Chapter 20
YVAINE
Because he’s your Alpha
My Alpha is over fifty and mated, you perv!
-.- I meant his son, that Thor. Looks like the actual god and probably bench-presses vehicles with people still in them.
Thor? Never heard of him ;-)
Logan, the son of the current Alpha. Happy now?
No. And I never saw anyone lifting cars. Just pines
Iwas sure he was teasing me. And…pines? I wasn’t sure I was impressed or disappointed by his contribution to deforestation.
So? Do you know him or not?
Yeah, I know the dude
That was it? Nothing else?
And????
And what, bunny? You wanna know if he flosses too?
Come on, Lucien! What’s he like? Does he smile? Is he polite to the elderly?
That’s the important criteria you need to know to prepare?
It says a lot about someone!
Yeah, he looks like the type to help grandpas carry their potatoes. I’ve seen him smile. Once. Maybe twice
A ridiculous grin stretched across my face. I sank deeper under my blankets, fingers flying across the screen.
Have you seen him at parties? Is it true his fans follow him everywhere? Especially girls. That’s why he sleeps with them at his friends’ houses and not his own?
My grin died. What if he left today because he has a girlfriend?
Whoa, breathe, bunny
The guy was single! Give him a break!
Rudy had a point. Besides, it would’ve been a bit hypocritical to complain after what I’d been getting up to with Sillas.
Even if he was just one guy and not a whole pack.
But what if I’m too short? The guy really is a giant!And all the girls with him today were Viking models with gravity-defying breasts. Seriously, is that part of his selection process?
All guys appreciate a good balcony, but I’m sure he thinks you’re perfect. I know I did the moment I saw my mate for the first time. Hands down, the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. One glance at her and it was game over.
Crashed and burned
But I can’t guarantee anything, I need a photo to run the official hotness diagnostic. Strictly for science. Send me a picture, and I’ll tell you if you pass ;)
I debated it for a second. I tried to pose, then made a silly face, propping a pen between my upper lip and nose. Before I pressed the send button, I added a short message.
Promise you won’t send it to Logan, Lucien?
I won’t send the picture to anyone
You have to promise on your mate.
I swear on my spectacular mate, I won’t send or show your picture to anyone ;) Wolf-that-ate-the-Scouts honor
Smiling at how adorable he was toward his mate, I texted it over. Then…silence. Thirty whole minutes of it.
I chewed my lip, imagining my mate staring at my selfie for that amount of time.
I experienced a wave of secondhand embarrassment.
When the beep came, I startled so much I dropped my phone.
He’d be a dumbass if he thinks other girls are better than you
Wow, did you really pay me a compliment, Mr. Rudy? What a curveball.
I did ;) So? What else do you want to know about your giant?
Hmm, does he have any allergies or intolerances?
He sent a laughing emoji.
Really? That and the old folks’ question? Wow, Bunny Doc, way to go
Hey! What if I cooked for him and accidentally murdered him with a peanut? I don’t want to lose a mate because of an oversight.
You’re planning to cook for him?
On special occasions, maybe.
Oh, Stephen! He’s not a remnant of the patriarchy who expects me to cook all the time, is he?
Or eat the game he hunts? I draw the line at birds. Especially ones with feathers still attached.
Hold on, still laughing at patriarchy
I laughed too, smothering the sound in my pillow as steel-gray eyes flashed through my mind.
Done? Wasn’t funny! I’m serious!
I’m sure your giant believes in equality
You think?
Yeah. You cook, he eats. Wink wink.
Don’t joke about that! I could never accept a ‘drinks beer while I vacuum’ sort of man.
Fine. I’ll figure out if he knows how to press a button and drag a machine up and down a floor. I got you, Bunny Doc. Wink wink wink.
Unnecessary number of winks.
Wink wink wink wink wink wink wink wink wink wink wink wink wink wink wink wink wink wink wink wink wink wink wink wink wink wink wink wink wink wink wink wink wink wink wink wink wink wink wink wink
I’m getting an eye tic!
Your mate can kiss it better. I’m sure he’s dying to
To kiss my tics away?
Sure. Let’s go with that.
I blushed.
What? No answer? Are your eyes ticking again??
No. Just thinking
About?
Waiting here
I’m about to send more winks. Your eye will twitch forever
So impatient, Rudolph. Mostly I was just feeling shy thinking about our equality in bed.
What do you mean?
He’s probably used to more hardcore sex than me. Or some weird cage thing. I heard about BYOL the other day. Can you believe it?
Again, no answer. This time I didn’t respond either. When a text came, I jumped.
So what? The guy can’t buy lube and condoms all the time. Isn’t it about equality? One brings the condoms, the other the lube?
So defensive
Just equal. But I’m sure there’ll be plenty of lube
I don’t want to use the lube he had with his girls.
Bunny, bunny, he’ll make sure you don’t need any artificial lube
I blushed, thinking of his gray eyes on me again.
This conversation isn’t appropriate!
