He sounds hurt, dejected.
I feel the same, honestly. But something reminds me.
“Ben, what is it, from Project Selene, that you’re not telling us?”
He looks shocked, this sudden turn in conversation, and I see the end of his tail curl up. That’s a nervous tell of his. He leans to check on Fern before turning back to us.
Theo adds, “Yeah, I could tell too. What is it, Ben? We won’t chatter; we won’t fuck up your data.”
Ben’s eyes flick anywhere but the two of us. I purr, tugging him into me, my hands rubbing his lower back.
“Bonded. Ebenezer. This is important to our chime. To the possible mother of our winglings. Will you not tell us?”
At that, his body relaxes and he puts his head upon my shoulder. I kiss his neck tenderly as he gives me a tight hug. He releases me and steps back slowly, taking a deep breath.
“Of course, this is all under the strictest confid–” Ben starts but cuts off at the glare from Theo. He continues, “Our research has uncovered several important findings. Human women react to our seed so strongly because...” he pauses, as if steeling himself, “most of the human women left are omegas. Omegas that are genetically,reproductivelycompatible with us.”
He nods at our surprised looks. “It gets worse. Human men are declining at the same rate as our omegas. It’s linked, somehow.” He pauses again, frowning. “This next part is all speculation, but as you know, there are some scant rumors that humans and gargoyles were originally descended from thesame ancestral species. We think that somehow our—previously unknown—interbreeding contaminated the lines.”
“What?” Theo asks, incredulous.
“That by having winglings with humans, our omega genes transferred to the offspring: ‘human’ woman, solely. And that because those new omegas would not go into heat for human men, essentially betas, they genetically self-selected human men to go extinct, via reduced pregnancy rates. And less and less gargoyles were born as omegas, instead environmentally pressured to be alphas or betas, both dominant traits to the omega recessive gene.”
He silently takes in our shocked faces.
“Fuck.”
“Fuck is right,” Theo agrees, turning and leaning to check on Fern.
Chapter Thirty
Fern
They leave me alone for the rest of the day. They bring me food and juice, and check in with me, but otherwise, they let me doze.
I drift off, dreaming fitfully.
I’m angry.I’m so angry, I can barely see straight.
At one point, my anger forces me to tears, and I sob silently, ashamed, into a pillow.
How dare they. How dare they bring me back. How dare they try to impregnate me. How dare they kill my parents. How dare they take over every major country on the planet.
I cry until I fall asleep.
But my sleep is light and restless. And full of the rich smell of smoke, good, safe smoke, like a woodstove. And reminding me of Ben.
When I wake fully, the sky is dark and my eyes immediately flick to the open door.
Can I get out the window in time?I look to the window and take stock of things—hesitation heavy in my mind—but even as I do so, Arch appears in the doorway.
Fuck.
He steps towards the bed and holds out his hand. “Come, bride. Let’s eat. Theo made some bolognese sauce with some frozen venison for the pasta I got at market last week.”
I blink, surprised that I’m not being strapped to a bench for punishment. Surprised to hear the term “bolognese” again, after my father—the cook of the family—died.
I struggle to sit up, muscles sore. Arch looks like he wants to help me but he doesn’t touch me.
