Chapter 8 Kojo
KOJO
She puts her hand over mine and stops me.
Her palm is cool against my furnace-hot skin, her fingers small enough that they barely cover half my hand.
The contact jolts through me, not unpleasant, but startling enough that I go still.
I let her hold the pressure for a moment before she pulls back, leaving a ghost of sensation where we touched.
“That’s enough ice. My cheek is numb.” She tells me.
I fold the washcloth carefully in my lap, the melting ice seeping through the fabric and onto my thighs.
The cold means nothing to me, but I note how her scent shifts with our contact, the rain-washed earth deepening, the wild honey growing stronger than it has been all night, a richness that floods my senses and makes my Bouda press forward behind my eyes.
She is afraid of us, Alemayehu. You need to do a better job winning our mate and future queen over. Her body responds to your touch, but her mind resists.
She is not afraid of us. “She is afraid of you.”
I say the second part out loud without meaning to, the words slipping past my guard. The moment they leave my mouth, I want to pull them back.
Kendra tilts her head, confusion creasing her forehead. “Huh?”
Aiden glances over from his chair at the table, one eyebrow raised in amusement. I clear my throat and tap my temple with two fingers, trying to explain what must seem like madness to a human.
“That is my Bouda. I speak to him. He is a constant voice in my head.”
She stares at me like I just told her the walls around us are breathing, her gaze widening with a mixture of disbelief and fascination. She looks to Aiden for confirmation, as though I might be suffering from some human mental illness she recognizes.
Aiden sets his beer down with a soft clink and leans forward on his elbows, settling into the role of interpreter between species.
“Bouda shifters are different from the average shifter,” he explains.
He wipes his hand on his jeans and gestures between me and his own head.
“Most shifters describe their animal as instinct. A pull. For Kojo, the Bouda is a separate consciousness.” He glances at me with a grin he does not bother hiding.
“He’s got a full-time roommate in his head who never pays rent. ”
Kendra stiffens. She pulls her knees tighter to her chest, a defensive posture that speaks volumes about her discomfort. “That would drive me insane.”
Insane? I am not an annoyance. I am wisdom. I am a thousand years of survival distilled into a voice this fool would be dead without. I kept him alive through the attack, through three years of running, through eating garbage behind human restaurants. Tell her that. Tell her I am essential.
The indignation in my Bouda’s voice is so profound that I cannot help but laugh, the sound rumbling out of me before I can stop it. Kendra’s look shifts from wariness to suspicion. She narrows her eyes at me, her jaw tightening on the bruised side despite what must be significant pain.
“Is he saying bad things about me?”
I would NEVER disrespect my queen. The very suggestion is an insult to our bloodline, to the Matriarchy, to every generation of Bouda males who served their queens with devotion and honor. I am offended. Deeply, profoundly offended.
I roll my eyes at the theatrics. “He says he would never disrespect you. He is very offended that you would suggest otherwise.”
“Good.” She huffs, but the corner of her mouth twitches before she deliberately stills it. I saw it. My Bouda saw it too.
Progress, he observes. Small, but progress.
She sighs and looks around the room, her gaze dragging across the stained curtains, the peeling wallpaper near the bathroom, the television still running its laugh track.
She rubs the back of her neck with one hand, shoulders drawn up tight, every muscle braced like she has been carrying something heavy for a long time and tonight just added to the load.
She is very self-sufficient, my Bouda observes.
She reminds me of the women of our clan.
Your sister, how she held herself when the elders tried to override her in council.
Zaki never raised her voice. She simply refused to move until they bent around her.
He goes quiet for a moment, and when he comes back his tone has shifted into something more contemplative.
Our mate has that same iron in her back.
Only Westernized. She has been surviving alone in a city that grinds her down for the privilege.
At least our women had the clan at their backs.
My Bouda is not wrong. The women of the Bouda Matriarchy never carried their burdens alone.
They had sisters, daughters, a structure built around them that held even in the harshest times.
Kendra has been doing it with nothing but stubbornness, in a city that does not care whether she makes it or not.
She drops her gaze to her hands, turning them over in her lap. The skin is dry around her knuckles, small nicks and calluses. “I’m sorry about you losing your people.” Her voice comes out quieter now, the defensive edge gone from it. “That has to be devastating.”