Why? We’re both adults, and you are a DOCTOR
Still. We found our mates. Talking like this to another guy feels wrong.
Does it?
You think he still speaks with his lube carriers?
Why would he? He found you.
I curled tighter into my blankets with a tiny, stupid giggle.
Don’t worry, I don’t think your cooking will kill him. He eats everything, at least from what I’ve seen at the pack dinners. What about you? Do you like everything?
Obsessed with almond croissants. Matcha lattes. And haggis. Allergic to grapes.
Really? Grapes? Can you drink wine then?
We kept texting. I asked about Logan’s blood type. Favorite color. Sleep schedule. Rudy didn’t even blink—he just answered, teased, deflected, and promised he’d try to get Logan’s number for me.
My happiness only lasted a short while.
What was I supposed to do now?
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It was the fourth webpage I’d devoured in the last hour. Peering at my brain-shaped alarm clock, my shoulders sagged with a sigh.
2:34 a.m. and still wide awake. After all our teasing, I might have been the one who needed ashwagandha.
Humans associated the night with shadows and the mystery that dwelled there. A lack of light meant the inability to see and the loss of control, our unconsciousness feasting on our deepest fears.
Poets claimed that the night belonged to drunks, prostitutes, and lonely hearts.
To me, the night was the time to repair and regenerate all the damaged cells and strengthen the immune system.
The time for our body to go through the sleep cycles, three stages of non-REM sleep and one of REM sleep.
Non-REM sleep featured an absence of eye movement, the slowing of one’s heartbeat, breathing, and brain waves, the relaxing of muscles.
Dreaming happened during the REM cycle. It stimulated areas of the brain essential to learning and making or retaining memories.
And I was depriving myself of that. I couldn’t sleep. Not at all. The more I tried, the worse it was. It felt like someone had mistakenly—or intentionally—poured caffeine into my meals today, or maybe some 3,4-Methylenedioxymethamphetamine.
I climbed out of bed.
Two steady heartbeats told me two roommates were, luckily for them, in their REM sleep. However, one was missing out, just like me.
“Need help?” Amaia was curled up on the light green armchair in the living room, a small Totoro light hanging from the edge of the book and illuminating the page she was reading.
Makena was somewhere under two, maybe three blankets, with just a nest of her curly hair peeking out. A cute, sad little nest. Soft snores came from somewhere beneath them, her feet resting in Amaia’s lap. I could see a pile of crumpled napkins next to her and scattered across the floor.
“He doesn’t deserve her.” Tears shimmered in my eyes.
Still, we needed to experience pain to understand the contrast of happiness.
“Let’s go to my room,” Amaia mouthed.
My lips brushed Makena’s forehead, and I stroked her hair before following Amaia.
“Do you want a drink?”
“Why?”
She wrung her hands together. “For comfort. You look…agitated.”
Do I?
Amaia flicked on the kettle and added some chamomile into the teapot.
The layout of her bedroom certified her genius. The wall had formulas set in frames alongside pictures of complicated brain tumors. A plastic human body loomed where it stood in the corner.
She got the TV hooked up and Doctor House season two was soon playing. It felt comfortable somehow. Reminded me how I started my path, of never forgetting our beginnings, our phases.
“So, tell me.” She plopped into her woolen beanbag, her hair all pinned up in a bunch of purple curling rollers. “Why are you still awake?” She paused, head tilting. “And why is your heartbeat about to implode?”
My hand flew to my face, camomile spilling onto my PJs. “You noticed?”
She nodded, sipping from her own steaming mug.
I drew a heavy sigh. I couldn’t hold it in anymore.
“I-I found my mate!”
Dropping the atomic bomb on one friend at a time was a strategic choice. Or so I thought.
She choked. For several long moments. “Seriously? When?”
Amaia had told us that we could ask her for help when we had news that was a nine or a ten on the importance scale. Talk about well-defined boundaries.
“Just today.” I averted my eyes, staring at a pile of books categorized by author surname.
My friend’s gaze could dig holes into my cheek. Yet she didn’t ask the who, the where, or the how, always reflecting before she spoke. Her heart was so gentle, so kind, but it often found itself overwhelmed by her big brain, so busy saving the world from cancer.
“Okay. And how do you feel?”
With a sigh, I told her everything—my doubts, my happiness, this new sense of wholeness.
“I’m going to give you a piece of advice.” She didn’t wait for my reply. “You are the most extraordinary person I know. A special soul who’s blessed the world with her presence. So, your mate has to be special, too. Don’t let appearances ruin it. There’s always more behind them.”
I pondered that for a second…and then threw my arms around her. Amaia, like Archie, was simply a golden person.
I pecked her cheek. “I won’t.”
“Good.” She grinned before pulling away. Not a hug person. “Now, drink more.”
Smiling, I grabbed the hot mug and blew on it.
We stayed in her bedroom, chatting until my lids grew heavy.
What a day.
She patted the side of her queen-size bed, and I dove in.
She knew I couldn’t sleep alone…not without my mate. Another fun post-mate quirk.