Mate - 14

Cute, how she thinks he’d ever let her out of his sight.

I LOST FAIR AND SQUARE, SO I FOLLOW KOEN OUT AND KEEP MY mouth shut, gingerly moving my bruised, achy body. Any half-decent guy would solicitously ask whether I’m okay, but that’s clearly not him. He walks ahead, ignoring me, and when he comes to a sudden halt, I nearly bump into his back.

On the hood of his car there is a small parcel, carefully wrapped in brown paper. Someone wrote with a black Sharpie: For the former Human.

Instinctively, I round Koen to pick it up. A second later, I’m airborne: his arm is wrapped tight around my waist; my feet no longer touch the ground. His hand presses into my belly and pulls me closer to his chest. “Out of curiosity, do you have a death wish, or are you just being sewer-brained?”

I tug at his arm, with little success. I’m still suspended. “Oh, yes, the ultimate suicidal activity. Opening my own mail.”

“Serena, that is not normal.”

“Packages?”

“Packages for half-Human hybrids who are under my protection, and whose existence is under threat by multiple parties.” He shifts forward, aiming his words at the shell of my ear. A shiver travels through my spine. “Since you appear to need reminding, if some sketchy-looking cumduck pulls up in a white van and asks you to help him rescue his puppy— ”

“Okay, I get it.” He inhales deeply against my back. It’s like we share a single body. “Can you tell who dropped it off?”

He shakes his head. “They covered their scent.”

“Hmm. Does Brenna have security cameras?”

“Yes. But I doubt they picked up anything, or she’d already know.”

“Which means?”

“Just that the person who delivered the package knew where the blind zone was.”

“Is that a short list?”

“No. The point of the cameras is to monitor outsiders, not pack members.” Koen lets go of me and a new dance ensues, in which the package is reasonably ascertained not to contain explosives or biological hazards, then brought inside the car.

“Makes total sense,” I say.

“Hmm?”

“That the Alpha with responsibility over thousands of pack members would take on this super-risky endeavor, while the random unemployed hybrid watches at a safe distance. My life is totally worth more than yours,” I say sweetly.

He pretends to ponder the matter. “You’re right. I should just off you myself and get it over with.”

I bite back a smile and watch him slowly tear into the paper. There is a card inside, which has Koen’s features tensing with worry.

The note, unsigned, simply says, From your mother.

Underneath there is a silver necklace: a moon scratched by four claw marks.

“WASHER AND DRYER ARE DOWN THE HALL,” KOEN TELLS ME BACK at his house. It’s like we never left at all. “There’s a bathroom in your bedroom.”

There is. Unfortunately, it doesn’t have a tub, which is a crucial part of my nighttime routine. Fortunately, I think I spot one in Koen’s en suite as he hands me a stack of towels that feel softer than a seal’s pelt. I bury my face in them and inhale deeply. Traces of soap and his skin fill my lungs, and I flush a little when his eyebrow lifts. “Um. Thank you.”

The plot twist I did not expect, given the scantiness of the furnishings, is the piano. I stare, intrigued. It’s mahogany. At once smooth and softened by time. Little scars. Faded spots. “Do you play?”

“No.”

“Then why— ”

“Family heirloom.”

I guess that explains the way it’s pushed against the wall in the far corner, almost hidden. I want to investigate, but Koen’s tone doesn’t encourage follow- up questions.

Back in the kitchen, he opens the fridge. It contains a single item: a purple box of something called “unicorn waffles.”

My eyebrow arches.

“From when Ana was here,” he mumbles, and I’m pleased to detect some sheepishness. No waft of cold air, though, because the fridge isn’t even plugged into the power outlet.

“Guess I’m not the only one who doesn’t know how electricity works,” I murmur under my breath. Koen slams the door closed, hooks his finger under the base of my jaw, and forces me to look at him.

“Wanna say that again to my face?”

“Not particularly.” I bat my eyes at him and don’t bother to free myself. I’m resigned to staying here, and I must admit it: he smells nice. His touch feels nice. Being here is nice. Nice, nice, nice . My mind’s spinning a little. “Are most Northwest members too badass to consume food? Do you only eat in wolf form?” That must be it. He can’t very well bust out his grandma’s silverware and fine dine with truffle risotto and densuke watermelon if 80 percent of the time he’s got paws and carnassial teeth. “Poor squirrels, getting chased up the gutter.”

“Squirrels have it coming. Smug little shits,” he grumbles. He cocks his head and surveys me closely, as though something just occurred to him. He inches forward and forces me to take a step back until my spine meets the counter. “Close your eyes.”

“What?”

He grasps my chin. “For once, do what I say and close your damn eyes.”

