It snowed off and on for three days. On day two, the power went out and with it, the heat. We bundled up and kept the fires going. To conserve heat, Noah and I spent the majority of our time in the library, making brief forays into the kitchen and bathroom. It had been years since I spent this much one-on-one time with another individual. There had always been the fear of outing myself as one of the infected.
In the beginning, we each selected a book and read in our individual chairs in front of the fire. Gradually, we began to talk. The discussions started slowly, with Noah asking questions and I reluctantly answering. The topics mostly centered on the books we’d read and places we’d traveled. Noah spoke of his childhood and time in the military. I found myself telling him little things about my time in Utah. It had felt nice to remember the good. The things I’d forgotten over the years in my need to survive.
I sat with a blanket over my shoulders in an area Noah called the sun porch. It was a small narrow room with towering windows in the front and back. One side led to the main portion of the house. The other side led into the lighthouse, part of the original house. Outside, the snow continued to fall, creating a world of white. Noah had left both vehicles parked in the driveway. They were surrounded by several feet of snow. If we wanted to go anywhere, we’d have to dig our way out.
“What are you doing out here?”
I glanced over to see Noah standing in the connecting doorway, a mug of steaming coffee gripped in his hand.
“Watching that.” I motioned to the weather outside. The scene was so serene.
He looked outside and nodded. “Seems to be easing up. The plow trucks will head out today and clear the roads in town before working their way to the outer areas.”
I drew up my knee and rested my chin on it. Noah came and sat next to me on the short couch. He’d been doing that more and more—crowding my space, sitting or standing too close.
“This is yours,” he said, holding out the cup.
I opened my mouth to protest that I didn’t drink coffee when my gaze caught sight of the stringed tag hanging out of the mug. He’d made me hot tea. I accepted the cup, careful not to let our fingers touch. Holding it in both hands, I let the warmth from the crockery soak into my cold palms and fingers. There was no heat on the porch, and the curtainless windows and glass door let in a draft.
Noah crossed his arms over his chest, stretched his legs out in front of him, and relaxed against the sofa’s backrest. “Did you look over the material I gave you?”
“Yes.” I took a sip of my tea. Noah had added a hint of honey, the way I made it myself. He’d been watching me. Maybe as much as I covertly studied him?
“See anyone who interests you?” he asked.
I lifted one shoulder in a shrug. Noah had given me the profiles of several Mate Match clients he thought might be a good match for me. “What did the computer say?”
Noah was silent for so long, I finally turned to face him. “Well?”
“You didn’t have a match in the database. I believe your name was added to the Mate Run invitation list so that those men could get to you,” he said. “Only two people have access to it—Jillian and one other.”
“So, you’ve identified your traitor,” I said.
He shrugged one shoulder. “Possibly. I’ve definitely narrowed it down.”
I stared out the window again, thoughts whirling. I needed the safety of a legally binding mate match. I’d counted on a computer making the match for me. Those fact sheets told me nothing.
“You are the quietest woman I’ve ever met. You speak only when spoken to, and answer exactly what was asked, offering no more information than necessary,” Noah said, sounding baffled. “What’s going through that head of yours?”
I slowly angled my head so I could see him out of my peripheral vision. “Do you trust Mate Match’s science?”
Noah threw his arm along the back of the couch. If I hadn’t been still hunched over my drink, his arm would have landed inches from my shoulders. “Jillian’s system works. We’ve made hundreds of matches using it. Of those hundreds, only a small percentage of them have failed. In those cases, it’s usually the noninfected woman who didn’t have a clear grasp of what she was getting herself involved with that backed out. On a few rare occasions, the infected male decided the female, while an acceptable match for him, wouldn’t be a good fit for his clan.”
I took another sip of my tea, inhaling the fragrant steam. “Does Mate Match check up on the couples afterward, once the marriage is legal? What if the woman wants out? What if she’s being mistreated?”
“No clan leader would stand for a woman being abused. We don’t have enough of them as it is. Every noninfected mate is welcomed with open arms, and if her mate doesn’t have the sense to care for her as he ought, she’ll be given the choice of another man in their clan,” Noah said, his eyes hard.
“And if her husband objects?” I asked.
“He’ll be eliminated.” Cold. Final. Not open to debate.
