Chapter 43: Cousin
Valentine steers me toward the toilet with practised ease. My hand’s clamped over my mouth holding back what is about to be extremely embarrassing.
My knee caps crunch as I drop down just in time for my body to attempt the ejection of organs that are definitely not attached to my digestive system.
"Get it out, love. You’re good." She soothes me through the first waves.
Several deeply humiliating minutes later, I’m kneeling on expensive tile flooring while Valentine holds my hair back with one hand and keeps up a steady stream of conversation.
Apparently the phone she’d given me to hide earlier belongs to her brother. He is, in her words, "an arrogant, overgrown testosterone goblin who doesn’t believe in privacy." Between bouts of dry heaving I learn she stole his phone in retaliation for guessing the password on hers. Their initially small battle’s escalated into a months-long war, which has included him once replacing all the photos in her camera roll with shots of his bare ass.
By the time she reaches the story about hiding his truck keys inside a frozen turkey, I’m laughing through bouts of after puke belches.
Eventually my stomach gives up. There’s simply nothing left inside me. I slump backward against the partition with a groan from deep in my soul and close my eyes. The cold feels wonderful against my overheated skin.
Across from me, Valentine, or Val as she told me she prefers, remains completely unfazed by the entire experience. She rises, runs a cloth beneath cold water and crouches in front of me. The usual bristle I feel when someone tries to take care of me is absent with her, it feels strangely natural as she gently pats my forehead and cools my face.
When she reaches my chin, I realise there is, in fact, puke on it. Fantastic. Truly the image of grace and mystery. Val doesn’t even blink, just keeps at the job, unfazed to be cleaning bodily fluids off a near stranger. Her touch is careful and warm. Her nurturing presence settles my nerves.
"Sorry," I croak.
"For what?" She chuckles.
"This," I wave vaguely toward myself. "The vomiting. The belching. The existing."
She flashes a toothy grin. "My pleasure, cousin."
I burst into tears.
"What? What happened?" Real panic laces her voice.
I shake my head, tears falling.
"What did I do?"
Another shake of my head.
Her eyes widen.
"Jesus," She lowers her voice. "Did you shit yourself as well?"
A wheeze of a laugh morphs into another sob.
Valentine is completely bewildered. "Frankie?"
I tuck my knees to my chest. "You’re my family."
All the confusion melts "Yeah, baby," Her voice softens. "We’re blood."
Since I found out wolf people are real, I’ve handled it. Because deep down I cling to the old reality where humans turning into wolves are impossible. Magic is impossible. This whole shit is impossible.
Having a family has always been my real fairytale. More unbelievable than anything else.
I stare at her through blurry eyes. "I’ve never had a family." The confession leaves me before I can stop it.
Sadness, grief, regret, all flash across Val’s face. She reaches out and squeezes my hand.
"You always did." She soothes, the certainty in her voice absolute.
Sitting on the bathroom floor, vomit stains on my top and tears running down my face, I see family. It’s heartbreaking.
"Drink," She blurts out.
Hoisting me to my feet, she leads me to a kitchen triple the size of my old flat. She plants me on a stool beside a huge butcher-block island and begins rummaging through cupboards.
The room smells incredible. Fresh bread, herbs drying from hooks above the counters, the woodsmoke from deeper in the lodge a constant. Every surface bears evidence of use rather than decoration. While she bustles around collecting ingredients for some mysterious concoction, I watch her move and wonder how somebody can radiate so much warmth.
Even her energy’s different. The five guys always fill space whether they mean to or not. Vaela dominates it. Raulf anchors it. Valentine softens it.
She slides a steaming mug in front of me, plops onto a stool next to me and points at it.
"Drink."
"What is it?" I eye the liquid, scared to sniff in case it triggers a further projectile episode.
"To stop you puking."
That gets my attention. I scrape it toward me and take a cautious sip. "Mmmm," Whatever it is tastes like honey, ginger and love. The second it hits my stomach, the cramps ease. She’s a witch, it’s the only explanation.
"Where are Vaela and Raulf?"
Val snorts. "Probably growling at the Alpha stud making you this sick."
I chuckle, taking another deep sip. "Try five."
