Mate - 6

He’s toweling himself off after a shower, and the call is on speaker. It gives him hope that he may have misunderstood.

“Are you serious?” He doesn’t wait for Lowe’s reply. As a rule, Lowe doesn’t joke. “Who the fuck gave her the idea?”

“Maddie Garcia asked.”

“For fuck’s sake, the Human governor’s the one who leaked her existence to the press to begin with. She can suck shit out of a straw.”

“We cannot be sure.” A pause. “But yes. Her team likely did. And when the knowledge of the existence of a hybrid wasn’t enough to sway public opinion, she asked Serena to publicly come forward. Serena said yes.”

“And you let her.”

“I have no say in the matter.”

“Do you realize the danger she’ll be in afterward? Being known as my mate won’t protect her in Vampyre or Human territory.”

“Serena believes that the benefits outweigh the costs. And, Koen . . .” A sigh. “However much you hate this, Misery loathes it more.”

He doubts it.

“But,” Lowe continues, “if Serena’s sister is willing to acknowledge that a lot of good can come from this, then you, too, should— ”

“I fucking won’t.”

“That bad?” Lowe asks after a long silence.

No. It’s worse than that.

Two and a half months earlier Human territory

T HE THING I HATE THE MOST— AND THERE’S PLENTY TO HATE here— is the sticky heat of the camera lights. It sends little beads of perspiration down my spine and makes the skin of my back plaster to my (“Light pink!” per Ana’s request) blouse.

“We cranked the AC all the way up,” one of the producers tells me, apologetic, “but Governor Garcia sent over twenty Secret Service agents to protect you. We’re working on a skeleton crew, but the studio’s not built for a crowd this size.”

I smile, grateful. Nod, appreciative. Wonder if he knows that on top of the Human agents, there are approximately fifteen Weres milling around incognito. Half Koen’s, half Lowe’s.

Maddie said that she’d provide security , I pointed out to them two days ago, when they briefed me on their plan. Don’t you trust her?

Lowe’s diplomatic Yes, but completely overlapped with Koen’s curt No . His favorite word, coupled with his favorite tone.

I cocked my head at him, fascinated. Do you trust anyone at all?

With your precious life, killer? How could I?

This is Koen in a nutshell. Mocking and unreadable and maybe even a little cruel. He does, however, get shit done.

“We’re on in five,” the producer reminds me. “Anything else you need?”

“I’m good, thank you.”

A few feet away, the star journalist who’ll conduct the interview is recording a teaser. “. . . the answer that every Human has been seeking for the past month: When was the first known Were-Human hybrid born? How did she manage to stay undetected until her early twenties? What was her life like? Who is she, and above all, why is she coming forward right now? Stick around to learn more . . .”

I zone out. Dissociate. Try not to think about what’s at stake. In a shocking revelation, the business of going on TV to speak on how alien one is can be a bit alienating. Solitary. Misery and Lowe insisted on being here, but the less obvious my link to the Southwest, the better for Ana. Maddie’s presence would only fuel the (correct) rumors that I’m her carefully chosen political pawn. And it’s not as though I could’ve asked Danny, the last guy I dated before realizing I was a Were, to be my plus-one as I out myself as the Hybrid Whose Existence Has Been Leaked to the Press.

Hence, Koen.

The stage lighting fuzzes the crowd behind the cameras, but the tallest outline, the cross-armed, stern one, can only be him. I smile in his direction, fully aware that even if I could see it, there would be no response.

He’s so opposed to what I’m about to do, it’s almost funny. His disapproval vibrates through time and space and anchors me to this moment. Nothing else here feels real .

“You ready?” the interviewer asks, taking a seat across from me. She’s older. Elegant. Her scent betrays how disquieting she finds me, but her poker face is titanium solid. Honestly, I’m impressed. “That’s what the viewers at home are seeing now.” She points at the monitors. “An interview with the geneticist that I recorded yesterday.”

The road to this hothouse of a studio was paved with buccal swabs, blood draws, and lab testing. Six independent groups of scientists have confirmed that I am “an interspecific cross” (Latin for freak , I believe) and not, as some pundits and social media trolls have decreed, “a grifter making shit up for clout.”

“. . .was not believed possible. We don’t have reports of hybrids, even from territories such as Europe, in which Weres and Humans live more amalgamated lives. What changed?”

“The most likely hypothesis is that random genetic mutations have occurred within North American packs.”

“Genetic mutations like what?”

“It’s impossible to say without more data. My hunch would be mutations in the genes that encode for gamete recognition, or regulatory genes. The bottom line is that these mutations made Weres reproductively compatible with Humans.”