Sighing, I turned my gaze outward again. “I miss home. The peace and quiet of the woods. Being one with nature. Everything was so simple.” My whole life seemed to be a never-ending line of life-altering choices. One wrong decision could screw up everything.
“Of course, it was. You were a child. Things would be a lot different for you now,” Noah said with a snort.
“Maybe. Maybe not. Everyone had clearly defined roles. I knew when I woke in the morning what chores I’d been slated to do. I had friends and women I looked up to. There was a sense of community,” I said, thinking back.
That sense of safety and security had ended the day I turned fifteen. The men had begun looking at me differently. Mother and the other women had begun preparing me for womanhood. I’d been forced to put aside childish games.
For the last few years, I’d been adrift and alone. There’d been no one watching my back. No one to share my burdens. No one to lighten the load. No one I could talk with who understood. I was an anomaly. A misfit. A square peg trying to fit into a round hole. It was a constant struggle, and I was tired.
“I think,” I said slowly, “when this is all over, I’d like to be run through the database again with my real profile, not the one I created to maintain my cover.”
Noah frowned and shifted so that his elbows rested on his knees. “Don’t you want to choose your mate?”
I set my tea on the side table and tugged the sliding blanket around my shoulders. After wrapping my arms around my shin, I rested my cheek on my knee and gazed at Noah. “Honestly, no. I wouldn’t know how, and mating is too important to screw up. Despite everything that’s happened to me in the last decade—the places I’ve been and everything I’ve experienced—I guess I’m still a product of my upbringing.”
“How were matings handled in your clan?” he asked.
“Only men with rank and position were allowed to mate. Usually, men in Hiram’s inner circle, or men who’d proven themselves to be an asset that Hiram wanted to keep happy. If that man spotted a woman he wanted for his own, he and his second would petition Hiram. If they met with Hiram’s approval, the woman was informed and given a week to prepare herself. The night before the official joining, she’d be taken to Hiram to test her readiness,” I said.
Test her readiness was a euphemism. Everyone knew what really happened. Hiram considered it his right to break in virgins. He called it their last phase of training and said his men were too clumsy to handle it properly.
“The men shared women? What happened if she refused? Or what if there was a man she was enamored with and someone else was chosen?” Noah asked.
I shuddered. “It’s safer to have protection than to be a clan bitch.”
He frowned at me like he’d never heard the term before. “Clan bitch?”
“Yeah.” When Noah continued staring at me, I sighed. He was going to make me spell it out. “Someone without a protector who is available to any man who wants her.”
A muscle in Noah’s jaw ticked. I could feel his disapproval. His face flushed a dull red and his eyes flared with anger.
“How does your clan handle mating?” I asked, sounding defensive. I didn’t know what his issue was. Plenty of clans operated the same. I mean, not the part about the clan leader sleeping with all of the women, but definitely the rest. It’s one of the reasons I’d gone through Mate Match. This way I was sure to be a mate, not a clan’s bitch.
Noah audibly inhaled and exhaled a few times. Gradually, I felt his rage lessening. “A man in my clan first has to prove he’s able to provide for a mate and children before he’s given permission to seek one. If there’s an eligible woman he has his eyes on, he has to first seek permission from her parents to prove his intentions are honorable and that if she agrees, he’ll be a good mate. If the parents approve, he’s then given permission to approach the woman and court her.”
“What if she says no?” I said.
“Then he has to find another woman who is interested,” Noah said simply.
“And if no one in your clan is?” I asked, fascinated at the idea of the woman having a choice.
“That’s why we created Mate Match, and it’s the reason we have alliances with other clans. Clans tend to be possessive of their women. They only release the minimum amount necessary to other clans as mates to prevent inbreeding.” Noah eyed me. “Doesn’t sound like your clan took those precautions.”
My eyes narrowed as I studied him. Was Noah calling me inbred? “Hiram was big on bringing fresh blood into the clan. He made deals with other clans in the area, trading women and sometimes men. Clans out west are insular and suspicious of outsiders. It limits choices for the newly infected. There were always plenty lined up to join our clan.”
“Most of the newly infected who survive with their faculties intact are men. That would only place more strain on your women,” he said, scowling.
“Hiram wasn’t picky. There’s no shortage of runaways and orphans.,” I said.
Noah closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “If I ever meet up with your father, he’s a dead man.”