This is Koen, being in charge, herding people, straightening spines. I wonder if the agents know he’s an Alpha. For me, it’s impossible to miss. Those eyes. His overpowering scent. How difficult it is to tell him anything approaching no. “I don’t like her kind, either. Do I think she should have come here? Fuck no.”
The agent blinks. I can almost hear his skin break into goose bumps.
“Women? They belong in the kitchen. I don’t, though.” I can’t see Koen’s face, but the smile in his voice is bloodcurdling. “I get around. Would you like to apologize to the lady, or would you like to learn what that means?”
The man’s scent is pure terror, mixed with a drop of shame. He started shit but doesn’t want to lose face in front of his colleagues. “Is this a threat?”
“If you have to ask, I must be doing something wrong.” Koen shifts me and hooks me at his side. The agent’s friend— older and clearly wiser— takes about five steps back and reaches for his weapon.
So does every other person in the lobby.
Koen ignores them all. “You have two options, shitmuncher. You can apologize to the lady this very instant, or you can wait till later to be fucked up. Your choice. And don’t worry, I won’t be disappointed either way.”
“I’m not afraid of your animals. Send them after me, and see what— ”
“Whoa. Highly offensive. Whatever have I done to make you think that I wouldn’t kill you myself?”
Something in Koen’s tone must alert the man that this is no joke. His throat bobs. His cheek tics. After a few seconds of angry deliberation, he hisses at me, “I’m sorry.”
My shoulders slump in relief.
“Not that hard, was it?” Koen beams. He holds out his hand, grasping the other man’s in a friendly, peacekeeping shake that lasts less than a second. “Careful, buddy. Looks like you hurt yourself.”
The man lifts his arm, puzzled to find thick red blood streaming down his pale flesh, past his wrists and into the sleeve of his suit. He seems to be unable to grasp what just happened, and I don’t blame him, because neither can I— at least, until I notice the two vertical cuts slicing his wrist. They are claw shaped. Deep. And they run parallel to the long vein in his inner arm.
In fact, they barely missed it.
“If you make any more comments about this girl over here and I find out,” Koen says, too low for anyone but the three of us to hear, “it’ll be your throat.”
I shiver. The man breathes hard, clutching his wrist to his chest.
“Show me you understood.”
He nods quickly.
“Very good. C’mon, Serena.” Koen’s arm wraps around my shoulder. “I need you to make me a sandwich.”
I let him lead me to the door, feeling as though I’m moving through water. “Koen?”
“Hmm?”
“What just happened?”
“You gave an interview that stuck a bull’s- eye on your back, despite my repeatedly stated and very valid objections.”
“No, I meant— ” Stepping outside is like walking into a wall made of screams. Unsurprisingly, my presence here has attracted a crowd big enough that the network busted out the VIP barriers.
“— abomination— ”
“— never forget what the Weres did to my people— ”
“— liar, you’re a liar— ”
“— blessed with the power of blood and the blood of power, the flesh will be reborn and take new shapes— ”
The last one is my personal favorite. Koen’s, too, judging from how his pupils turn into slits.
But there are half a dozen We love you, Serena, you’re so brave, you’re still one of us signs, and I smile at their owners as Koen pushes me forward and opens the passenger door of the car for me.
He grabs the edge of the roof to protect my head. When I slip onto the seat, he leans against the door and says into my ear, “You did good in there, killer.”
The shrieks, the interview, the man bleeding in the lobby— it all becomes background noise.
I look up at him. Don’t bother hiding my smile. “High praise.”
“Didn’t say you did great,” he mutters, closing the door after me.
We do have sandwiches for dinner, but Koen’s the one who ends up making them, with a little help from Ana.
CHAPTER 5
His seconds like her, they have from the very start.
Traitors.
Present day
IWAKE UP FLOATING SEVERAL FEET ABOVE THE GROUND— AND promptly decide to go back to sleep.
This is nice. I am, for once, not cold. My bed smells pleasant and woodsy, not at all like rancid nightmare sweat. The pillow is the perfect consistency. Everything about the situation is cozy and restful, and I see no reason to interrupt it— until a worried voice pierces through my cocoon of joy.
“Please, tell me that she’s sleeping and not unconscious.”
My eyes flutter open, and two realizations hit me: the person speaking is Amanda, Koen’s closest second.
And I’m very much not in bed.
Koen is carrying me inside a cabin that doesn’t look too different from the one in which I’d spent the last weeks, one arm hooked under my bent knees, the other cradling me to his chest. My head nestles in the side of his throat, where the scratch of his beard tickles my cheek. The events of last night wash over me in rolling waves.
Look at me, living to see another day.
“What time is it?” I ask.
“Almost dawn.”
We must be a few hours away from my cabin, then. “Are we in the Southwest?” That’s where he’s going to take me, right? Back to Misery and Lowe.
“Still Northwest. We stopped at one of our safe houses.”
Lazily, I paw at Koen’s shoulder and stretch in his arms. “I can walk.”
“Me too. Wanna start a club?”
“Can I be president?”
“Treasurer at most.”
“No deal.” I yawn into the spot at the base of his neck, which causes his grip to falter first and then tighten. “Seriously, you can let go of me.”
He does, but only because we’ve reached our destination. He deposits me on a worn-out but clean sectional and then proceeds to look down at me with a frown.
“You okay?” he asks, gruff. “Anything feel . . . loose inside?”
“Loose? Like what?”
“I don’t fucking know. An artery?”
I decide to ignore the question, and ask, “Do you know what a man bun is?”
“A what?”
“Hmm. Must not have made it to the Weres. I was just wondering whether the lumbersexual vibes were on purpose?”
He scowls. Leans down. Cups my nape with one hand, while the fingers of the other slide through my hair, now matted with sweat, mud, and Bob’s blood. His grip is gentle. Soothing.
“What are you doing?”
“Feeling for a bump.”
“Why?”
“Might explain the sudden onset of aphasia.”
I snort out a laugh. “Come on, Koen. Tell me you at least yell ‘timber’ every once in a while.”
The only thing he’s ready to tell me is that he’ll have me institutionalized. It’s for the best, then, that Amanda sinks down next to me and wraps me in a hug.
“Look at you. Not even a little bit dead.” She grins. By the time she pulls away, Koen is gone. “Despite your high-stakes, violent existence.”