I acquiesce, since he’s now my Alpha and my landlord. Try not to shiver at his proximity. “What are you doing?”

“Same thing I do with unruly toddlers. Keep your eyes closed.”

“I— Excuse me?”

“Take a deep breath. Another. Good. Another. ” His voice lowers to a rumble, not deeper than usual, but more resonant. Soothing and authoritative. It projects right inside my head, and listening to its bidding is like an itch that . . . I could help scratching, but why would I, when obeying feels so good? “Relax. I want you to think about the last time you were in wolf form.”

Of course. If that’s what Alpha wants.

“Don’t imagine yourself as a wolf. Focus on the way it felt, being surrounded by the noises of the forest. The other creatures. The scent of the soil and the trees.” His words are calm but feel as intense as a spear running through my abdomen. “Remember the last time?”

I’d gone on only four or five runs before my problems started, but they were . . . beautiful. Magic. Nature has its own, loving way of making sense to a wolf. Everything is body , immersive, physical. Easy. Sun drenched, rain soaked. A stride toward something meaningful. Reaching. Forward. Reaching, reaching, reaching even as everything slides out of—

“Stop,” Koen orders. His hand slips to my cheek. A gentle, soothing stroke. “It’s okay, Serena. You’re okay.”

Reluctantly, I open my eyes, somehow shocked to be standing in Koen’s kitchen. “What happened?”

My cheeks feel sunburnt. My shirt and my hair are soaked in sweat— so much so, the white fabric plasters to my breasts and my pebbled nipples. It’s wet T- shirt contest material. Spring break. Filthy.

Koen is staring, too.

I clear my throat. Cross my arms over my chest. “What just happened?”

“Not much.” His voice is rough edged. He swallows. It takes him a bit of time and a lot of effort to lift his eyes to mine. “Sometimes, when the block is mental, it can help. Being guided.”

“You mean, being commanded by an Alpha? It didn’t work, though. What does that say?”

“That there are other reasons at play.” He wets his lips. Takes a step back and then inhales deeply. Like the air around me is toxic, and he needs a break. “It was worth a try.”

“Why do I look like I just spent twelve hours in labor?”

“Because your body was trying to shift. Which is a strenuous and energy-intensive activity.”

“I didn’t, though.”

“Your cells still worked for it.”

I push back my damp, lanky hair. “Maybe I won’t be able to do it again. Shifting, I mean.” Even if Dr. Henshaw said that people with CSD usually can shift almost till the end. How fun, to be the exception to the rule.

“Then you won’t.” He shrugs. The ropes of muscles in his shoulders seem to say, I couldn’t care less . “As long as I know what I’m working with, I can keep you alive.”

I nod. My head is starting to pound. “I just want you to know, I really am grateful about the fact that— ”

“Serena,” he grunts. “What did we agree on?”

My mind is blank for a moment. “Oh, right. No gratitude. My bad. Wait— can I say ‘my bad’?” I produce my most angelic smile. “Are apologies okay?”

He sighs. “Just go to bed, killer. You’re going to have a long and unpleasant day tomorrow.”

“Am I?”

“Yup. It’s hybrid parade time.”

“Please, tell me it’s not what it sounds like.”

He folds his arms. “It’s exactly it. You want to lure the Vampyres to you, we’ll have to make sure they see you with me. Which means that I’ll have to show you off a little.”

“How, though? There are no Vampyres walking around the Den.”

“They gather information in other ways. Vampyres and Humans fly drones over our territory all the time.”

“And you let them?”

“Yup. It’s how we manipulate them into thinking that they know more than they do. It’s highly offensive, how inept they think we are, but since it’s to our advantage, I’ll give it a pass.” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “They probably already suspect you’re with me. We just want to give them proof.”

“Why would they suspect it?”

His stare is level. “Because with me is where I would keep my mate.”

I lower my eyes. He’s right. So right, I change the topic. “About the necklace . . .”

“I told you.” His voice hardens. “It’s probably just some ten-year-old trying to impress his friends with some dumb prank.”

“Still— ”

“Still, I’ll investigate the package and the note and then return it to you.”

“Are you . . . Do you think there’s any way that my mother could really . . . ?”

A knock at the door stops me. Jorma peeks inside. He nods politely at me, then says, “I have been calling you, Alpha.”

“Must have missed it.”

“Actually, you hung up on me. Twice. As soon as I mentioned the paperwork for the killed Vampyre.”

A deep, irritated growl rises. From Koen’s chest, I believe.

“I can help,” I offer. “I kinda like paperwork.”

“Go to bed, Serena.”

“But— ”

“Now.”

He glares at me like there’s little he wants more than having me out of his sight— a less than auspicious start to our cohabitation. I sigh, wave goodbye to Jorma, and stalk off like I really am an unruly toddler.

