“Eh. Beavers are discerning.”
“Secondly, no. It’s just, all my stuff is there.”
“Your what?”
“My clothes.”
“I’m sure we can buy you a new burlap sack.”
“Okay, well . . . Thank you. But I have other stuff there that I can’t replace.”
“Like what?”
I quickly cast around for a good answer. The infamous sat phone? My sports drinks? Neither is worth driving hours for. Maybe the strong painkillers that Dr. Henshaw gave me for when things get really bad, Serena. And they will. But I cannot tell Koen about them, just like I cannot tell him what I really want to go back for.
So I lie. “My plushie.”
“Your plushie.”
“Yeah. Ana gave it to me.”
“Did she, now?”
“She bought it for me with her monthly allowance.” Which is nearly as high as my salary used to be. Misery is not strict with that child. “I sleep with it every night.”
He looks at me like he’s considering laying down a tarp and butchering me on it.
“It’s important to me,” I continue weakly. “What? You don’t believe that a family can be a girl and her pink stuffed penguin?”
“I emphatically do not.”
“You’re so bigoted.”
“Glad you finally noticed.”
There’s no point in arguing with him. I perform a huge, dramatic yawn and let my head fall sideways against the window, pretending to take a nap. His snort spells out how little I’m fooling him, but I don’t care. As much as I’d love to stab him, his scent is safe and warm, as shrouding and all-consuming as the Douglas fir.
I try to forget the cabin— above all, I try not to think about the letters I stuffed at the bottom of the dresser. And after a while, I sink into the first restful sleep I’ve had in a long time.
CHAPTER 11
Unknown number: You are now officially in charge of my sister, so be aware that if she gets so much as a skinned knee, I will fuck up your life. I will steal your identity and ruin your credit score. I will plant evidence of white-collar crimes on your computer. I will take control of your webcam and film you while you’re picking your nose. I will hack your pack directory and impersonate you and send everyone emails about how much you’d love for them to come over and snuggle with you. I will sell your information to the dark web and clone your credit cards and make donations to pro-cancer charities in your name and if you ever buy a smart car
Unknown number: sssli999f
Unknown number: lgi64ssss99f
Unknown number:
Unknown number: 00kk9—
Unknown number: Sorry. Ana stole my phone. Where was I?
THE COARSE CARESS OF A PALM AGAINST MY CHEEK WAKES ME up, a strand of hair tucked behind my ear. My eyes flutter open and search for the dashboard clock. I napped for over three hours.
“Holy shit.”
“Told you. Sleep deprived.” Koen’s hand is gripping my headrest, so far from my face, I must have dreamed of his touch. Which is on-brand for my recent maelstrom of psychosexual neuroses. The fact that my stomach is not twisting and turning, even though I’ve been abhorring all forms of physical contact, is proof of it.
“Where are we?” I ask, sliding out of the car. A few hundred feet from us, past the evergreen shrubbery peppering the shoreline and a sandy beach that looks untouched by man, there’s a lake. Or . . .
I inhale once, deeply. Again. Salt. Sea. “Is that a river? The coast?”
“An estuary. If you follow the shore all the way north to the end of the inlet, that’s where the ocean starts. Follow me.”
He walks uphill, opposite to the water. I linger for a moment, listening to the seagulls soaring overhead and squinting at the splashes of the dolphins— no, seals— in the distance. Then I hurry after him. “Are we in the Den?”
“Yes. Olympia, Humans call it.”
I glance around, taking advantage of the slight elevation of the terrain. We’re on top of a rolling hill, and below us is what looks like— no, it is a city. It sprawls for miles, gently following the curves of the river, spilling farther inland. There are clusters of buildings, roads, electric poles, bridges. It could house thousands and thousands of people. But it’s also disarmingly . . .
“Horizontal,” I murmur.
Koen’s expression is quizzical.
“So different from Human cities. There isn’t a single high-rise. And it’s also . . .” The marine breeze flows through my hair. Strands stick to my lips. “A little ghostly? There are so many houses but few cars and so few people walking around . . . Oh.” I flush. It’s not that there aren’t many people. “Are they . . .” I bite my tongue, because of course the wolves milling around at the edge of the forest are Weres. Simple animals are never that large, nor do they have such all-seeing expressions. Above all, they wouldn’t join a chorus of howls after spotting Koen.
Which, judging by his reaction, is a typical welcome home. He lifts his hand in greeting, a small smile on his lips, and leads me to a cabin right at the outskirts of the woods.
“Third quarter’s not even over yet.” He must notice my confusion, and continues, “The pull of the moon is still strong enough that over half of the Northwest can easily maintain wolf form. Give it a week and you’ll see plenty of ‘people walking around.’ ”
I climb the steps that lead up to the wraparound porch, a little embarrassed by the mockery in his voice, and admire the log exterior and tall windows. It’s pretty. Rustic. The door is unlocked, and Koen opens it without knocking or announcing himself. Must belong to someone he’s close to— a friend or a second or a girlfriend.
Does he? Have a girlfriend? Is that why he was so dismissive, when—
“Why do you smell so worried all of a sudden?” he asks, ushering me inside.
“Nothing.” I take a few hesitant steps, wondering if I’ll be mistaken for a home-wrecking intruder and deboned. What a way to go that would be. But I doubt it’ll be mine, because with my first deep breath, I know who the cabin belongs to.
“You live here,” I tell Koen. Accusingly. His scent is everywhere. It coats every object in a blanket of good and calm and safe and— did I mention good? I feel it stick to my nostrils and the roof of my mouth. It’s like he took off his shirt and gave me permission to lick his skin, and—
What the hell? No.
“This is your house,” I repeat— less reproachful, more sullen.
“Yup.”
“The door was unlocked. And you were out of town.”
“I’m the Alpha of the pack, Serena.”
Fair enough. The likelihood of his space being invaded without an invitation is probably lower than someone gifting him a pet hippopotamus. Plus, there wouldn’t be much to steal. This place is not like Lowe’s house— large, crowded, and cluttered, an obvious labor of love. Koen’s decor style of choice seems to be I was going to hang a picture or two but got distracted, my bad.
The door opens into a single large room— kitchen on the left, living area on the right. He’s clearly not much for knickknacks and ornaments, but judging from the shelves full of books, he likes to read. On the coffee table, I spot a laptop. Some additional furniture, sparse but beautifully handcrafted. A couch. A hallway that’ll likely lead to the bedrooms, and . . . that’s about it. No TV. No stereo system. The appliances in the kitchen are the kind that would fetch less than the shipping cost on eBay. The fridge is an older model, not much taller than me. “Did you make this?” I ask, tracing the woodgrain of the beautiful cherry table.