Page 84 of Mate
“Is it still? Getting worse?”
After a beat, I nod. “The fevers are almost nightly. And the eye thing, the claws . . . those are new. I don’t know what that was.”
“Arms and eyes are where the shift to wolf form starts,” he explains. “Their motor proteins activate first.”
“Really? Is that the reason . . . ?”
“Maybe your fever triggers the shift, but your body cannot see it through. Or vice versa. I don’t know. I barely ever took a science class.”
“Really?” I tilt my head. “Why?”
“Because I was too busy protecting my pack from a coup to finish high school. Does the Vampyre know?”
“Misery? No. When I started seeing Dr. Henshaw, I told her some bullshit about having headaches, and— ”
Koen snorts.
“What?”
“Just shocked the Vampyre still trusts your lies, is all.”
I frown. “Every lie I’ve told Misery was to protect her from— ”
“I’m sure your pretty little head made up a million good reasons and topped them with those gross formaldehyde cherries. Still can’t believe she lets you out of her sight.”
“No one ‘lets’ medostuff orgoplaces,” I point out tiredly. “That’s not how it works, Koen.”
“If you were mine, it would. And clearly, you fucking should be.” I can’t tell if it’s a threat or a promise. All of a sudden, Koen’s eyes are so full of anger, I shiver and turn aside.
“Is that why you were in the fucking woods alone for two months? Why you’re here now? Some fucked- up notion of sparing your sister from finding out that the person she cares the most about in the whole world is ill?”
Guilt stuffs my throat full. This is the part I’m most embarrassed to speak out loud, but I force myself to do it anyway. “One night I woke up in Ana’s room. With no idea how I’d gotten there.”
Koen inhales sharply. Like he already knows where this is going. “You didn’t hurt her, Serena.”
“No, but I could have. I was boiling hot and disoriented, and CSD patients can often experience aggressive episodes, and . . .” I shake my head. “It’s for the best. If I told Misery, she’d want to be with me. But Ana needs her more than I do, so— ”
Something lands on the comforter with a soft thud.
I gasp. “These are my . . .”
“Letters. To Ana and the Vampyre.”
“Where did you find them? You had no right to— ”
“On your bed. Unfolded.”
“That doesn’t excuse— ”
“Serena.” It’s little more than a whisper, but everything about Koen, from his voice to the taut flex in his biceps, tells me how deeply unwilling he is to let me express righteous indignation over the violation of my privacy. He continues, composed, soft spoken, just as calm: “Last night, I didn’t know if you’d ever wake up again.”
It’s heart snapping, as far as realizations go. I worked my way up to really bad attacks, but he had no context for what he experienced a few hours ago. It hadn’t occurred to me how scary it would be for him to witness it.
Because that’s what he is. Scared. Terrified in a way he may have never experienced before. It makes my stomach twist and my eyes burn.
“I’m sorry.” I wipe my cheek with the back of my hand. “I’d written those back at the cabin, but . . . well, I had to redo them. They’re for Misery, for the most part. And Ana— from someone who’s like her. And I wrote one for Lowe, too, but it’s mostly about how to take care of Misery once I’m not . . . I mean, he’s doing a great job already. But there are some quirks you only find out by living with someone for a decade, like Misery’s penchant for hate-reading, her terrible taste in clothes if left toher own devices, the fact that sometimes she uses fancy words without really knowing their meaning. She could fall back into her mismatched socks phase, and . . .”
“Why are you crying?” Koen asks gently.
