Page 20 of Mate

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.”