“Shit, you smell so good.” He sounds as shaken as I feel. “Fuck the covenant. I want to be so deep in your cunt, you’d be squirming to breathe— ”
That’s what does it— the picture he paints of him, buried inside me. Of a world in which he and I— we— are a possibility. My body clenches, my vision whites out, and the orgasm that follows is so sharp and sudden, I cannot tell the pleasure apart from the pain.
There might not be an after, not following this. And honestly, I don’t mind. I forget everything— my fingers, my pride, my pounding heart— and all I breathe is him.
Koen.
I’m not aware of being laid down on the bed, in his arms, pressed to him. My nerve endings are unresponsive for a while, but once I’m able, I turn around, luxuriating in the feeling of my bare chest against his, skin to skin, nearly close enough to—
The brain haze clears at once. What just happened hits me like a sucker punch. I’m nauseous. Spinning.
I practically forced Koen to—
He’s the Alpha of the Northwest, and he shouldn’t—
He can’t— but I—
“It’s okay.” He kisses my forehead. I try to push away, but his grip is unbreakable. “Serena. It’s fine.”
“But I— ”
“You didn’t.”
“Yes. I— ”
“No.”
“You don’t even know what I— ”
“I can read your mind, remember?”
He can’t. He doesn’t. But I feel myself relax against him anyway, too tired to fight. And since we’re already so close, since he doesn’t seem to mind too much, I hike my leg up his hip, uncaring of the sticky cotton between my thighs. My knee meets the scalding length of his cock. For the first time in my life, I fully comprehend the meaning of the word throbbing.
I want to offer him some help with that. But . . . wouldn’t it just make things worse? “I’m sorry,” I say, and I am. I’m sorry for everything.
“That’s okay.” He sighs. Somehow, gathers me even closer. “I’ve never been less sorry about a thing.” Koen kisses me on the forehead. His hold never loosens, and we both fall asleep.
CHAPTER 24
He didn’t think she could be more perfect.
Then she offered him her bite.
KOEN’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.