“And these mutations, they affect all Weres, all over the world?”

“Unlikely. Were packs tend to be self-sufficient and isolated. For instance, packs such as the Northwest and the Southwest are known allies, which may come with genetic exchanges between them. But according to most Human observers, those two packs rarely interact with the New En gland packs. And the same is true for other North American and European packs: very few connections.”

“So what are the chances that Humans and Weres will become one single species?”

The geneticist laughs. “I wouldn’t worry about it. Keep in mind, most hybrids are not fertile.”

“What about this one?”

“She’s highly unlikely to be able to have children, with Humans or with Weres. The difference in chromosome structure will make it hard for her to produce functional gametes . . .”

An out-of-body experience, that’s what this is. My soul is up on the ceiling, dangling monkey-bar-style from a truss, staring down at my unresponsive body as it learns that it might not be able to have children.

For the first time.

In front of dozens of people.

From someone who laughs it off as a best-case scenario.

It’s okay , I remind my body as the inside of its stomach is being raked bloody. It changes nothing. It’s the least of your problems. You knew that this would be supremely shitty when you agreed to it. Stay on task. Focus on—

“. . .made you decide to come forward and speak to us?” the interviewer is asking.

We’re on air. I switch on. Plunge back into the moment. “Frankly, realizing that it was either that or letting others take control of the narrative.” I smile the same confident, self-assured smile I used to pitch stories to my editor or to charm the pizza place guy into giving me the slice with the most pepperoni. “Since my existence was made public three weeks ago, a lot of inaccuracies have been reported. I’d like to set the record straight.”

“I see. And to remind our viewers, The Herald , Ms. Paris’s former place of employment, received information about the alleged existence of hybrids from an undisclosed Human source. Its veracity was widely debated. Then, a few days ago, you made a statement to the press revealing your name.”

“Thank you for giving me the opportunity to share my story.”

“Could you explain why you believed you were Human until last year?”

People adore being served a good conspiracy theory. However, one must choose its platter and garnishments very carefully. Take my situation: I could tell the truth— that I was under surveillance my entire life because a few despotic members of Human, Were, and Vampyre societies were so power hungry and pathologically unwilling to coexist, they engaged in a complex web of sloppy but decades-enduring deceit. Problem is, it sounds . . . sketchy. Far-fetched. The responsibility is too diffused.

More importantly, it would only reinforce Humans’ hostility toward the other two species, and there are buckets of that going around already.

That’s why, after agreeing to this interview, Maddie, Lowe, and I put our heads down and workshopped a few talking points. The title of our story is An Evil Human Ex- Governor Locked Poor Little Hybrid Me in a Basement Because He Hated Peace . It’s palatable. Easy to understand. Might even allow the average Human to feel morally superior.

They would never imprison an orphan and lie to them.

They could even be inclined to open their hearts to a victim of injustice.

They might decide to see Weres as people, instead of glowy-eyed butchering machines.

And in the end, this is what we hope to accomplish: buy goodwill for Maddie Garcia, the new Human governor, and enough public support to make reforms possible.

“My real nature was kept from me. The former governor was afraid that as a hybrid, I had the potential to become a symbol of unity between Weres and Humans— an unwelcome one, since his political career was based on divisiveness and fearmongering.”

“You’re talking about former Human Governor Davenport, who unexpectedly died in prison two days ago?”

“Yes.”

It wasn’t us , Lowe was quick to say when the news broke of the governor’s death. A little too quick, considering I hadn’t even asked.

You sure about that?

Tragically, yes. Koen sounded disappointed. Though his Vampyre and Human accomplices may have had something to do with it. His death is very fortuitous for them.

My demure nod and murmured “Yes. May he rest in peace” should earn me several acting award statuettes. “He knew that I was half Were.”

“How?”

“That, we’re still researching. Unfortunately, I don’t have many memories of the first few years of my life, or of my parents. All we know is that by the time I was seven, I was living in a Human orphanage in The City. I suspect that through some routine checkup, one of the doctors realized that I was part Were and alerted Governor Davenport.” None of what I just said is a lie, which is highly unusual on my part.

“And what did Governor Davenport do?”

“At the time, he knew I was genetically half Were, but I presented as Human. Still, he thought it best to keep an eye on me.”

“And that’s why you grew up in the Vampyre Collateral’s mansion, as Misery Lark’s companion. She was the second- to- last Collateral before the program was discontinued.”

“Correct.”

“And when did you start exhibiting Were traits?”

“About two years ago.”

“By then, you were living freely in Human society, correct? Was Governor Davenport still watching you?”

I nod. “He had me abducted and imprisoned for several weeks.”

“Why?”

