Mate - 16

He overhears her talking with Pavel.

“Hey, is it true that Humans put gnomes in their gardens?”

“Oh, yeah. It’s totally a thing.”

“Spine-chilling.”

Her laughter adjusts the spin of his atoms.

T HEY START ARRIVING IN THE LATE AFTERNOON.

I spend several hours cross-legged on the couch, trying to reconstruct my lost letters, until the door bursts open. Two men walk inside like they were just handed the deed to the place. They’re both tall, both well muscled, and both completely naked.

“Oh, Serena. What’s up?” the first says.

The second just grins, waves at me, and bends over to stretch his hamstrings, giving me a thorough view of his butthole. “I slept wrong last night,” he moans. “Everything hurts.”

“Is that why you were so slow?”

“Fuck off. At least I have an excuse.”

I blink, wondering if this is a new symptom of CSD: vivid dreams of naked men bickering in Koen’s living room. That’s when an ash-colored wolf with thick fur and green eyes trots inside, comes to stand between me and the two men, and growls in their direction. In a quick symphony of bones cracking, keratin shrinking, and muscles unfolding, it transforms into a familiar shape.

Amanda.

Naked, of course. And pissed. “You guys are way early, and Koen doesn’t want anyone he hasn’t preapproved alone with Serena.”

“Oh. We did not . . .” The men exchange looks of sheer terror. “Sorry about this. We’re going to . . .” One points at the door.

“No, please. Stay.” I quickly hide my writing in the pages of a book and rise to my feet. “You are . . . ?”

Amanda sighs and points at the one with freckles and a spiky red mullet. “Colin.” She switches to the barrel-chested guy who clearly skips leg day. “Pavel.”

“Nice to meet you,” I say, relieved by the lack of handshakes. “No, really. I’m glad you came over. I’m even getting used to your junk just . . . dangling there.”

Colin cocks his head. “Is it not supposed to?”

“Maybe Human genitals are usually retracted?” Pavel suggests.

“Ah, yes. In those cloacal openings.” Colin nods knowingly. “Like koalas and alligators.”

“Precisely. Now that I think about it, I remember reading somewhere that Humans shit and piss from the same ho— ”

“Guys,” Amanda snaps. “Do you want Koen to come back and find you here?”

They pale. Colin clears his throat. “Actually, we’re pretty hungry. We’ll go hunt some dinner and be back later— ”

“I can fix you something,” I offer. A vein starts pulsating on Amanda’s forehead, so I hasten to add, “I wasn’t doing anything, anyway. And, Amanda, you’re here and you’re preapproved. Koen won’t mind.”

In fact, Koen’s behavior is less predictable than a stock market crash. But a little over an hour later, when he returns to find Amanda and five more of his now-clothed seconds eating meatballs, salad, and freshly baked bread, no one ends up impaled on his claws. They all scramble to their feet to salute as he comes in, like he’s the strictest teacher at the boarding school, but return to their meal and conversation quickly enough.

“Do you always have guests sitting on the floor?” I ask him when he walks up to me, handing him a bowl of scraps. “And could you take this out? For Twinkles.”

“For who, now?”

“The wolf dog I met this morning. I sent Ana a picture and she picked a name for him.”

Koen crosses his arms, refusing the bowl. “What about a feral mutt covered in mud screamed Twinkles to her?”

“I believe she decided that he’s Sparkles’s long-lost brother, and she’s committed to the theme. Elle, since Koen won’t, will you put this on the porch?” I smile at the girl, who looks like a very badass kindergarten teacher. “Thank you so much.”

“Did you cook for my seconds?” Koen sounds less than enthused.

“Yeah. Isn’t that why you brought me here? To keep your home?” His face has me snorting out a laugh.

“I tried to stop her,” Amanda says, joining us. “But I couldn’t.”

Koen glares at her. “You were unable to physically prevent a hybrid half your size from producing a vat of homemade marinara sauce.”

“Well, the thing is . . . she’s kind of a good cook.”

“Aw, thank you. Want another helping?”

“Yes, please.”

“It’s on the stove.”

