Mate (Bride, #2) (78)
“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.”
He doesn’t protest. “I’ll be outside. Call if you want me back in.”
The second the door clicks behind me, Layla asks, “Do you know what covenant the Alpha of the Northwest must abide by?”
I nod.
She seems relieved. When she resumes speaking, most of the awkwardness has melted away, and I realize that the tense atmosphere was due to her awareness that Koen is, by law, not allowed to touch me.
Her newfound directness is refreshing. “The main symptom of Estrus is that you’ll want to have sex. A lot. So much so, it might be hard to engage in any other activity. Some people equate the experience to being intoxicated, but that has a negative connotation many healthcare professionals reject. Estrus is its own unique state. You will be able to make decisions. The brain fog and arousal noise will just make it hard to think of the consequences and delay gratification. This will last for anywhere from two to five days. You will spend this time alone with a chosen partner, or partners, depending on your preferences.”
The idea of allowing anyone but Koen to touch me is ludicrous, but I nod anyway.
“Estrus often accentuates sexual behaviors. For instance, you might find yourself wanting to please your partner more than usual. In turn, a partner tends to become very protective of a Were in heat. They will not take well to threats against them, but they also won’t necessarily be able to distinguish a real threat from, say, someone dropping by with a casserole.
That’s why isolation is usually considered the ideal scenario.”
“What if a Were doesn’t have a partner? Does anyone just do it . . .
alone?”
I’m not surprised by how swiftly Layla shakes her head. “I highly discourage it. Plainly, you won’t be able to orgasm without interaction with
a partner, which will make the experience miserable.”
Keep touching yourself and lick the base of my throat.
Yeah. I can picture that a little too clearly.
“But,” she continues, “you’ll easily find a partner. I remember reading that sexual activity can be perceived as something shameful and taboo among Humans . Weres have a highly pragmatic attitude toward sex, and I’m sure many would volunteer to help. And I would be remiss if I didn’t point out that even though I fully understand how disorienting the situation must be, most Weres who go through a Heat find it a highly pleasurable bonding experience. Not to mention that it’s not always easy for us to conceive, so the increase in fertility is often appreciated.”
I cover my mouth. “I’m an idiot.”
“Why?”
“Pregnancy is the whole biological reason behind this, isn’t it?”
“Well, yes. Is that something you’re interested in?”
I used to be. Funnily enough, when I thought I was a Human orphan, the idea of having a child was magic: someone who might share my DNA.
Someone to take care of. I used to picture it like a do-over of sorts: my child would not be traumatized into forgetting the first six years of its life.
My child would suffer zero assassination attempts before its eighteenth birthday— or after. My child would never know true fear or hunger, and its happiness would soak up all the sadness I’d generated and polluted the world with.
Back in college, whenever Misery would catch me playing with the neighbor’s kids, pinching their cheeks, calling them cute, she’d roll her eyes so hard, her contacts nearly popped out. I hear they shit everywhere. And eat all your peanut butter.