Page 21 of Mate

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.