Page 99 of Mate
I’m not immune to the rising unease in the room, either. There’s a string tied around my neck, and Koen is pulling at it. I want to turn to him more than I want to breathe. But if I did, we’d both be remembering the way I begged him last night, and I’m not sure poor Layla deserves to witnessthatmess.
“If I may ask, Serena, have you been having trouble shifting?” She smiles triumphantly at my nod. “Sorry. I’m not happythat . . . There is a biological premise for this that I could explain— ”
“No need,” I hasten to say.
“— but none of my other patients were able to shift until their cycle was over.”
“Why do the fevers get so bad at night?” Koen asks.
“Simple circadian fluctuations. They’re also happening more frequently, because the Estrus is approaching. Given Serena’s half-Were state, it’s hard to predict with certainty when it’ll start, but my guess is . . . soon.”
Unfortunately, this is when I cannot put it off any longer.TheQuestion. I close my eyes. Mentally laser off the part of my brain that experiences embarrassment. Ask, “What will happen when Estrus starts?”
Maybe I should tell Koen to leave. The thing is, after last night he has the right to know the details of the special dumpster fire in which we’re frolicking, and Layla informing the both of us at once seems less painful than having to relay stuff to him later on. Using my own words.
“Well.” Layla clears her throat. Longingly gazes at a wall calendar, probably wishing she could turn back time and become a graphic designer. “There’s a lot to consider when it comes to— ”
“Just tell her,” Koen orders. Yesterday, in this very office, he sounded so angry, I briefly wondered if I was going to have to send an apology vase of hydrangeas to the Caine family. Today, I cannot get the slightest read on him.
Layla coughs, just to buy some time. “Some symptoms have already begun. Decrease in appetite. General aches. In the next few days, you’ll likely see a spike in nesting behavior.”
“Please, tell me I won’t be picking up twigs and weaving baskets out of them.”
“It has more to do with procuring scents, textures, and objects you find soothing. The goal is for you to build a space that will offer comfort in a time of need.”
“What do you mean by . . . What kind of objects?” I’m half terrified that she’ll recommend a list of vibrators.
The answer is somehowworse.
“There is no hard and fast rule. It can be a particularly soft fabric. A piece of clothing that belongs to someone who makes you feel safe. Some people hoard specific objects and arrange them in soothing ways. Combine different materials.”
“Why does this sound like a job that requires a master’s degree?”
“Not at all. There is no right or wrong way to nest, and it’s a very instinctive process.” She scratches her nose. “You may have even already started, in your own way.” Layla’s eyes pointedly slide to the overly large red flannel I stole from Koen’s closet, and I can feel my heartbeat pounding in my cheeks.
“Oh.” I think about my room back home— the way I’ve been stuffing it with blankets of the perfect consistency, pillows filled with the right amount of feather. If Human scientists focused on their work as much as I did on my bed, herpes simplex would be a thing of the past.
God. It’s like being told that baby carrots are just regular ones peeled to be smaller: I should have realized what was going on a long time ago, but I didn’t, and now I feel stupid. Beside me, Koen betrays no emotion at the idea of contributing to my . . .
Nest.
“There will also be temporary physiological changes. For instance, your scent will become more appealing to potential partners.”
“As in, my smell brings all the Weres to the yard?”
“Well, I haven’t gotten close enough to you to ascertain whether the enhancement has begun, but— ”
“It has,” Koen said, settling Layla’s waffling.
And that’s that. We all marinate in those two little words for a handful of seconds, which happens to be just long enough for me to wistfully imagine being swallowed by a river of magma. “Is this going to . . . Should I be worried?” I glance at Koen, who doesn’t get my meaning. “How appealing is my scent going to be to others? Should I get online and order a Taser?”
He blinks. “You already own a knife. But let me reassure you that any Were in this pack who touches you without an express request from you is going to come into a windfall of pain. And then die.”
“I’ll take that as a no.” I smile, disappointed to find that his lips don’t curve in response.
Is he angry? He should be. I made him break an oath. And he didn’t even . . . But does it matter? Where do we draw the line? Will he feel compelled to do it again in the near future?
“Koen,” I say softly. “I think you should leave now.”
