Mate (Bride, #2) (60)

“Great,” I say, instead of Lovely of you, to mistake me for a high-functioning Were. I catch Koen’s eyes as I step away, watch the way his muscles begin to contract to follow me, and shake my head minutely, hoping he’ll understand what I’m trying to communicate: I’m an emotional mess and I’d love to be alone for a second, just in case I burst out crying or puke up the French toast I didn’t even eat.

He doesn’t like it, but he stays put.

The Caines’ yard is a grass-covered cliff above the shore, something right out of an impressionistic painting. The ocean is less than a couple hundred feet away, and when I close my eyes and tilt my chin up, the sea breeze flows over me like water. How amazing it must have been to grow up here, surrounded by the Pacific, watching the blue reach as far as the eye can see, no limits, no—

I tense.

My skin bursts into a thousand little goose bumps, because I’m no longer alone.

Someone’s here. Someone who wasn’t inside the house.

My hand closes around the penguin knife in my pocket, and I unbraid the notes of the intruder’s scent.

Were. Man. Young. Human form. Not wearing shoes. Approaching from behind. Either he’s sloppy or he underestimated me, because he doesn’t know that I felt his presence.

He means to assault me, and all I have to my advantage is the element of surprise. I force my heartbeat to slow down, and bide my time. Wait for the Were to come within reach of my blade. But a handful of feet from me, he halts.

I hear something thudding to the ground.

Smell the grass, crushed.

A deep intake of breath. Then a voice, hushed, barely audible through the wind. “Eva.”

I whirl around, whipping out the knife, holding the blade at abdomen height. But its tip is nowhere near the man’s skin, because he is . . .

Kneeling?

I adjust my aim, ready to strike, but the naked man doesn’t make a single move. He stays on his knees, face bent upward, throat bare and vulnerable. Feverishly, he whispers, “As the prophet said. As the prophet wills.”

“Who are you?”

He gives me a tremulous smile and, like a supplicant, presses his forehead to the ground.





CHAPTER 19

Just this once, he could have done without being right.

DO YOU LIVE HERE?” I ASK. IN THE AFTERNOON SUN, I HAVE TO squint to properly make him out. I guess he could be Sem’s brother— several years younger, similar hair color. Slim build and soft, boyish jawline.

He doesn’t seem hostile. But he also doesn’t feel like he belongs to this place that smells like moss and brine.

I don’t lower my knife. “Who are you?”

He slowly looks up at me, a smudge of soil on his forehead, another on his cheekbone. “Oh, your eyes. They are so familiar to me.”

I take a step back. Quickly glance around, wondering if I should call for Koen. Except, would Koen kill this boy? Yes, probably. “I need you to tell me who you are,” I demand.

“What a joy. To speak with you. To be with you.”

What. The. Fuck. “I mean, sure. You should feel lucky, but . . . do I know you?”

He straightens further, whispering something that ends up swallowed by the breeze and the waves. Slowly, he stands, holding out his hand. When I change my defensive grip to something that could do some real damage, he remains undeterred. “Come with me,” he says.

His voice is warm, coupled with a smile that is . . . unhinged, I should say. But this boy doesn’t seem like a crazed nutjob. He’s coherent. Kind.

Looks at me like we used to play hopscotch together and like someone told him that my boogers are made of emeralds. So unabashedly adoring, I clutch my weapon tighter.

“Don’t be afraid. We knew he would take you here.”

“Who’s we?”

“You must have felt so alone.”

“If you come any closer, I will stab you.” I pointedly lower my eyes to his dick, which swings between his legs like the world’s wrinkliest Christmas ornament. “Wherever it’s most convenient.”

His smile softens. “I understand your reservations, but I am not afraid, and neither should you be. The moment has come. You were made, and so it

has begun. His domain will flourish, and— ”

“Stop with the Bible camp talk.” I clench my teeth. “Did you call me Eva? Earlier?”

“It’s the name by which I have always known you,” he says simply.

“ ‘Always’? Did you know me as a child?”

“Always. I learned the blood and the word, and therefore you.”

My heart stops. He looks younger than me. Too young. “Did we grow up together?”

“Not as such, no.”

“Then why do you know me?”

With a flick of his wrist, he once again offers his hand. “Come with me, and I’ll tell you. She will tell you. You should know the wonder that you are.”

“Nice try, but I’m not going to a second location with you. I’m not even convinced I want to stay in this one.” I’m getting tired of the cryptic speeches, that ethereal smile painted on his face. Fear is slowly melting into frustration. “Are you a member of the Northwest pack?”

“There is no Northwest. There are no packs, no species, no borders.”