Mate (Bride, #2)

by Ali Hazelwood

“They say she’s your mate.”

“Is this the way you talk to your beloved mate?” A single eyebrow lifts. “I said you were my mate. Not that I loved you.”

I want to go outside, swallow a porcupine, and wait for the internal hemorrhaging to finish me.

“Is this a, um…terminal diagnosis?” His lips twitch. “No cure, I’m afraid.” “I see.” I clear my throat. “Well, this relationship sure escalated quickly.”

“Does it mean that he likes me?” “Yes,” Lowe says—which perfectly covers Koen’s “No.”

After gawking owl-eyed at Koen for a long stretch, I realize that I’m clutching my chest like a Victorian governess and abruptly let go.

“You’re the most beautiful woman that I’ve ever seen,” he says simply. Like it’s not a big deal. Like he’s complimenting my taste in socks.

“Well, this attraction you have for me is clearly beyond your control, so I won’t tell you that I’m flattered. And you seem like a great guy. You’re, um, gainfully employed, and look like you spend lots of time shirtless chopping firewood—” “I don’t.” “No?” “I’m Were. I produce my own warmth.”

“You’re my closest friend’s husb—mate’s closest friend. And I’d love to get along with you. So maybe we could be, you know, friends.” “What about polite acquaintances?” he counters. I cannot tell whether he’s serious, so I nod. “Deal. And you may quietly pine after me, if you must.”

“Serena, you’re a half-Human Were who admits to being a serial liar, doesn’t know how electricity works, and is undoubtedly swimming in complex PTSD. Believe me, a toddler can say it.”

“I meant what I said, killer. This mate thing is about fucking. The part of me that matters isn’t interested in you. Like me, or don’t,” he says kindly. “I really couldn’t care less.”

Look at me, the little hybrid that could.

“I think you owe me an apology.” “For what?” “The way you stared at my tits.” Silence. Then, instead of the I’m sorry or Go to fucking sleep I expect, he says, “I think you owe me an apology.” “For what?” “How spectacular your tits are.”

“I’m simply going to lock you up, killer. If I have to chain you to my fucking bed to keep you alive, I will not hesitate.”

I walk out, pretending not to hear Dr. Henshaw tell me that if that’s the impression I’m under, either I was lied to, or I’m lying to myself.

“What is your preferred morning upper?”

Yup. The North- and Southwest were never enemies, but they became close allies because Koen’s aunt was the mate of Roscoe, our former Alpha. When Lowe turned twelve and started feeling a bit too Alpha for Roscoe, Roscoe sent him to the Northwest. An exile-in-everything-but-name type of deal.

Yeah. Basically raised him. Rumor has it that Koen didn’t want to play nanny, but it was obvious that Lowe would one day be Alpha, and he couldn’t let him become too fucked up.

“Sadly, not all of us can be named after the literal state of being in agony,” Misery says. Her grin pulls me back into the present.

“Pretty sure being Alpha of this pack gives me a pass to run people through the paper shredder and make dinosaur-shaped nuggies out of what’s left.”

“She bought it for me with her monthly allowance.” Which is nearly as high as my salary used to be. Misery is not strict with that child. “I sleep with it every night.”

“Weres do everything Humans do. But better.”

“We are wolves,” Koen retorts. “We eat our prey alive. We shove our noses up each other’s junk. We roll in shit to mask our scents.”

Because every single thing I glanced at, grazed, examined, eyed, or even considered when we were at the grocery store, every single thing I decided to walk past, every single thing I told myself I didn’t need—every single thing has somehow made it here, inside Koen’s house.

Her laughter adjusts the spin of his atoms.

“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.”

Then she arrived, assumed total control of him, and left no room for anything but her.

“Breaking the covenant. I remain tragically unfucked.”

And I’m not about to try to disintegrate his free will with my magic cunt. Okay?”

“It’s just been a lot. In very little time. I think I’m ready for the musical episode, you know?”

“Your name doesn’t fucking matter. You are my killer. Okay?”

If anything happens to me, what do you do?” “Buy a black veil, pretend I’m a widow, cash in on your life insurance.”

Serena: Would you love me less if my name was Eva? Misery: Yes. Misery: But not like, by a lot.

“If you were mine, it would. And clearly, you fucking should be.”

He easily resigned himself to a lifetime without her, but… Simply put, he is unwilling to contemplate a universe in which she no longer exists.

thrash around a little, mostly for show, but this is cathartic. I’ve never had a family to disappoint before, and it’s a bit of a power trip. Lots of fun. I don’t understand what Misery has been going on about.

Can I just say—I’ve had a lot of time to consider recent revelations, and I’m not at all surprised that you come from a long line of cult leaders. You’ve talked me into so much weird shit through the years, and I always wondered why I kept falling for it.”

I’m sick of this. I’m sick of you shouldering everything like you’re the fucking guy with the stone.” “Sisyphus?” “No—the other guy.” “King Arthur?” “No, the asshole who carries the planet.” “Atlas!”

I wouldn’t love you half as much if you weren’t the kind of person who deserves it.”

It tastes, Koen thinks, like forever should.