“Nice. By the way, boss, what did the Humans say? Anything useful?”

Koen shakes his head as Amanda disappears past him with a soft “Bummer.” He and I are left alone in the middle of the crowded room, and I go back to chopping veggies for my stir-fry.

“Serena.”

“Hmm?”

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“It’s this chicken dish that— ”

“Why?”

“You’re the one who invited over some of your seconds so I could meet them— without warning me beforehand, by the way. Thank God for Amanda.”

“I invited them because I wanted you to know who these twatwaffles are in case you need something from them— not to play house and entertain them.”

“But they were hungry. And I love to cook. And I never get to do it for anyone.” It’s always been a bit of a pipe dream of mine. Showing off my culinary chops. Feeding others. I enjoyed food a lot, before , and became good at preparing it, but never got to do much with those skills.

In my ideal, remarkably unremarkable future that will never be, I’d go to a job I love, come home, make dinner for someone whose face was in my head and heart all day long, and spend the rest of the night watching boring TV shows with them. Of course it’ll never happen, and it sounds so basic, I’m almost sure that if I had a chance to play in that particular sandbox, I’d grow bored of it in two weeks.

But maybe I wouldn’t? Mundane things can feel so exotic when your entire life has been one plot twist after another.

“Really, I don’t mind. Would you like a plate of— ”

“No,” he barks. But more people are trickling in, and he’s too busy telling them that “Serena doesn’t want to see your sad, wrinkly scrotum, and neither do I, so stop being a turd and put on some goddamn clothes” to spend time in the kitchen.

“It’s a Human thing,” Colin explains to every newcomer. “They have cloacas.”

I smile and work on my fruit salad.

“Koen has a lot of seconds,” I tell Jorma half an hour later, on the porch. There are over twenty people milling around, and someone explained to me several live too far away to show up.

“Not everyone here is a second. Some brought their relatives. That girl over there? Elle’s partner. And that’s Brenna’s brother. The woman and the twin toddlers? Pavel’s family.”

“Disappointing.”

“Why?”

“Was hoping the babies would be involved in pack leadership.”

Jorma looks at me like the concept of humor slashed his tires and shat in his rose bed, but it’s pleasant, being with a group with this level of camaraderie. There’s obvious affection going around, the kind that reminds me of my relationship with Misery: people who grew up together and went through shit. It’s etched in their omnipresent scars, the lines on their foreheads, the crinkles at the sides of their eyes when they smile.

There’s always someone around Koen. He trusts me enough to not be my shadow, but every few minutes I feel his inquisitive, lingering looks. Everything okay? I reassure him with a nod, but I still struggle with streams of information too intense to filter quickly, and slip to the back of the house for a breather.

“. . .is he doing?” I overhear someone asking, and immediately stop in my tracks. The sun has set, and a gentle sea breeze rustles through the trees.

“Same old.” It’s Saul’s voice.

“Highly doubt it.”

“Oh, yeah, he is so fucking . . .” Laughter. “Gone. She killed him, and now she’s haunting him. But he’s not going to admit it. Or make it her problem.”

“Does she know?”

“Never will. So . . . same old.”

“That’s rough. And the Favored shit?”

“We’ve been looking into it. It’s not too unlikely.”

“I thought we kept track of . . .”

“Well, yeah. But we were busy.”

“Right. I remember.”

“You were eight .” Laughter. “There are missing pieces. But he won’t tell her unless he’s sure. Maybe not even then.”

A ring clinks against a beer bottle. “If it was me, I’d rather not know.”

“Yeah. No one deserves that. What about you? How’s stuff up north?”

“Not bad. Did I tell you about the mountain goats incident?”

The wind picks up, and I take advantage of the sudden rise in noise to sneak back inside.

My thoughts bubble. Is it unhinged and self-centered to assume that Saul was talking about me and Koen? I’m debating the matter, but a gaggle intercepts me, and I end up having a really nice conversation about cross-species exchange-traded funds with Carl, a lovely hipsterish guy who clearly regrets making my acquaintance the second I step away for a glass of water.

“Are you insane?” I overhear Elle asking him. “Hitting on Koen’s mate?”

