as to not understand how to go down on a woman, and he was sure he’d ruined everything.

But then he had gotten her off, and it hadn’t seemed as if she was dissatisfied afterwards, so he hoped, if he could just see her, then he could put all his worries to the side.

When she saw him, she looked startled.

He fell into step with her.

“You, um, aren’t at your internship today,” she said. “It’s Thursday. You’re on campus on Thursdays.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I knew this was your last class today, and mine was over an hour ago, so I thought I’d hang out and surprise you.” Because otherwise, I was worried you’d try to avoid seeing me.

She tried to smile at him, but she looked harried and couldn’t seem to make the expression reach her eyes. She looked away, instead. “Listen, Stockton, this afternoon, I’ve got a lot of reading to do, so I don’t know if it’s a good time for me. I’m sorry.”

He drew in a sharp breath, and then he just said it. “I think you’re avoiding me.”

She looked up at him, her eyes very wide, and there was a long moment, a very long moment, long enough that when she said, “No, absolutely not,” it rang entirely false.

She seemed to realize this and she grimaced.

“Hey,” he said, “if you’re not feeling this anymore, that’s okay, but I would appreciate it if you could tell me why.”

She let out a long, slow moan. She looked around, shaking her head, tucking her hair behind one ear, nervous. “Not here. Can we talk… somewhere else?”

“Yeah,” he said. “The coffee shop near campus?”

“Not somewhere public.”

“My place?”

“ No. ” She practically snarled it.

He stiffened.

She winced. “Um, fine, the coffee shop. We’ll sit in one of the tables in the back. That’s probably best.”

He felt entirely off kilter, in a fierce feeling of ever-extending panic. Something was wrong. She was going to end things. His instincts had been right, and he had half-convinced himself he was being stupid about it, but everything was awful.

They walked to the coffee shop mostly in silence. They bought drinks; he tried to pay for hers; she wouldn’t let him. This made him feel vaguely nauseous.

When they sat down, his heart was pounding in dread.

“I…” She clutched her coffee cup with two hands, and she wouldn’t look at him. “You remember that when we saw each other at the Center, you pretended you didn’t know me?”

“This is about that,” he breathed in understanding. “Of course, you must be realizing now that all the things that I did—”

“I might have done something similar, sort of, when I ‘met’ Bruin at your house. I pretended not to know him, but I did .”

Now, he was thoroughly confused. He tried to say something.

She was talking again. “It’s all so awful. He said that I shouldn’t tell you, and I think he might be right, but I don’t know how to keep it from you. What we have together, what I liked about it, was that we were so honest and vulnerable with each other. You made me feel safe in that way. So, it’s all going to end now, but I couldn’t be with you even if I didn’t tell you, because I can’t lie to you.”

“What are you talking about? When did you meet Bruin?”

“At the Center,” she said miserably. “The night before you and I went to lunch together.”

“At the…?” It crashed into place for him suddenly, so obvious he couldn’t believe he hadn’t put it together before. He sat back in his chair, horrified, gaping at her. “He’s the one. The one you lost your virginity to. You’re the one he worried he’d hurt, the reason he left. How could I not have realized? ”

Her lower lip started to tremble.

Some part of him wanted to comfort her, but he couldn’t, because he was drowning now, drowning in a black pool of conflicting and awful emotions.

It was quiet.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered finally. “I didn’t know.”

He dragged a hand over his face. His body felt too heavy and sluggish. He licked his lips.

She lifted a shoulder, picking up her coffee. She sipped at it. “I know I was supposed to be the one girl who wouldn’t have been with anyone else, who you wouldn’t have to worry about, because I would be safe and yours and you… I wanted to be that for you. I guess I’m just not.”

He gave her an odd look. “That’s not—what are you saying? I never wanted you because you were inexperienced or something. Neither of us are experienced.”

“Right,” she said. “But you wanted someone who you’d be sure wouldn’t cheat on you. And I didn’t. But it’s probably the same thing in the end, right? Because I’m tainted by him.”

He tried to protest, but… fuck. He picked up his coffee too. He gulped at it. It was too hot. He set it down. “No,” he finally managed. “No, that is not why I wanted you.”

“You could do better than this, than me. I know what I look like. I know that no one else has ever wanted to be my boyfriend. I know that it was appealing to just lower your standards.”

“No,” he said again, vehemently. “Don’t talk like that about yourself.”

She ducked her chin down. Her eyes were shining.

“That’s not fair,” he muttered. “You don’t get to make this about you.”

She gasped as if he’d struck her.

He felt awful.

It was quiet again.

“I guess,” she said, and there was venom in her tone now, “it’s just all about you, then? You’re the only one who’s getting hurt here? But I didn’t know you when I did it. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I never said you did,” he said. But then, he couldn’t help but be sarcastic. “I’m sorry if I’m not taking it well that my father fucked my girlfriend.”

She recoiled again.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, thoroughly ashamed of his reaction.

“Me too,” she said and her voice shook. “But you don’t want me anymore, do you?”

He looked up at her, and he was at a loss. The awful truth was that he didn’t, that what she’d said about her being tainted, he felt that. He knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t seem to help it. “I maybe need some time with this,” he said finally.

She nodded.

“Just to wrap my head around it?” His voice cracked. “Can that be okay?”

She hesitated. “How much time? Should I not contact you at all? Will you contact me? If you don’t ever contact me again, at what point should I assume that—”

“I don’t know! I don’t know anything right now!” he exploded. He got up from the table, taking his coffee with him. “Just… I can’t.”

He walked out.

When he got back home, Bruin was in the kitchen, unloading the dishwasher, putting forks away.

