“Actually,” I whisper. “I had an idea. To show the gratitude I cannot verbalize.”

“We already discussed it.” His voice is a low murmur, too. “Dusting.”

“The problem is, you do not own a duster. You barely own fixtures.”

“I’ll buy more useless shit. To keep you busy.”

“No, I was thinking, what about . . .” It’s my turn to reach out, and he’s obviously not used to this— to people, to me, initiating physical contact. Guess that’s what happens when you’re the predator at the apex. Not a lot of spontaneity and liberties taken.

But he doesn’t jerk back when I tug at a wisp of hair brushing against his neck. “What if I fix this mess? Give you a makeover.”

“A what, now?”

“You know. The issue we discussed with Carter. The one where you look like a medieval peasant who’s about to die of the whooping cough. I’m a pro.” I might be coming undone. Or maybe some very dumb spirit has possessed me, because I let my wrist drag against the skin at the base of his throat, as if to . . . as if to rub off on him? More, my instinct screams at me. More. Make him smell like you. But Koen’s breathing speeds up, and he twists his head away after shuddering in something that could very well be revulsion. I force my arm to retreat. Clear my throat. “At the very least, I’m a very experienced amateur. Misery had a mullet phase.”

“Uh- huh.” He sounds raspy. “Was that before or after she scrambled your brain?”

“During, probably.” When did he start the car? It’s hard to think in here. My brain feels fuzzy. “Anyway, I can do you, too.”

He winces. Runs a hand down his face. “Do you even fucking hear yourself?”

“And I can shave you! I mean, I used to shave my legs, back when I made an effort to look presentable. All the time. Well, not all the time, just before dates, but I’ve never nicked an artery. That I know of.”

“Reassuring,” he grumbles, putting down the window. Fresh air blows inside the car, and we both take deep breaths. I feel instantly more clearheaded.

“Please. Let me make you pretty.”

“I’m already pretty. I’m fucking stupendous.”

I sigh. “Oh, if only you could use suppositories to— ”

“To cure my malignant narcissism?”

How does he always know? “Listen— I just want to make you presentable. You said that you don’t have time to go get a haircut, but I’m already in your house, and you’re my live- in nanny. Think of the ease.”

“Has anyone told you that you’re kind of a nuisance, killer?”

“A guy. Once or ten times.” I grin. “But I could be so much worse.”

“I’ll take it as a threat.” The car stops. Somehow, we’re back at his cabin. Excellent awareness of your surroundings, Serena. “I have to go meet someone,” he tells me, taking the bags inside. The only thing left for me to carry is Ana’s unicorn headband, which is already shedding glitter around Koen’s trichromatic home.

“Who?”

“A friend. It’s about your necklace.”

“Ah. Have you discovered who dropped it off?”

“I have not, which is a problem in and of itself.”

“So it’s not . . . The mother thing . . . ?”

He sighs. “I don’t know yet. I’ll be back in a few hours. If anything weird happens, anything, call my phone. And yell. Amanda is watching the northeast, and Colin the southwest.”

“What about attacks from above?” I tease. There are no chairs in the kitchen, so I try to lift myself onto the counter, but it’s too tall. “No werestork second on air patrol?”

“If a bald eagle dove in from the sky to abduct you, my life would be so much easier.” His hands close around my waist. Lift me up like I’m a feather. “And fine— I’ll get more goddamn furniture.” He lingers for a fraction of a second, his nose hovering by my temple, and I hear a deep inhale. A slower exhale. A gust of warmth against my heated skin. My forehead wants, demands, clamors to lean forward and kiss Koen’s collarbone. I manage to hold it back long enough for him to step away, and for the possibility to be removed.

Safer this way.

Remember? How he said that he didn’t care about you? When he called you a spoiled little girl? It was less than twenty-four hours ago. He’s not nice.

“I’ll get everything ready, then,” I yell after him as he saunters off. “For our little spa session.” He flips me off without glancing back. And it’s not until later, when I’m unpacking the bags and going through what we bought, that I find three important things.

The first makes me blush and roll my eyes and wish that I had a shovel to bury myself in Koen’s garden: every single pair of underwear he selected for me is red. Bright red. Dull red. Wine red. Blood red.

All.

Kinds.

Of.

Red.

I’m not equipped to process it, so I focus on the second, which makes me smile. At first, I think he may have replaced the plushie I mentioned. Then I realize that the little pink penguin in the bag is hard, made of plastic. A few seconds of fiddling with it tells me that it’s a pocketknife with a foldable blade.

It’s cute— and thoughtful, especially considering that I no longer have claws at my disposal. It has a different, deeper kind of heat spreading through me, and I don’t want to overthink it, so I shift my attention to the third thing.

And I stop breathing.

Because every single thing I glanced at, grazed, examined, eyed, or even considered when we were at the grocery store, every single thing I decided to walk past, every single thing I told myself I didn’t need— every single thing has somehow made it here, inside Koen’s house.

CHAPTER 14

He overhears her talking with Pavel.

“Hey, is it true that Humans put gnomes in their gardens?”

“Oh, yeah. It’s totally a thing.”

“Spine-chilling.”

Her laughter adjusts the spin of his atoms.

THEY START ARRIVING IN THE LATE AFTERNOON.

I spend several hours cross-legged on the couch, trying to reconstruct my lost letters, until the door bursts open. Two men walk inside like they were just handed the deed to the place. They’re both tall, both well muscled, and both completely naked.

“Oh, Serena. What’s up?” the first says.

The second just grins, waves at me, and bends over to stretch his hamstrings, giving me a thorough view of his butthole. “I slept wrong last night,” he moans. “Everything hurts.”

“Is that why you were so slow?”

“Fuck off. At least I have an excuse.”

I blink, wondering if this is a new symptom of CSD: vivid dreams of naked men bickering in Koen’s living room. That’s when an ash-colored wolf with thick fur and green eyes trots inside, comes to stand between me and the two men, and growls in their direction. In a quick symphony of bones cracking, keratin shrinking, and muscles unfolding, it transforms into a familiar shape.

Amanda.

Naked, of course. And pissed. “You guys are way early, and Koen doesn’t want anyone he hasn’t preapproved alone with Serena.”

“Oh. We did not . . .” The men exchange looks of sheer terror. “Sorry about this. We’re going to . . .” One points at the door.

“No, please. Stay.” I quickly hide my writing in the pages of a book and rise to my feet. “You are . . . ?”

Amanda sighs and points at the one with freckles and a spiky red mullet. “Colin.” She switches to the barrel-chested guy who clearly skips leg day. “Pavel.”

“Nice to meet you,” I say, relieved by the lack of handshakes. “No, really. I’m glad you came over. I’m even getting used to your junk just . . . dangling there.”

Colin cocks his head. “Is it not supposed to?”

“Maybe Human genitals are usually retracted?” Pavel suggests.

“Ah, yes. In those cloacal openings.” Colin nods knowingly. “Like koalas and alligators.”

“Precisely. Now that I think about it, I remember reading somewhere that Humans shit and piss from the same ho— ”