She narrows her eyes. "Explain."
"Five Alpha studs are making me this sick."
Her mouth drops open and she folds in half laughing. Full-body, wheezing, can’t breathe laughter. She slaps the counter top repeatedly while trying to inhale.
"Five," another wheeze. "Five."
"Starting to feel judged here," I grumble.
"No wonder you’re puking your ring up!" She points dramatically at me. "That’s so much giant Alpha cock."
Now I’m laughing too. Hearing somebody else say it out loud makes it sound absolutely insane.
The laughter continues until tears form in both our eyes and my stomach hurts for reasons unrelated to supernatural illness. As we slip back into comfy silence, I pluck up the courage to ask the question that’s been nibbling at me.
"Bonded, what is it?" My face burns. "They said I had bond sickness?"
Slowly she lowers her mug. "Oh sweetheart." There’s sympathy in her voice.
"What?"
"Your Alpha’s didn’t tell you?"
"Tell me what?"
She stares at me for another second before muttering something that sounds suspiciously like Vaela should kill the morons.
"Okay." She shifts sideways on the stool and tucks one leg beneath herself. "The very simplified version is that wolves form bonds." She holds her hand up when she clocks my eyebrows shoot skyward in disbelief. "Not ’we really like each other’. Actual biological, psychological, soul-deep bonds."
I hate where this is going.
Valentine points at my chest. "When a bond starts forming, your wolf begins recognising people as yours, an anchor. It needs to be around them, 24/7, 365."
"I don’t have a wolf." I snip out the lie.
She snorts. "Honey, you definitely do."
Ignoring that, I ask, "What does a bond do though?"
"It connects you with that person, in your case, persons," She confirms. "You can feel their emotions, need their scent, being around them calms your nervous system. Being away from them," She points at me. "You get bond sick."
My stomach drops. "Oh."
She glugs the last of her drink. "You’ve not been marked yet though, right?," Her eyes scan me. "You’d be worse than this if you had."
I groan, rub my face in my hands at something else I have no clue about and don’t really want to find out.
"Yeahhh," She laughs. "Let’s have that conversation when you’re feeling a bit less like a corpse."
Pushing the existential crises aside, I press further. "Are you bonded?"
Valentine’s expression turns horrified. "Absolutely not, bitch. I’m a Beta." The relief in her voice is extraordinary. "Thank fuck."
The last of my magic drink goes down the wrong hole and I choke.
She pats me on the back and keeps talking. "I could never be an Omega and deal with all this." Her hand gestures vaguely in my direction, again. "The feelings. The bonds. The drama. The emotional support Alphas. The scenting. The touching."
She shudders.
"There’s too much tit and ass that requires my undivided attention." She sighs. "Hot females and males everywhere, solo, together, all at once." Finishing with a wink. "I’m beyond happy not being permanently attached to one person."
Her grin widens. "Or apparently five."
"Omegas?" I question again. "Sorry." I really am sorry, but this is gold and Val explains it all without judgement.
"No need," She waves. "Alphas are dominant, protective, territorial. Natural leaders. Their wolves are stronger, bigger, louder and usually convinced they’re right about everything."
"Sounds familiar."
She takes our mugs and moves to the sink.
"Omegas are rarer. Social glue, emotionally bad ass, pack-centred, highly bonded. Their instincts tend toward connection and community."
I nod slowly. "And Betas?"
"We’re the normal ones." She shrugs.
I laugh.
"Seriously. Most wolves are Betas. We don’t have heats or ruts, don’t get pulled round by instincts quite as hard. We sit in the middle."
Connections are forming, loose ends knitting together for things I’ve experienced so far with no explanation. I am adding heats and ruts to marking on my things I should have been told list, so I can shout at one of them later, probably Corrian.
When I glance up, she’s studying me. Really studying me. Mirth faded from her face.
"What?"
She tilts her head. "My wolf can’t figure you out."
"What does that even mean?"
A slow smile spreads across her freckles. "It means I want to roll over piss on myself, or pin you by the throat, just for funsies."
I stare at her. She stares back and shrugs.
"Honestly, cousin, no fucking way you’re just an Omega."
The certainty in her voice makes the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
