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has been in love with their werebeast. But I will say this. Eve chose to lay with Lucifer, Juliet chose to forsake her hunter heritage for Romeo, and even Red Riding Hood chose to stray from the path.
     
    None of them were forced.”
     
    Beasts, Blood & Bonds: A History of Werebeasts and their Mates
    By Dr. Nina M. Strike
     
    My flight-or-fight response breaks. I freeze and stare in horror at the mark on his biceps. There is too much oxygen in this cramped bar. My pulse flutters like a dying baby bird.
    “What do you want?” I ask.
    “Nothing to do with you. So you can stop having a panic attack.” Cooper purses his lips and raises his eyebrows—an expression that looks very fish-like. “Lawrence just hasn’t been answering my calls, so I thought I’d try a different avenue of communication.”
    Slowly, the facts begin to assemble into a story that might make sense in an alternate universe. Lawrence had a one-night stand with the werepufferfish and hasn’t called him back. Because he never calls them back. And then his rejected lover found me. What, to ask me to put in a good word?
    “You won’t tell any other weres I’m here?”
    “Definitely not. You see…” He breathes out in one long blowfish sigh. “Maybe another Fireball whiskey first?”
    “Answers, then alcohol.”
    “Reversing that order makes life easier for everyone.”
    I cross my arms.
    He sucks in his cheeks, raises his eyebrows, and holds out his hand. “My name’s Cooper. Nice to meet you, Lawrence’s crazy weremate friend.”
    I look at his hand, half-expecting some kind of trap. Shifting inside the city limits is illegal. It has been since the 1700s, before everyone thought weres were extinct. Then again, murdering people is against the law, too, and that didn’t stop the werewolf and werebear from killing my parents.
    But he’s a pufferfish. What’s he going to do, wrap himself up into a sushi roll and try to poison me? A smile mutinies on my lips.
    “I already know who you are,” I say.
    “Oh, yeah?”
    “Yeah. I saw your profile on Tracker. How can you—”
    “Be gay?” He smirks like the smart-ass he no doubt is.
    “I was going to say, ‘Sound like a bro-y Reddit-nerd on your profile and actually be a gay werebeast,’ but sure.”
    He shrugs daintily and retracts his hand. “I keep the profile up because there are certain elements that can’t know about my preferences, but being a werebeast doesn’t actually require being heterosexual.”
    “Then what about me? What about all the other weremates? Can we ignore our matemark too?” Even as I ask the question, I know I’m doomed.
    He only gives me a small sad shake of his head and says, “Have you ever seen an underwater crop circle?”
    “What?” I shake my head at him, trying to dispel the verbal vertigo his tangent caused.
    Without any kind of explanation, he plucks a salt shaker from the counter and unscrews the cap.
    “What are you doing?” I ask.
    He stops, looks at me for a moment, and then dumps the salt onto the counter. Every single grain.
    “What the hell?” I hiss.
    Lola frowns at me. I mouth over Cooper’s shoulder, ”I’ll handle it.” I can’t chance Cooper telling Lola that I’m a weremate.
    She turns away, and I watch as Cooper takes his pinky finger and draws a series of patterns that looks like a crude Indian mandala in the pile of salt. “Okay, let’s say that the salt is sand, and we’re all underwater.”
    “Can’t you just come out and tell me what you’re doing?” I whisper.
    “I am. Okay, so this”—he gestures to the salt—“is the pufferfish’s mating ground. Male pufferfish draw patterns in the sand, and their mates”—he puts two fingers together and mimes a fish—“get to survey his fabulous interior decorating skills. Then the female puffer decides if the male is worthy of getting to fertilize her eggs. If he is, she deposits her eggs and leaves while the male stays with her young. The male and female