“Dude, no. We were just talking.”

“Just remember to tell Koen that while he’s hanging you with your own large intestine,” someone else suggests.

“Shut the hell up. He would never.”

“No— he has never. Because no one has ever hit on his mate before.”

I shake my head and rinse a few glasses, once again combing through what Saul said. When I turn around, I find . . . Boden, I think, is his name. Brenna’s brother, though they don’t look much alike.

“Clean cups are on that rack,” I say with a smile.

“You have no right to be here.”

I blink. “Okay. Clean cups are still on that rack.” I lean back against the edge of the sink, studying the boy. He’s tall. My age or younger. Not movie star handsome, but could snatch a TV role. He’s also highly . . . dominant , I believe is the word, and the awareness sits in the marrow of my bones. Not as much as Koen or Amanda, though, not yet. Whatever juice they use to baste future Alphas, he’s going to need a few more passes.

Still, it’s clear that he feels like he has something of value to say. I fold my arms and wait for it, and he doesn’t disappoint.

“You’re a half Human who grew up with a Vampyre.”

“Misery Lark.” I nod. “She’s my sister.”

“She’s a leech.”

“True. And therefore, not the slam dunk insult you believe it to be. But if you have more biographical facts about Misery you want to get off your chest, by all means.”

“I think that people with your allegiances have no place in the Northwest,” he says slowly.

His demeanor is calm, but I can tell that he’s furious. And in pain. And very unwilling to really listen to me. There is no point in engaging in this conversation, and I wish I could be more like Misery— take provocations as pathetic attempts at riling me up, shrug them all off, never be upset. The problem is, I’ve maxed out the amount of shit I’m willing to take. “Well, I think that people who grew up with the privilege of moral grandstanding could give some of us a little more credit.”

“It’s basic decency. Not moral grandstanding.”

“Yes. It is.” I push away from the counter and step toward him. “Good and evil are wide brushes that can’t always paint the fine details of real life. Lots of Vampyres and Humans and Weres have done terrible things, but Misery is not one of them. And, as I’m sure you know, my presence here has been approved by your Alpha, so if you have a note for the complaint box, you may take it to him. I did not ask to be born a hybrid, and I’m not some little princess on vacation from her blessed life of leisure, so you can take your snark— ”

I cut myself off. Boden’s eyes have doubled in size, and while I’d love to assume that it’s my little speech’s doing, they’re trained on a spot behind my shoulders.

When I look over, Koen’s a couple of feet away. Looking bored. “Mouthy, isn’t she, Boden?” He sighs. “Never thought I’d be into that, and yet. Bane of my fucking existence.” His eyes flit to mine. “Don’t stop on my account,” he says with a lopsided smile. “I love watching asses being ridden. It’s my favorite kind of porn.”

Boden tenses— with anger, embarrassment, or a mix of both. “If I were Alpha of this pack, she wouldn’t be allowed here.”

I cringe a little, because he feels so young . One day his frontal lobes will develop, he’ll think back to this interaction, and his friends will have to remove all sharp objects from his household. Koen, too, seems mostly embarrassed for him. “Boden, given the number of new sphincters this girl just tore you, I don’t need to tell you . . .” He stops and makes a pensive face. “Then again, I do love indulging in gratuitous displays of authority. So here you have it: Serena is my guest. Bother her again, and I’ll make you regret it.”

“She’s not your guest.” A sneer twists Boden’s mouth. “Half of the members of this pack want her dead.”

“Is that so.”

“Yes. And we all know that you despise her just as much as everyone else does.”

“Do I.”

“You’re just stuck with her because she’s . . .”

“Because she’s what?” Boden seems to have found his limit. The one thing he isn’t willing to bring up. “Come on,” Koen urges calmly. “Say it. What is she?”

“Your mate.”

“Ah, yes. I’d forgotten about that.” Koen slaps his own temple with the heel of his palm. He continues, monotone, “Since you’re so sure that everyone here despises her, including me, let this be known: fuck with my mate, and I’m going to kill you so slowly, draw it out so long, tectonic plates will move and create whole new mountain ranges. And when the rest of your family comes to avenge you, I’ll do the same to them. And if your friends come, I’m not going to fucking stop. Not even if all that’s left of the pack is me and her. I will paint this entire territory green before I let anyone in the pack spill a single drop of red. Okay?”