Stockton stood and watched him, wordless, looked at his father’s girth and broad shoulders and his impressive antlers and thought that his father had no issues knowing how to make a woman come, undoubtedly, and his stomach roiled.

Bruin looked up, caught his expression, and slowly set the forks down on the counter. “Sun and moon. You know. She told you.”

Stockton shifted on his feet. “I wish she hadn’t. I wish I didn’t know.”

Bruin came across the room and placed a hand on his shoulder.

Stockton shook him off. “Don’t touch me.”

Bruin backed off, bowing his head.

Stockton tore past him, hurled himself into his bedroom, and shut the door. He sat down on his bed, right in the spot where he’d sat while she’d knelt between his thighs and used her soft, perfect, wet mouth on him. He sat there and he sobbed.

LYALL SLEPT AT her house.

Not just once, either. He had never done anything like that, never gone to a woman’s house and just been there.

He had to admit that he never stayed long in the mornings though. He’d wake up, and she wouldn’t be in bed anymore. She’d be out in her living room, perched at a desk in the corner where she had the literally largest-screened computer he’d ever seen, and she had this little pen and tablet thing, which worked like a mouse. It let her draw things on the screen. She would be there, already working, telling him there was coffee if he wanted it.

Sometimes he’d get coffee and sit and watch her work while he drank it.

But usually not, because she wouldn’t talk to him when he was there. He’d try to talk, and she’d be distracted, staring at her screen.

“You trying to get me to leave?” he said once. He didn’t know if he wanted to leave. Her house smelled like her and he liked being close to her for whatever reason. Probably the same stupid reason she gave him a knot.

“No,” she had replied, like he was crazy.

“I’m only saying because you get up and start working, like you want me to leave you alone.”

She had given him a look. “I thought this was the way we both wanted this.”

Maybe she was trying to teach him a lesson, but he didn’t think so. He thought she just didn’t feel like dropping her entire universe because he happened to be around. She was going to do her thing, regardless. Or maybe she liked to make her art. Or maybe she was trying to get rid of him.

It was odd because she was a submissive little preykin when he wanted her to be, doing everything he said, shy and sweet and obedient.

And then, there was this other part of her, this part who was kind of defiant. Who wouldn’t obey if it killed her. Who would cut off her nose to spite him.

Did she hate him? He wondered about that sometimes. When she got that spike of fear in her that smelled so damned good, that went right to the root of his cock, was there an element of truth in the way she felt about him with that?

But it didn’t matter if she did hate him.

She was his.

She was his little preykin. He got a knot for her . Her and no one else. And she let him have her over and over again, falling to pieces in his arms, eager to be fucked, eager to be claimed.

There was something about it, though, something.

It wasn’t just sex between them.

True, the sex bracketed everything. They’d set up a time to see each other, usually texting each other earlier in the day, usually near lunch, but they’d agree to meet later, sometime after dinner or something, and then she’d come to him or he’d go to her.

And when they saw each other, it would be a collision, bodies against each other, scents wild on the air, intense and ready and right down to it.

Then, in between, they’d be knotted together, and they’d talk. They’d talk about all kinds of things. They talked about their families and their jobs. They talked about the art they both made. They talked about how both of them could not see themselves with children. They talked about true crime documentaries, which they both liked, and abnormal psychology, because they both had theories about psychopathic tendencies, and maybe that was because they were both “loner types” as she’d put it, who didn’t attach well.

But neither of them were violent, of course. Neither of them were psychopathic. They made theories to prove to themselves that there were differences between themselves and people who did things like that.

But this was only because they both felt some kind of uncomfortable kinship with the personality type, he thought.

Maybe this was why he knotted for her. Maybe because she was like him, mirrored him, was similar to him in so many, many ways.

Except, they were different.

She had this side to her that he didn’t have, the side she said was impulsive, and the side he just didn’t understand. The side that propelled her out of her house and out into public to do brash things like join in a sex rite—which was how he’d met her, obviously—or less risky things like sing karaoke or go on a pub crawl.

He never wanted to do those things, and she never asked him along, but he hated that she did them without him.

The first time he found out about her having done that, he said to invite him along next time.

So, she did. She said she had an itch and she was going out to a club to go dancing.

He didn’t like clubs. He didn’t like people. He didn’t like lights. He didn’t like loud music.

He hated it.

He made her leave early, but she didn’t mind, because he pulled his car over to fuck her in the backseat on the way home, and she had this orgasm that smelled like sweat and fear and her and that broke over him in a way that made him lose his mind. He came like moondamned cannon fire inside her. They were knotted up and they had to sit in the back of his car for way too long.

That was the night he bit her. Like, broke the skin a little and licked it, licked her while she was bleeding and she tasted sweet, so fucking sweet.

She said she should make him jealous more often.

“Was I jealous?” he said.

“You don’t like me dancing with other men,” she said.

“Was that dancing or just them all trying to scent you?” he had growled.

She’d thrust her ragged skin into his mouth for him to lick, and said, “I’m your preykin, though, Lyall, yours,” and she’d tasted so fucking sweet, and he’d licked her and licked her.

And maybe some part of him liked it, liked how out of his head he got for her, liked getting out of control, liked the sparks made from his possessiveness and her running away from him, always running, always wanting him to chase .

Wasn’t that the way between prey and predator, after all?

Even so, even if they both liked it, he wasn’t sure that it wouldn’t all go sour at some point.

Could it last?

Before, he wouldn’t have cared. And he didn’t know if it was the knot or his own idiot self or the way it felt when his phone pinged and it was a message from her, or how easy it was to talk to her, or how sweet her blood was on his tongue or…

He cared now.

That was all.