Page 20 of Fat Enemy Mate

I’m just furious at myself.

I try to ignore the throb between my legs and the ache in my chest for something I don’t have a name for. I’m going to go ahead and assume it’s regret or disgust, even though it feels a hell of a lot like longing mixed with a disgust aimed at myself. Can I even blame Wilf? He’s a man, a monster, and I kissed him back. If anything, I should be amazed and impressed that he stopped.

I sit there feeling sorry for myself for a while.

That's the part I'm most annoyed about. I haven't sat and felt sorry for myself in months, not even when I found my father in the front room, because there hadn't been time. There still isn't time. I'm in a shifter cabin in the middle of nowhere with rogues out there somewhere and a power that doesn't seem to work properly anymore, and instead of working any of that out, I'm sitting on the edge of his spare bed, obsessing over what his hand felt like on the small of my back.

It's pathetic.

It is also, if I'm honest with myself, the most alive I've felt in months. That's the part I really don't know what to do with. I lean my head back against the headboard and stare up at the ceiling beams before finally getting up and trying to shake off the sensation that Wilf is still all around me.

I wash my face in the bathroom and then look at myself in the small mirror. My lips are as kiss-swollen as they feel, and the stubble burn is still visible on my neck, my dark hair mussed by the hands that have run through it. The woman staring back at me in the mirror doesn’t look kidnapped, starved, and frightened. She looks like a woman who has been thoroughly wanted by a man and enjoyed every minute of it.

I turn away from the mirror and return to the bedroom, pacing as I work through my options because I know I can’t hide in here forever. My father’s voice, which has been so present since he died, has gone suspiciously quiet, and that feels more damning than anything.

Knowing I have to do something, because I can’t pretend this hasn’t happened, I walk to the door, only pausing briefly to gather my strength. Or perhaps, my self-respect, before opening it and walking toward the main room.

I think this cabin permanently smells of coffee. Probably because the rest of the supplies are quite basic stews and soups, so coffee is the most important option. The pot has obviously just finished boiling, and Wilf is in the kitchen with his back to me, and I can’t help but notice his t-shirt is still untucked—because I untucked it. I feel the flush rising in my cheeks again and nearly turn and run, but I know he already knows I’m here. You can’t sneak up on a shifter.

He doesn’t turn, and he doesn’t say anything. I think he’s giving me space to decide how to handle this, which only makesme feel more untethered because I really don’t know how to handle the situation. So I cross to the coffee pot and pour two cups, leaving one just by the sink for him. I take mine over to the kitchen island and sit down.

“I wanted to ask you about the rogues,” I tell him, trying to sound confident.

He finally turns, picking up the coffee and leaning against the counter as he crosses his arms loosely over his chest. The small action only makes the muscles in his shoulders bunch, and I struggle to tear my eyes away; the whole scene feels weirdly indecent. His expression is calm and neutral, which feels like a kindness from a man who knows exactly how my most sensitive skin feels.

“What about the rogues?” he asks.

“When they were tracking me, were they like…wolves, shifted, I mean?” I ask, struggling to explain what I mean. “Did they seem affected at all because they were quite close to me?”

He puts the coffee down, thinking. “You’re wondering if this power of yours was affecting them at all from a distance?” he says. “They were wolves, running at full pace; they didn’t seem affected by anything. Until I took them out, obviously. But then, you hadn’t used your voice on them directly for a while.”

“I guess it might not work like that then. I guess I just hoped.” I tell him quietly, “Like maybe I could keep them away.”

He tilts his head slightly. “It didn’t keep me away.” He points out.

I sigh, rubbing my hand across my face. “It’s frustrating because whatever it is, it doesn’t work on demand. Maybe it doesn’t work at all anymore. Maybe it was a fluke.”

I notice that Wilf’s face has shifted while I’m speaking, as though he’s just realized something new and he’s thinking through possibilities.

“What is it?” I ask him.

He doesn’t answer for a moment, seemingly weighing up his response.

“It might not be related to you, but the two I killed had talismans on them,” he finally tells me. “Carved discs. I took them off the bodies and gave them to Luna; she was going to bring her witch friend, Anya, in to figure them out. They seemed like pretty familiar Cheslem dark magic. They're like the most corrupted dark shit.”

I stare at him, letting the information settle.

“I’m expecting an update soon. But the kind of work is the sort of magic you use for protection.” He goes on. “If the witch arrived and armed them with some kind of protection, then they’d feel confident going after you. I should have put that together earlier, but I figured they were a separate Cheslem issue rather than about you specifically. If they think they can use you to incapacitate other shifters, that’s going to be why they want you.”

“But it doesn’t work on demand. It’s not a weapon,” I say, thinking it all through and trying to imagine how they think they could use me. “It doesn’t work on you.”

“It does work on me, though, just not all the way.” He says.

“No, it doesn’t work on you. Not the way it did with them at all.” I tell him. “You said you felt it, but you didn’t go down. You carried me anyway. You didn’t drop, you didn’t stop. Theywere completely unable to be near me or move if they got too close; they couldn’t touch me the way you did…”

The mention of him touching me conjures images I’m trying very hard to stuff down, and the look on his face tells me he knows exactly what I’m thinking. We fall into a somewhat awkwardly charged silence for a moment.

“So we don’t know how it might work on other shifters,” he says eventually. “All we know is how it worked on them, and how it worked on me? We don’t actually know if the talismans work, as they weren’t close enough. But we know they have them, and they could well be for protection against your power.”