And that poor boy— he’s finally displaying some common sense, because he’s about to shit himself. But to his credit, even as he shakes like a leaf, he doesn’t back down. “You want her, but you are not worthy of her.”

“Man, you don’t know me. I think I bring a lot to the table.”

“Like several moldy unicorn waffles,” I mutter. In response, Koen playfully drums his fingertips over my stomach.

“He cannot keep you here, Eva,” the boy tells me. “I told them that there was no need to take you. No need for blood. I promised them that if you knew we were waiting for you, you would come.”

“Bro, she’s not going anywhere.”

“She is your superior in every way. You cannot speak for her, Koen Alexander.”

“He’s right, though,” I say. “I’m not coming with you.”

“Not all is lost, though,” Koen says, suddenly pushing me half behind his body. His posture switches— protective to predatory. “Serena is off-limits, but you may still have a playdate with me.”

“Eva,” the boy pleads, eyes never leaving mine. “Do you not remember us? Have you not been told the stories? You were hurt greatly, if so.” His smile folds into something else. Something sad. “Will you not join me?”

“I have no idea who you are. And since you’re calling me by the wrong name, I think that’s mutual.”

His shoulders slump. It’s like I cut the string that held him up. “If you won’t come with me, then I was wrong. And if I was wrong, before I leave, I will have to pay the price.”

“Good for you that you won’t be going anywhere, then,” Koen says.

“It was lovely to stand this close to you, Eva. To feel the same breeze and the same grass. The flesh will be reborn.” The boy bows his head. His attention shifts fully to Koen. “Koen Alexander. In another universe, one not as perfect as this one, I would have called you Alpha.”

“What a daunting threat,” Koen says, moving forward. When the boy begins to retreat, he sighs.

“We are many. And we have learned from past mistakes.”

“Sure.”

“What about you, Koen Alexander? Are you your parents’ son?”

Koen freezes. His shoulders go rigid. “Boy, I’m faster than you, and a hell of a lot stronger. If you run, I will catch you within one hundred feet, and I’ll probably end up hurting you.”

“You will pay for what you did. And Constantine will see you shortly.”

To me, it all sounds like nonsense. But I can smell Koen’s rage. It runs so deep, I have to make the conscious choice not to step away from him. “Constantine is dead,” he spits out.

“That he is,” the boy agrees with his widest smile yet, a grin of undiluted joy, and I realize that my initial assessment of his sanity may have been incorrect. Then it all happens so quickly, my glitchy, shocked brain can barely register the order of it.

Koen was right: he is much faster, and he could catch the boy in one hundred feet. Except, he doesn’t have one hundred feet. Because the Were doesn’t run away toward the forest. Instead he chooses the opposite direction, and I don’t understand—

Koen’s “Fuck” is muffled by the waves lapping onto the shore

— where does the Were think he’s going—

as Koen sprints to catch him

— that’s not where he came from—

or maybe to kill him

— not the right path—

and why is he not slowing down, he’s almost at the edge of the cliff, he can’t

— below the cliff, wasn’t there a—

The Were jumps.

He dives off the cliff without a single moment of hesitation, a perfectly symmetrical shape, a graceful silhouette against the sun. Even the wind ebbs, as if holding its breath, trying to keep still.

All Koen can do is skid to a stop. Let one hand tug at his hair. Watch as the boy’s body travels through the air. Listen to a long, long silence, broken only by the sound of bones crashing against stone.

CHAPTER 20

He wants to abscond with her. Fuck the rest of the world— it’s incapable of giving her the safety she so clearly deserves. He’ll fix that. He’ll make up for everything she has been put through.

IT’S NOT YOUR FAULT, SERENA.

He was clearly unwell. Very unwell. On some crazed mission.

Not your fault.

People— people who are not Koen— have been repeating variations on this for a while, and for a while I’ve been nodding and telling them, Yes, I know. Thank you, I’m good. No need to stick around, if there’s somewhere you need to be.

The sun is about to set. There are a dozen cars parked by Koen’s cabin, and more of his seconds than I even met last night milling around. I struggle to keep their names straight, but it doesn’t matter. They’re not here for me, except for the ones on babysitting duty. Because it’s obvious that Koen tasked them with making sure that I’m not left alone. Still, I act like I don’t notice the way they sit next to me, on the second-highest porch step. In ten-minute shifts.

I try to pretend that Koen isn’t the only person with whom I’m interested in having any kind of conversation, but my belly is made of lead. He was there with me. He would know if it was my fault.

“Would you like something warm to drink?” I ask Saul when he comes over.

“Thanks, honey, but we’re leaving soon.”

“Anything else I can help with?”

“You’re doing it.”

I glance down at myself, and the stolen hoodie that might be my only tether to sanity. If I’m doing something, Saul and I must have a different definition of doing. But he’s shaking his head.

“Just the fact that you’re keeping your cool, helps K— all of us.”

“Oh, great. I just figured I’d scream my little heart out later, into my pillow.”

Saul laughs. “That’s some grade A compartmentalization.”

“Thanks.” I toss my hair back. “It’s the childhood trauma.”

Saul chokes on his spit, and Koen arrives just in time to thump him firmly between the shoulder blades. “Give me a second with Serena,” he orders. “Alone.”

Unlike everyone else, he doesn’t sit. Instead he squats in front of me, eye to eye.

“So,” I say. What would happen if I were to demand the hug I so desperately want? Since I really can’t, maybe I’ll just ask him if he thinks that I—

“No,” he says simply.

I blink. “What?”

“No. There is nothing you could have done to prevent him from killing himself. No, it’s not your fault. No, you shouldn’t have agreed to go with him.”

God. I needed to hear it. From him. “He’s the second person to die in front of me in three days, Koen.”

“I know. I’m starting to think that you might be bad news, killer.”

I laugh. And laugh. And then force myself to stop, because there is a sense of fullness behind my eyes, inside my throat, and it threatens to overflow. “Bob was bad enough,” I whisper. “But this guy . . . he wasn’t trying to hurt me. He was so young, and it feels like such a waste, and . . .” I take a deep breath. “It’s just been a lot. In very little time. I think I’m ready for the musical episode, you know?”

“I have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about.”

I laugh again. This time he smiles, too.

Until I add, “He seemed so lucid. And then, all of a sudden, he was saying all this weird shit, and it wasn’t . . . He didn’t sound normal.”

Koen reaches up, long fingers combing through my hair. Pressing against my scalp. The warmth of his touch has my eyelids fluttering closed. “It wasn’t normal. But I won’t insult your intelligence and tell you that he was talking gibberish. This is bad, Serena.”

Of course it is. “Because of Constantine?”

“Among the rest.” A sigh. His fingertips massage the skin at the back of my head. “Yeah.”

“Can you tell me who he is?”

“He was a Were. About two decades ago, he was directly responsible for the deaths of thousands of Weres and Humans in the Northwest.”

I clench my fists so hard, my nails leave imprints in my palms. “And now he’s back.”