“I believe he felt threatened by the Human public’s possible reaction to my existence. At the time, Maddie Garcia’s gubernatorial campaign was picking up steam, and she was later elected. It was clear that many voters wanted to see some change in the Were-Human relationships, and Governor Davenport thought my presence might galvanize them even more.”

“Did he act alone?”

“As far as I know.” Blatant erasure of the Vampyres and Weres he was in cahoots with. I’m sure I’ll hear all about it when we meet again, in hell.

“How did you get free?”

Oh, boy. “I shifted to wolf form and escaped.”

“So you are able to shift?”

“I am.” Is it a lie? I’m not even sure anymore. “But it’s a new skill for me.”

“In what ways are you Human?”

“Well, my blood is red. My strength and senses acuity are somewhere in the middle between a Were and a Human’s.”

“I see. Serena, this must all be very painful to relive— thank you for sharing it with us. What about the rumors that there are others?”

“Others?”

“Other hybrids. The Herald ’s article suggested that you might be one of two.”

And this, this , is the real reason I’m here. Everything else— Maddie, peace, reforms, public opinion . . . well, it all matters. But not as much as shoving the spotlight away from Ana.

That’s why I spent the last week leaning across the porcelain sink of Lowe’s bathroom, rehearsing my frown until it was flawless. When I see it furrow my brow on multiple screens, I decide that all that practice was worth it. “If there are other hybrids, I’ve never heard of them. But I’d love to meet them.”

The interviewer leans forward a little, ready to dig. I recognize the ambitious gleam in her eyes, the thrill of the chase. I was like her. I used to ask the hard questions. I wanted the truth.

Now all I want is to get this over with.

“The article that outed you,” she says, “alleged the existence of a younger female hybrid, one who lives with the Weres.”

“Oh, right. Yes.” I force a kick of understanding to spill onto my expression. “I wonder if the source was mistaken. What was said about the other Were used to be true of me when I was younger . . . Maybe that’s where the confusion originated?” I shrug cluelessly.

“The article itself did state that the source could not provide evidence on the existence of this second hybrid,” the interviewer agrees. My posture doesn’t change, but I feel my muscles melt into the chair.

I had a single fucking job, and I did it. I’m so ready to go home and throw up in the bathtub, but this lady is still asking questions. “. . .you’ve been staying with the Southwest pack. Do you miss living among the Humans?”

“Yes, of course,” I say, instead of a more truthful Not at all .

The thing is, Humans have been less than outstanding to me of late. My former colleagues at The Herald wrote an op- ed about feeling betrayed and traumatized by the way I “deliberately misrepresented” myself “in a professional setting, no less.” A waiter from a restaurant I never even set foot inside went on record about the time I ordered a steak and promised a 40 percent tip to make it extra rare. Pete, an engineer I went on three dates with, sold his story to a tabloid. I always suspected there was something wrong about her. She didn’t seem to enjoy what most women do. His dick, he meant. I can’t believe I’m getting internationally dragged for refusing to screw a guy who told me that I looked just like his mother.

So, yeah. Humans are on my shit list, and I don’t miss them. What I do miss is the period of my life in which the word problem could apply to the printer not working.

“However,” I add, “I’m very grateful for the opportunity to spend time with Weres and learn their customs.”

“And what do you say to those who believe that hybrids such as you are a threat to society and should be eliminated?”

I smile pleasantly, like she didn’t just ask me, What’s it like when people want to watch you croak with their beady little eyes? Gotta love journalism. “They are free to believe what they like. But centuries of conflict have benefited no one except those in power. I think that the genetic bridge between the two species could be the harbinger of a better future.”

There are a few more softballs, and I spout a few more platitudes, which should get me a seven-figure aphorism book deal any day now. Once the interview ends, Koen waits for me on the side of the stage, looking as pleased as ever.

Which is not at all.

“Are you her, um, Alpha?” the interviewer asks, taking him in. She smells terrified. And aroused.

“Sure,” Koen drawls, right as I snort, “He’s more like my babysitter.”

“And she’s more like a pain in my— ”

“Let’s go,” I nearly scream, tugging at the sleeve of his plaid shirt. He’s the only person in the building not wearing business attire. I’d say he didn’t get the memo, but knowing Koen, he sent it back with I do whatever the fuck I want scribbled all over it. In blood, most likely.

In the elevator it’s me, him, and a gaggle of Human agents standing behind us.

“Did you know?” he asks under his breath, staring ahead at the doors.

My heart plummets. He’s talking about what the geneticist revealed about hybrids having children. I have no clue how, but I’m certain of it. “No.”

His jaw shifts from side to side.