My belly swoops with liquid warmth. Boden’s fist clutches so tight, I brace for an attack.

But next to me, Koen never tenses. Like he knew from the very start of this conversation that Boden would eventually hang his head and say, “Yes, Alpha.”

“Good.” He clasps the boy’s shoulder with a grin. “Now get out of my kitchen and go put product in your hair, or whatever the fuck it is that you do in your spare time.”

Koen wraps his entire arm around my shoulder, the heel of his open hand bouncing loosely on my chest, and pulls me into him. It’s less a gesture of affection and more of a statement, so I don’t take it personally. But neither do I break away the second Boden disappears. Koen’s heat is like . . . like thermal water. Like one of those pillow chairs Misery loves, the ones that are terrible for your posture. Something to sink into.

“That sounded mean,” I say softly.

“Yeah. Unfortunately, I am mean.” He says it like he couldn’t care less but feels like he should. Kind of endearing. “And no one’s touching you on my watch.”

“Noted.” I clear my throat. Because my heart is beating in it. Koen is just . . . very, very close. And his touch, unlike everyone else’s, doesn’t make me want to fling myself down a scarp. “That was some intense stuff. I’m . . . flattered.”

“Don’t be. The threats were highly embellished, and less about you than about keeping pack assholes in line.”

“Right, yeah.” It’s not disappointment, the bitter taste in the back of my throat. Or, not precisely. “I figured.”

He pulls away, and my body wants to follow him. Since I can’t, I once again try to hoist myself onto the counter. Once again, his hands find my hips and settle me on the surface.

This time, they linger.

A ravenous, whiny little thing starts beating deep inside of me. “Is Boden going to be the next Alpha?” I ask to distract myself.

“I doubt it. There are a handful of young pack members that are as dominant as he is and don’t even behave like skid marks on the thong of the universe.”

Koen’s still . . . not too close, but not far, either. Warmth flares into something liquid as I stare up at him. The beard, the long hair, they don’t just hide his good looks— they are a mask of sorts. It’s impossible to tell how he truly feels about anything.

A lock has escaped the infamous topknot, so I reach up and push it from his forehead. “Does it worry you? That you could be challenged at any time?” Misery has given me a very graphic rundown of how Weres become Alphas, which involves physical duels that often end in death. It’s possible that she was just being dramatic, but she heavily implied the presence of cartoon fight clouds, torrents of blood, and confetti made out of skin flying about. “That one day a new Alpha will come along and try to take all of this away from you?”

He laughs softly. “Killer, none of this is mine to be taken. An Alpha doesn’t own a pack, and whoever tells you otherwise has no business overseeing a gas station toilet, let alone thousands of Weres. It’s the opposite: the pack owns the Alpha like it would a tool, and if a newer, better tool shows up, I’ll gladly step down.” There is no resentment in his tone.

“You don’t hate it, do you?”

“What?”

“Being Alpha.”

He cocks his head. “Why do you sound surprised?”

“I don’t know. I guess Lowe seems to feel much more conflicted about his Alpha status.”

“Lowe had a whole other life planned. He is a trained architect. I only know how to be an Alpha. As demonstrated by the fact that when he brought me to a museum, I sat on a sculpture that cost more than the gross domestic product of most packs.”

“Why?”

“Because it looked like a fucking chair.” I laugh, and it makes his mouth twitch upward in a curve that is so . . . so charming, I need to trace it. But then he continues, “Alpha is all I’ve ever been, and all I’ll ever be.”

“What about after?”

“There might not be an after. But if there is . . . I guess I’ll find a hobby.”

“What hobby?”

“No clue. I’ll have to figure it out.”

A sudden, stupid idea pops into my head. I hold out my fists and say, “Pick one.”

“Not this fucking game again.”