“I have you now.”
She cringes. The reaction is small, a slight pull of her shoulders and a tightening around her eyes that disappears before it fully forms. But I see it, and my Bouda feels it too.
I hold my face still and keep my breathing even; showing her my disappointment will only push her further away.
She does not understand what those words mean to a Bouda male who watched his entire clan burn.
How could she? She knows nothing of my people, and it is clear from the careful distance she keeps that tonight is the closest she has ever been to a shifter.
Give her time, my Bouda says, and the sarcasm drops from his voice. She has her own grief to carry. We cannot expect her to shoulder ours on the same night.
“I know creatures like you existed,” Kendra says after a moment, lifting her head.
“It’s impossible to miss. Especially living in Michigan where shifters live up north in Wintermoon.
” Her face falls, and she stares down at her hands again, threading her fingers together in a nervous gesture.
“But I’ve been living in a bubble. Focused on work.
Trying to build a career.” She swallows, and I hear the effort it takes.
“It’s really hard to rise up in my field being a woman. A Black woman at that.”
I watch her face while she talks, memorizing every shift in her features.
The frustration sits right behind her eyes, tightening the corners of her mouth, and I am learning how to read her.
Where she softens, where she hardens, what makes her pull back into herself.
Each detail is precious, another piece of the map I am building.
“But you have me now. I will make sure you have all that you need.” I lean forward in the chair, resting my elbows on my knees, trying to convey the depth of my commitment. “We can build together. A new clan.”
Her mouth opens and the words start to form, but before she can respond, black smoke erupts six feet from the foot of the bed, swirling upward in a column that defies natural law.
Kendra yelps and scrambles backward on the mattress, her back slamming into the headboard with enough force that I wince.
Her fists clench in the blanket, gripping so tight the tendons strain beneath her skin.
Kade appears through the dissipating cloud, her long blonde hair braided in the front and curling past her shoulders, her fitted Wintermoon sheriff’s shirt stretched across her frame.
She surveys the room in a single sweep, those bright blue eyes missing nothing.
The vampire is scaring our mate, my Bouda growls. She always does this. No warning, no knock. Just smoke and drama. I despise that woman.
Kade smiles at Kendra, wide and warm, that motherly look she gives every new mate she encounters. “You’re awake. Good.”
“What the fuck.” Kendra is pressed flat against the headboard, heart hammering so hard I can hear it from across the room, the rhythm fast and uneven.
Kade flashes her fangs in a display that is intimidating. Kendra’s eyes narrow in recognition. “Vampire,” she whispers.
“And a witch too.” Kade tucks her fangs away with a casual flick of her tongue and waves dismissively. “But that’s a story for another day.”
She looks to me and I smile despite everything my Bouda has to say about her. “This is Mother Kade.”
Kade scoffs. “I really wish you wouldn’t call me that.” She turns back to Kendra and straightens her shoulders. “I’m the sheriff of Wintermoon, and I’ll be your personal transport tonight. My son Andrew will be around shortly with the truck.”
Aiden groans from his chair, the sound loaded with meaning I do not fully understand.
“Oh, please shut the fuck up,” she says without bothering to look at him, the dismissal casual and complete.
Aiden glares at her but keeps his mouth shut, though a muscle jumps in his cheek.
Kendra slides toward the edge of the bed. “Well, if you’re the sheriff, you can help me get home on the way. I’ll figure out what to do about my car.”
Kade tilts her head. The smile stays, but the warmth behind it fades. “Oh honey. I’m gonna need you to come up out of that delusion for a second here.” She folds her arms across the logo on her chest. “You are fated to a Bouda shifter. You’re coming to Wintermoon with us.”
“Wait a damn minute.” Kendra’s voice rises with indignation.
“Oh, you’re one of the difficult ones.” Kade huffs and shifts her weight to one hip, impatience radiating from her posture. “Some jump at the chance. A life in Wintermoon, worshiped by a shifter who’s been waiting for them for a thousand years.”
Kendra’s eyes narrow. She looks at me, pressing a finger to her lips in a gesture of sudden realization. “A thousand years?”
Tell her. She needs to understand what we have sacrificed for this moment.