In the network’s lobby, a valet timidly approaches him. “Sir, your car is waiting outside.”

Koen’s eyebrow, the one dissected by scars, arches at an angle that clearly states I’ve never been called Sir before, and it better not happen again . I turn my head to hide a smile, and that’s when I hear it.

“— the gall of coming here and forcing Secret Service agents to guard her. Like we won’t be first in line to get rid of her.” The man in black behind us is mumbling in his buddy’s direction. Low enough not to be overheard— if Koen and I were Humans.

But we aren’t. And the agent is apparently that stupid, because he continues, “Can’t believe her fucking kind.”

I spin, ready to politely request that he repeat it to my face, but Koen wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me into the hard heat of his body. From the outside, it probably looks like a playful, affectionate gesture. I take it for what it is: a firm command not to kill .

“Not with an audience this big, at least,” he murmurs lightly against the shell of my ear. Without letting go of me, he uncoils to his full height. “Listen, bud,” he tells the men, at once easygoing and assertive.

This is Koen, being in charge, herding people, straightening spines. I wonder if the agents know he’s an Alpha. For me, it’s impossible to miss. Those eyes. His overpowering scent. How difficult it is to tell him anything approaching no . “I don’t like her kind, either. Do I think she should have come here? Fuck no.”

The agent blinks. I can almost hear his skin break into goose bumps.

“Women? They belong in the kitchen. I don’t, though.” I can’t see Koen’s face, but the smile in his voice is bloodcurdling . “I get around. Would you like to apologize to the lady, or would you like to learn what that means?”

The man’s scent is pure terror, mixed with a drop of shame. He started shit but doesn’t want to lose face in front of his colleagues. “Is this a threat?”

“If you have to ask, I must be doing something wrong.” Koen shifts me and hooks me at his side. The agent’s friend— older and clearly wiser— takes about five steps back and reaches for his weapon.

So does every other person in the lobby.

Koen ignores them all. “You have two options, shitmuncher. You can apologize to the lady this very instant, or you can wait till later to be fucked up. Your choice. And don’t worry, I won’t be disappointed either way.”

“I’m not afraid of your animals. Send them after me, and see what— ”

“Whoa. Highly offensive. Whatever have I done to make you think that I wouldn’t kill you myself?”

Something in Koen’s tone must alert the man that this is no joke. His throat bobs. His cheek tics. After a few seconds of angry deliberation, he hisses at me, “I’m sorry.”

My shoulders slump in relief.

“Not that hard, was it?” Koen beams. He holds out his hand, grasping the other man’s in a friendly, peacekeeping shake that lasts less than a second. “Careful, buddy. Looks like you hurt yourself.”

The man lifts his arm, puzzled to find thick red blood streaming down his pale flesh, past his wrists and into the sleeve of his suit. He seems to be unable to grasp what just happened, and I don’t blame him, because neither can I— at least, until I notice the two vertical cuts slicing his wrist. They are claw shaped. Deep. And they run parallel to the long vein in his inner arm.

In fact, they barely missed it.

“If you make any more comments about this girl over here and I find out,” Koen says, too low for anyone but the three of us to hear, “it’ll be your throat.”

I shiver. The man breathes hard, clutching his wrist to his chest.

“Show me you understood.”

He nods quickly.

“Very good. C’mon, Serena.” Koen’s arm wraps around my shoulder. “I need you to make me a sandwich.”

I let him lead me to the door, feeling as though I’m moving through water. “Koen?”

“Hmm?”

“What just happened?”

“You gave an interview that stuck a bull’s- eye on your back, despite my repeatedly stated and very valid objections.”

“No, I meant— ” Stepping outside is like walking into a wall made of screams. Unsurprisingly, my presence here has attracted a crowd big enough that the network busted out the VIP barriers.

“— abomination— ”

“— never forget what the Weres did to my people— ”

“— liar, you’re a liar— ”

“— blessed with the power of blood and the blood of power, the flesh will be reborn and take new shapes— ”

The last one is my personal favorite. Koen’s, too, judging from how his pupils turn into slits.

But there are half a dozen We love you, Serena, you’re so brave, you’re still one of us signs, and I smile at their owners as Koen pushes me forward and opens the passenger door of the car for me.

He grabs the edge of the roof to protect my head. When I slip onto the seat, he leans against the door and says into my ear, “You did good in there, killer.”

The shrieks, the interview, the man bleeding in the lobby— it all becomes background noise.

I look up at him. Don’t bother hiding my smile. “High praise.”

“Didn’t say you did great ,” he mutters, closing the door after me.

We do have sandwiches for dinner, but Koen’s the one who ends up making them, with a little help from Ana.