“He’s dead.”

“Could reports of his passing have been greatly exaggerated?”

“I ripped his heart out of his chest, chewed it for half a minute, and then spit it into the ocean.”

I nod slowly. “A simple ‘no’ would have sufficed.”

Koen’s mouth twitches. “Constantine’s dead, no doubt about it. But he was the leader of a very destructive group.”

“Another Alpha?”

“Nothing like that. But some considered him a prophet.”

I chew on my lower lip, mulling it over. “I didn’t know Weres have cults.”

“Everybody has cults. They’re the weeds of sentient civilization. And Constantine’s was the worst of them, because . . .” He shakes his head and turns back to where his seconds are idling, waiting for him. He’s borrowing precious time, just to explain shit to me. “Constantine’s dead. But his right hands . . . Our understanding of their power structure may have been incomplete.”

“The boy who killed himself . . . ?”

“He was in his late teens. Too young to have been part of the original cult. I doubt he ever met Constantine.”

“Could he be a relative of mine?”

Koen sighs like he’s been wondering the same. “We have the boy’s body,” he says evenly. “Lots of DNA to compare with yours, and we are already on it.”

“And Constantine?”

“I . . .” He shakes his head, at a loss for words, and in this moment— when he looks as confused as I feel, when he chooses to share his lack of understanding with me, I think I love him. Just a little bit.

“Okay.” I swallow. Glance into the distance, at the ocean waves crashing into the shore. The glow of the last few sunrays.

“Clearly, they think you are connected to them. Most likely, you are somehow related to one of their former members. You’re very high profile, and if they’re rebuilding, they’ll want you back.”

Right. “I might be the Eva person he was talking about.” The prospect is disorienting. Makes me sick to my stomach.

Koen’s hand shifts to my cheek. “Look at me.”

I do. His eyes are dark and steady. Make me forget what led us here, and what’s to come.

“Your name doesn’t fucking matter. You are my killer. Okay?”

A laugh hiccups out of me, a little wet. “Okay.”

“Good. I need to meet with the Assembly.” His thumb swipes against my cheekbone. “Do you want to come with me?”

Yes, with every single cell of my body. “Why would I come with you?”

“Because the idea of having you out of my sight makes me want to flip those cars one by one.”

I stifle my chuckle. “The Assembly is very concerned that you’re breaking your covenant. I doubt me coming with you would help your case.”

“Good point.” He seems to consider it. “On the other hand, fuck my case.”

I snort. Watch him rise to his feet. Feel my heart grow heavier as he walks away.

Then, just a few feet from me, he turns around. “Killer?”

“Yeah?”

There is a false start. Like the words are too foreign to flow out with ease. But then he says, “Before I leave, I think I need to hold you for a minute.”

I’m in his arms before I know how I got there. He bends down to scoop me up, and my forehead fits so perfectly into the valley of his already-prickly throat, this cannot be anything but fated. He lifts me higher, my feet no longer touching the ground, and hides his face in my neck.

A long, deep inhale. My pulse begins to dance.

He’s— I did not plan on this. I have no business caring so much about him, but I can’t remember the last time I felt this close to someone. Koen is warm, as solid as any rocky cliffside. So what if people think we’re fucking?

So what if his heart ends up broken when I die in a few weeks?

So what if the Alpha’s authority becomes questionable right at a moment in which the pack is suffering from violent threats and political turmoil—

No. No.

“I’ll be fine,” I force myself to say, slowly ungluing myself from his body, pushing him to let me down and let go of me. I cover the stench of the lie with some truths. “I’m tired. I should probably sleep. Just . . . say hi to Karolina from me.”

He looks the kind of unhappy that comes from knowing that I’m hiding something. I feel, in the lingering of his hand on my shoulder, that he wants to press me back into him. But his muscles relax, and that’s the end of it. “I’ll be back tomorrow morning. If anything happens to me, what do you do?”

“Buy a black veil, pretend I’m a widow, cash in on your life insurance.”

“You call Lowe. Ask him to come get you.”

“What about your seconds?”

Koen’s jaw shifts. He seems to come to a bitter realization. “I trust them with my life, but apparently not with yours. Lowe can protect you better than anyone.” His hand lifts to my cheek. Falls back to his side without touching me. “Well. Anyone but me. You’ll be safe tonight. I have people patrolling around the cabin— ”

“The two cardinal points, yes.”

“I have twelve guards.”

“That is . . .” I close my mouth. I’m assuming he can spare the manpower. Clearly, the headline here is Big Man Needs Peace of Mind. “Excessive, probably. Anyone watching out for bald eagles?”

“There’ll be someone on the roof.” He nods like he’s about to leave again.

I can’t let him go without saying, “I’m sorry.”

He frowns. “None of this is your fault.”

“I know. But this is difficult for you, too. And he dragged your parents into it, which I can’t even imagine . . .” I swallow. “I’m sorry that you have to deal with this.”

His teeth clench. There’s a flicker of something unreadable in his face. “If I come back and something has happened to you, Serena, I’m going to be so fucking pissed.”

I bite the inside of my lips. “That sounds like a you problem.”

“Yeah. That it is.”

I turn and walk inside the cabin. I do not watch Koen leave, nor do I listen to the engine softening in the distance. Instead I go to my room, dig into the mountain of blankets and pillows the bed has somehow accumulated, sit cross-legged with my phone in my hands, and do the only thing that makes sense.

Serena: Would you love me less if my name was Eva?

Misery: Yes.

Misery: But not like, by a lot.

I bury my face in the pillow to laugh and cry at the same time.

I WAKE UP A FEW HOURS LATER, ON FIRE.

Pouring sweat.

Shivering.

In pain so visceral, I am willing to do anything, absolutely fucking anything to not feel it. Even something as drastic as dying.

I roll out of bed and drag myself to the shower. Loud whimpers spill out of me, and I slap a hand against my mouth, until I remember that Koen won’t be home until morning. If I use his bathtub, he won’t know. Or care.

I stumble across the hallway, taking three pit stops on the way— two to dry heave, and one to just collapse for a little while. As one does, I tell myself. Totally normal. Nothing to see here.

My head spins as I pull myself up. It helps that my claws are somehow out, something to stick through the wooden walls to lug myself to a semi-upright position.

You’re doing amazing, Serena. Eva. Killer. Whoever you are.

My heart has never beaten this fast, not even after a sprint, not even after killing someone. I remember when Dr. Henshaw listed the many ways in which the fevers could lead to my death. Septic shock and widespread inflammation. Brain damage and neuronal death. Dehydration.

Cardiac stress.

I was kinda partial to metabolic imbalance, but maybe this is how I go?

Either way, I inform my body, things end in cold water. That’s non-negotiable.

I lurch into Koen’s bathroom. The underwear and flannel I’m wearing are so sweat-soaked, it hurts to peel them off my skin. I turn on the faucet, make sure that the water is gelid, and when I feel my stomach twist to expel something, I trip back toward the sink.