MY NIGHT IS DELIGHTFULLY DULL, IN THAT IT INVOLVES LOTS OF sleeping and no puking. True to his word, Koen skulks outside the cabin in wolf form. My eyes catch his through the window when I sneak into his room to steal more pillows.

And his duvet.

They keep me warm. Smell good. Are soft. With a few additions, my bed feels like sinking into a hug, and I have no regrets.

When I get up in the morning, he’s already awake. I spot him sitting on the porch, bare chested, like he just shifted back to human form and only pulled up a pair of sweats to spare my delicate sensibilities. Since I’m not allowed to verbally express gratitude, I decide to repay his hospitality by scrounging around his cupboards to make coffee. When I bring him a mug, I realize that he’s not alone.

“Oh.” I blink at the wolf curled on the porch, right at Koen’s feet. “Hi.” His scent tells me that he’s male, fully grown. Healthy. I wonder if I should introduce myself and . . . I don’t know, hold out my hand to shake his paw. Then, upon a closer look, I notice his size, the shaggy gray fur, the bushy, hanging tail, and it dawns on me. “Hang on. You’re not a Were. You’re just a . . . wolf.”

Koen huffs a gravelly morning laugh. “Not even.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s half dog.”

“Wait, really? Can I . . .” But yes. I can. The wolf dog eyes me, eager to make my acquaintance. I set the mug aside and let him sniff my hand first, then butt against it. My fingers comb through his thick fur, and the loll of his tongue as I scratch around his ears feels like pure joy.

“You are so handsome.” I laugh when his tongue slobbers against my cheek. Let him do it again. “Yes. I’m a hybrid, too. Let’s be best friends. Who are you?”

“He hangs out around these parts,” Koen says, amused. “From time to time.”

“What’s his name?”

“He’s a wild animal.”

“I know. But what’s his name.”

Koen’s brow furrows. “He doesn’t have one.”

“What? Why?”

“What does he need a name for?”

“I don’t know. For when you talk about him?”

“With whom?”

“The vet? The store clerk, when you buy his kibble?” Koen looks like I just suggested that we take the river otters and put them up at a five-star hotel. “Okay, clearly you don’t do that. But— ” Abruptly, the wolf dog tenses and gallops away. “Don’t leave. Did we offend you?” I pout— until I spot the squirrel he’s chasing.

“Those fuckers,” Koen mutters, clearly empathizing. He turns to me. Scans my face, then my body under the flannel I stole from his closet to sleep in. “You look better,” he declares. “Less like you’re going to collapse and start fertilizing the meadow.”

Hard to believe, after I caught sight of my reflection in the mirror this morning— something I’ve been studiously avoiding. “You’re just saying that to be kind.”

“If I’ve given you the impression that I’m kind , something is very wrong, either with me or with you. Ready to make your debut in Northwest society?”

“Almost.”

“Almost?” He’s amused. “What important business do you have on your plate, killer?”

I pretend to think about it. Then, still cross-legged next to his chair, I lift my two closed fists and ask, “Which one?”

He sits back. “There’s nothing in your hands, Serena.”

“Doesn’t matter. It’s all in my head. Choose.”

“What the hell is this, now?” He sounds fed up. A little pained.

“It’s a game Misery and I used to play growing up. We couldn’t exactly go out shopping and buy presents most of the time, so when we wanted to do something nice for each other . . .” I show him my fists. “Choose one.”

He points at my right. Which is for the best. “You get coffee,” I tell him, holding out the mug.

“Hang on. What would I have gotten if I’d chosen the other?”

“A hug.”

His eyes widen. Then squint. “What if I want to change my answer?”

“First of all, we both know you don’t.” I nudge the mug up at him until he has no choice but to accept it. “Secondly, you can’t. This is like when Misery decided that she wanted me to clean her room instead of giving her a kiss on the cheek.”

Koen frowns. “I want a kiss on the cheek.”

“You can’t change your mind after you pick— that’s the whole point of the game. And the kiss wasn’t even an option for you.”

“Bullshit. I want both options.”

“No way.” I snort. “That’s not how the world works— you can’t have your cake and eat it, too. When you make a choice, you miss out on what you didn’t pick. There’s always a price to pay. In real life, and in the game.”

“It’s a dumb fucking game, then.” He looks at his coffee like it’s made of decaying organs. “How do I know that you didn’t switch the prizes?”

I gasp. “How dare you accuse me?”

“You are an infamous and self-admitted liar.”

“But I would never violate the sacrosanctity of the game.” I rise to my feet as haughtily as I can. “Enjoy your coffee while I get dressed.”

It’s not until I’m in my room that I remember: I do not own a single stitch of clothing.