“Phone.” I drag myself up on my elbows.
He hums like he heard me but keeps staring down. His fingers tighten on me, acquisitive, like he can’t help taking. I turn and find him heavy lidded, his breath shallow. His biceps are tense, prepared, anticipating. His fingers stroke between the globes of my ass.
“Koen,” I gasp, “it’s your— ”
“Fuck my phone,” he says, distracted, bending to lick the other dimple, and—
“It could be Nele, or they could have found Irene, or— ”
He groans against my right asscheek. Then bites into it like it’s a piece of fruit.
“Koen!”
“Sorry,” he says. Before doing it again.
“Koen!”
“I said sorry.” He presses a kiss against the small of my back. I roll around just as he leaves the room, catching his small smile.
The caller is Lowe, wondering whether Koen’s toaster oven exploded and took him out. “All good. Serena tackled me,” I hear him say. And, after a pause, “Told you, she beat me up. Slapped the phone out of my hand. What is there to understand?” I bury my laughter into a pillow. And there, in a nest that smells like Koen, listening to talk of pack jurisdictions and Human authorities, I fall into a calm, deep sleep.
CHAPTER 33
This is it, then. What he was born for.
IWAKE UP WHEN IT’S STILL DARK, FEELING LIKE AN ABOMINATION.
My skin itches, too tight for my body. I arch against the mattress and press a palm to my abdomen: something hot and angry is pulsating inside me, and if I let it rip me apart, maybe it’ll stop clawing at my insides. I’m sticky. Covered in sweat, strands of hair glued to my throat. My inner thighs are so wet, I refuse to think about it.
This cannot be normal, even for a Heat. It must be my ever fucked- up biology. Layla— I need to call her. Maybe she has something for the pain.
Are you really going to do that in the middle of the night? Wake up a woman with a small child who may very well be teething, just because you have a boo-boo? Are you that self-centered?
A whole-body cramp splits me in two, and— Yes, I fucking am.
Layla’s number is on the desk across the hallway. I can get there. I can hike the Rocky Mountains. I can swim to outer space. I may even be able to do all that and keep quiet enough to let Koen sleep. He’s wrapped around me, chest to my back, and I gently slither under the arm he draped around my hips. I pause when his grip tightens on me, but it’s a reflex, and a moment later I’m free.
Sitting up sucks the air out of me. My head swims, so I take a well-deserved break and beg my racing heart to slow down, giving myself a little pep talk. You are able to breathe, Serena. Have been for years. If your life had a performance review, it would not be marked as an area of improvement.
Then I hear, “Serena.”
Shit. Woke Koen up.
“Just going to the bathroom,” I lie. It comes out slurred, a chain-reaction crash of vowels and soft consonants, so I add, “Go back to sleep,” making an effort to enunciate better.
“Are you okay?”
His voice rolls over my skin. Makes the thing pulsating inside me purr sweetly. For a second, it almost feels nice. “Yup. Don’t worry.” It’s a bad idea, trying to answer him and to stand at the same time. I’m in no condition for simultaneous activities: all it gets me is jelly knees and more pounding in my head. I remember, once upon a time, being able to walk and chew gum. Ah, past glories.
“Serena.” Rustling behind me. The mattress dips as weight is redistributed. Koen, always one to show me up, gets into a sitting position with ease. His hand closes around my upper arm to pull me back into him, and his touch, the sheer ecstasy of it, it hurts. My entire body clenches. “What . . .”
He goes unnaturally still. So quiet, I wonder whether he’s feeling poorly, too. I turn to scan his face in the semidarkness, and after a long pause I hear him say, “Fuck.”
“I’m sorry,” I blurt out. “I didn’t mean to— ”
Make a mess of the bed.
Make a mess of you.
Get this grossly sick.
Lose my mind.
“I’m going— I’ll shower and call Layla and figure this out and— ”
“Serena, come here.” He scoops me back into him, shushing me with his lips against my temple.
I’m on the verge of tears, and I’m not sure why. “Maybe you could help me to the bathroom— ”
“Hush, killer. I got you.”
He holds me. I’m tacky and gross and don’t want to lean on him, but every inch of contact is pure heaven. “Koen?”
“Relax.”
“I’m really not feeling well.”
“I know.” His nose nuzzles behind my ear. My heart could explode with joy. “You’ll be okay. I’ll make you okay.”
“I need to call Layla— ”
“Sweetheart.”
“It’s just that I need— ”
“You need to do what I tell you.” His tone is gentle and firm all at once, commanding in the exact way I need. It quells my anxiety. Loosens my restlessness. Koen’s scent is so pleased, my body blooms in his arms. “See, killer? We can fix this.” He licks across the gland on my neck, and I slump against him. It’s bliss. “You don’t need to call Layla. And you definitely don’t need to stay away. You know what you need?”
I shake my head. His cool lips press against my heated, blotchy cheek.
“You need to be fucked, Serena.”
Oh. It makes so much sense, I can finally compute the last few minutes. Of course. I’m about to go into Heat. Everything I need is here, in this bed. How did I not realize this sooner? “ I . . . I forgot?”
“I don’t think Heats are when people are at their most lucid.” His laughter rumbles softly against my throat.
“So I just need to . . . ?”
“Be fucked, yes. I’ll be taking care of that. Okay?”
“Please.” I nod, desperate, all brainstem. This is all I want. I’m hollow, and he’s going to fill me to the brim. The prospect scorches me blank. My vision whites out.
I’m also . . . The idea of water sloshing over my body makes me want to gouge my eyes out, but: “Can I . . . shower?”
Koen inhales deeply. Rolls us over until he’s hovering above me, murmuring something about how “fucking unbelievable” I smell. Nips at my jaw, teeth just a little too tight, just this side of dangerous. He could hurt me, but he would never.
“Wait. Before we . . . I’m going to shower.”
Koen props himself up on his palms to stare down at me, mystified. “What?”
You’re annoying your mate, a pick- me voice whispers in my ear. In your nest, no less. What is wrong with you? I shrug it away, and say again, “You’d like it better if I washed up.”
A silent snort. “I very much would not.”
I have no idea how to explain what’s happening to me and keep my dignity. “It’s just, I’m sweaty and kind of disgusting, and also . . . You could say that I’m eager, but it doesn’t really convey the depth of my . . .” I shut my eyes tight, mortified. Feel a single, shameful tear slip out of one corner.
“Serena, do you want to shower?” He sounds befuddled. “Or are you asking because you think I find your body disgusting?”