“Pick one,” I insist, more forcefully. He sighs like I’m forcing him to muck a stable and points to my right hand— thank God. I don’t know what his reaction to me gifting him an online architecture class would have been. “I’ll teach you how to play the piano.”

His brow furrows. “You can play?”

“Of course. The Collateral and her companion are well-rounded young ladies. Honestly, Misery was so terrible at it, I felt bad for our tutor.” I pretend to shudder. “I’ll give you lessons, and you’ll have a hobby that’s not, you know, just standing there and being tall and imposing and Alpha .”

“Can’t you just play something for me?”

“But that won’t make you a well-rounded young lady.” His laughter is a groan. “Plus, I need to earn my keep, and it’s not like I can defrost your freezer. Come on, I can teach you a chord every day.” I hop down from the counter, wrap my hand around two of Koen’s fingers, and pull him toward his bedroom. We get a couple of curious looks on our way, but I ignore them, and so does he. It’s not like I’m planning to ravish him in the closet, anyway. I just want to . . .

“Sit,” I order once we’re in front of the piano, and despite his usual overburdened sigh, he obeys. The door remains wide open. Chatter and laughter seep in from all around us.

Back at the Collateral mansion, the piano came with a little bench that could house two. Koen’s just has a round stool that is not wide enough for the both of us. “Hang on.” I glance around. This is going to be a problem, considering his strained relationship with sittable furniture. “Let me drag another chair— ”

Before I can go in search of one, he tugs at my wrist and pulls me between his knees. My ass hits the hard muscles of his quads none too gently, and his left arm loops around my hips, the back of his hand resting on the upper part of my left thigh. He angles me so that my legs occupy the slice of space between his.

“Let’s just get this over with,” he grumbles, low against my ear. My heart skips around for a minute, and there is no way he misses it, but . . .

Okay. Sure. Fine. Just one chord. He picked it. He won it, fair and square. “Any objection to C major?”

“Nope.”

“Cool.” I swallow. Take his right hand in both of mine and gently splay his fingers— thumb, index, ring. “Here,” I whisper, and they seem to fall on the white keys instinctively, almost too easily. Maybe someone else tried to teach him how to play in the past? Maybe there is some knowledge of the basics, deep in the recesses of his brain? “Now, you just press— like this. Yeah.” The simple chord rises up, enveloping us. “You did it. Look at you.”

I grin wide, lift my eyes to meet his, and find that he’s already staring at me, black eyed and voracious.

“Look at you ,” he says. At least, I think so. I could have imagined it, because it’s little more than a whispered growl, quickly followed by a much lighter question. “Now what?” he asks.

I take a deep breath. “Now you just, um . . . I don’t know. Repeat the chord over and over, and play the most boring song in history?”

His eyebrow lifts. “I think I’ll do that. It’s what my roommate deserves.”

I snort and watch him hit the C chord ten more times in quick succession, his this is what you get look boring into me and making me laugh even harder. I’m so busy being amused, it takes me a second to realize that his left hand, the one on my thigh, is moving, too.

It’s not unpleasant. His fingers press lightly into my flesh, the warmth of his skin branding through the cotton of my pants, a rapid beat that makes my heart speed up. It’s almost as though he’s walking through the chord, stepping up and down and up again in a sustained rhythm, skimming closer to the crease where my thigh and my abdomen join, and . . .

With a sharp exhale, I snap my legs shut. It’s an automatic gesture, one that traps his fingers there, right between the soft fat that wraps around the inside of my thighs. I look up at him, confused. All at once, I’m hot all over. Liquid.

Koen’s face, on the other hand, is etched in stone. “Serena,” he murmurs, scent spiking, voice otherworldly, and it feels like . . . I don’t know. A question, maybe. An invitation. A turn in the road, and the beginning of something.

We could kiss. If we wanted to, it would be the perfect position, the perfect situation.

We can’t , I scream inside my head. Are you insane?

But that’s not true at all. I can’t, because I have no time left. Koen’s Alpha. Koen can do whatever the hell he wants. Koen gets to decide if—

“I told you,” he says calmly. All of a sudden, he’s ice cold. “I’m not interested.”

