Mate (Bride, #2) (15)

“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.