I wish I didn’t. All I want is to have come to the wrong conclusion. “What your mother did.”

He nods, and it breaks my heart. “They used my father to lure her out. And even though everyone told her it was a trap, even though her seconds were forming a plan, the idea of my father suffering was so untenable, she refused to wait. And honestly?” He squats down again. Locks eyes with me, so that there is no misunderstanding him. “Now that I’m in the same position, I’m not sure that I wouldn’t do the same.”

And this is how it all fits together. This is the crux of the issue, and why I can finally make sense of it all.

To Koen, the covenant is not something that’s been imposed by the huddle leaders— an arbitrary, unjust restraint. To him, it’s a guarantee that history won’t repeat itself. And that guarantee has never mattered more than it does now, with the cult threatening the Northwest once again.

And the last thing I want is to ask him to make an impossible choice.

So I reach out. Run my hand through his hair, trying not to sigh at the way he leans into it, like my skin is his North Star. “You know me as a liar, but . . .” Laughter bubbles out of me, sticky. “Can I try honesty? For once?”

He nods, patient, open, in the morning air, like he rarely is. Making it so easy.

“I like you more than anyone I’ve met since Misery. And when I’m with you, I feel . . . a little less like half of two things, and a little more whole. And when you touch me, it feels right. So right that I forget it’s wrong. I forget that you’re the heart of this pack. I forget that thousands of people rely on you, and that every moment I spend with you, I’m taking something away from them.” I manage a labored gulp. My throat is tight and dry. “So this is what’s going to happen. I’m going to walk in there and take the drugs Layla gives me. This Heat won’t happen. And as soon as the issues with the Vampyre council are officially over and Ana is safe, which will be any day now . . . I’ll go back to the Southwest, where I won’t be keeping you from the people who need you. And you and I . . . we’ll make sure to avoid each other in the next few decades. Won’t we?”

Koen doesn’t nod, but I smell his assent. His head bends for a long, silent moment. When he looks up, his eyes are emptier than the space between the ocean and the cliffs.

And all he says is “Layla is waiting for you. You should go.”

CHAPTER 28

It’s odd, what her absence does to him. She is missing, but she fills and floods every part of his life.

IGIVE MYSELF A FEW MINUTES TO CRY IT OUT, THEN HEAD FOR my appointment.

Saul is leaning against his car, laughing with a young blond woman I have yet to meet. When she notices me, her eyes double in size, the Is that the halfling? expression that I’ve grown accustomed to. “Give me a sec, Jess,” he says, and jogs up to me.

“Koen left,” I tell him. “I’m going to head in and talk to Layla.”

“Okey-doke.” The corners of his eyes crease with concern. I don’t need a mirror to know that mine are red rimmed, but Saul saw me disappear behind the building with Koen and has enough pieces to put together an exhaustive picture. “Do you know how long it’ll take?”

“Not sure.”

“Okay. Well, I’ll be here, waiting. And hey, maybe later . . .” He leans forward. Winks at me in a conspiratorial way that has me bracing for what’s to come. I don’t know if I can deal with Saul now— his compassion, his kindness, his terrible music. Where is Brenna when I want to be bitch-slapped back to my senses by an expert?

“It’s okay, Saul, I— ”

“Maybe later we can discuss that werecrab thing?”

I frown. “You seemed pretty opposed thirty minutes ago.”

“Well, I had to. You know how Amanda and Koen are.”

“And how’s that?”

“Sticks in the mud. Unimaginative. But the werecrab thing has potential. And I’ve been thinking of writing a book, so— ”

I wave him off, give the woman my least Human smile, and walk into the building.

The waiting room is deserted. I knock at the same office as yesterday. After a few seconds I hear Layla’s feeble “Come in.”

Weird, I think, wrapping my hand around the doorknob.

So I let go of it. Take a step back. Why is this weird? My instincts tell me that something’s off. And by now, enough disturbing shit has happened that humoring my instincts feels less like indulgence and more like necessity.

I dig into my pocket, wrapping my fingers around the penguin knife. With my other hand, I unlock my phone and pull up Koen’s contact to—

Acute, piercing pain bites into my hand. My phone flies into the air.

“I don’t believe so,” a voice says from behind me.

I spin on my heels. It’s the blond girl— Jess. And she kicked my hand so hard, it might be broken.

I look around. My phone landed beyond the reception desk, so out of reach, it might as well be on the moon with the werecrabs. I hold on to my knife and scream at the top of my lungs, “Saul!”

“Saul’s taking a nap. Let the boy rest.”

I’m willing to— if only because Jess expects nothing from me, which puts me in a good position to slam the right side of my body against her and nick her with my knife.

“You little fucking— ” She tries to twist my wrist, but I free myself with a kick, get in another stab, and dart outside. That’s when the door to the office opens, and another Were runs out. I realize that Jess is not acting alone, and that I’m fucked.

I throw my self-defense kitchen sink at them, but the most it buys me is a three-foot escape before I’m recaptured. I kick, bite, cry out for help, but I’m quickly muffled with a sweaty palm and dragged inside the office.

Aside from me and Jess, there are three other Weres in the room. The one who helped Jess capture me is around my age. A second, much older man holds something sharp— a scalpel?— to the third’s neck.

Layla.

At first, I wonder why she isn’t shifting. We’d still be outnumbered, but a wolf would give us a fighting chance. Then I notice her droopy eyelids and limp hand. Her head occasionally lolls around the stem of her neck.

“What did you do to her?” I shout against the younger man’s palm. It doesn’t come out nearly as intelligible, but he must get the gist.

“Stay calm,” he orders. “She’s heavily sedated, out of precaution. Now, Eva, you have two choices. I can finish the job.” The way the older man waves the scalpel quickly clarifies what that would entail. “Or you can be quiet. Which one shall it be? The first one?”

I furiously shake my head.

“I thought so. Jess, are you okay?”

“I’ll live,” she mutters. Her blood overpowers every other scent in the room.

“Okay. Eva, I’m going to slowly take my hand off your mouth. Before you do anything stupid, remember that every action has consequences.”

I nod, sick to my stomach at the sight of Layla. “What did you give her? Is she— ”

“She’ll be fine, provided that you stay quiet,” the man says from behind me, his breath humid against my ear. “We know this is distressing, but you gave us no other choice.”

I swallow a hysterical laugh. “Who the hell are you?”

“The same as you, Eva,” Jess says. “We are people who were denied their families. And now we’re going home.”

“I have no idea what you . . .”

I never get around to the end of the sentence. Because the man presses a cloth with a sweet, chemical scent against my mouth, and that’s the last thing I remember.

THIS AIN’T MY FIRST RODEO— AND BY RODEO, OF COURSE, I MEAN kidnapping. Still, what I learned in my previous experiences might not come in too handy.

I realize it when I wake up at some unidentified point later in the day, feeling hungover and flattened by an oxcart. My stomach tries to remind me that our usual post-drugs, post-beating routine tends to involve several bouts of vomiting, but I ignore it. My head pounds, but all my limbs are still attached. I’m bruised but not bleeding.