My stomach hollows. The words reverberate through me, harsher than a slap.

“Alpha?”

I turn to the door. A man with gray-streaked temples and a kind, weathered smile is studying us curiously. I make to leap away from Koen, but his fingers free themselves to tighten around my hip, stopping me.

“Sorry I’m so late. John asked for more and more stories, and . . .” The man’s gaze catches on me. The way I’m perched in his Alpha’s lap. “That’s my six-year-old.”

I try to stand again, and at last Koen lets go of me. I rise to my feet and take a step away, not hasty but determined.

What the hell was I doing?

“Bedtime is still your favorite part of the day, huh?” Koen asks breezily, and the man lets out a low, pain-filled groan. It’s like nothing just happened. Because nothing happened , I remind myself. He just said that he’s not interested . And it wasn’t the first time . “Mai, this is Serena. Serena, Mai is in charge of our northeast borders. You’ve been keeping him busy.”

“Me?”

Mai nods. “We stopped eleven Vampyres from entering our borders in the last two days.”

I gasp. “ Eleven? Is that a real number?”

“Would you like to see their bodies?” Koen asks.

“No.”

“Good.” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “They’re not in great shape.”

I swallow. “Did you figure out which councilmember sent them?”

“Nope. They were all independent agents interested in the bounty and didn’t know much. But I bet whoever’s behind the reward is getting impatient. They’ll make a stupid move soon enough.”

“Good. Well, not good , but . . .” I wince. My heartbeat seems to have stabilized. “Thank you, Mai, for . . . keeping me safe. And I’m sorry that you got stuck with the Vampyre-killing job.”

“Are you kidding? I love it.”

“Do you?”

“Mai is my eldest second,” Koen explains. “He gets his pick of assignments.”

We chat for a while. Mai pulls out his phone to show us a few pictures of John, who looks adorable, and a menace, and wants to be Koen when he grows up— like most children in the pack, apparently. But something needling and confusing sticks to the walls of my head, a thought that won’t let go, not even hours later, when I’m alone in bed under the covers, surrounded by home-decor-store quantities of pillows.

Mai is my eldest second , Koen said. The problem is, Mai looks half a decade older than Koen, tops. Which would put him around only forty. Not eldest material.

Unable to sleep despite my exhaustion, I retrace the last few days. Every step I’ve taken since entering Northwest territory. Every person I met. And when the realization hits me, I want to take my lack of observational skills and drown it in the nearby river. I can’t believe it took me so long to notice how young everyone is.

This is not the typical age distribution for a pack. I’ve now met most of Lowe’s seconds, and a third of them looked old enough to be his parents. Not to mention that Lowe’s house was somewhat of a revolving door of Weres of all ages seeking audience for all sorts of problems.

So it’s something else. I turn inward, gears spinning. When it comes to the Northwest, I have a lot of pieces, but I’m not sure how they fit together. Yet.

On impulse, I reach for my phone on the nightstand and type a text.

U up?

Misery: I’m a Vampyre and it’s the middle of the night.

I roll my eyes. Can you ask Lowe how long Koen has been Alpha?

The reply comes in seconds. I won’t.

Serena: Why?

Misery: Because I already know the answer.

I roll my eyes harder. Misery, how long has Koen been Alpha?

Misery: So nice of you to ask! Twenty-one years. Why?

I set the phone aside.

Koen was fifteen when he became Alpha. Fifteen. And around the same time, something big happened— something that killed Brenna’s family, destroyed pack records, and gave the Northwest a reason to reunite.

I’m not sure what the age of majority is among Weres, but I’ve seen the way young Were members are treated in packs, and I can’t imagine anyone would be happy with a fifteen-year-old becoming Alpha, least of all the fifteen-year-old in question.

Unless . . .

Unless there were no alternatives. Unless there were no dominant older members to take over. Because everyone who was past their late teens left, or was . . . eliminated. Some kind of accident? An attack? But how does that happen? What slices a pack with such surgical precision? Who does?

I grab my phone again. Ask Lowe how a boy of fifteen managed to unify an entire pack.

I fall asleep several minutes later, still waiting for the answer.