Mate (Bride, #2)

by Ali Hazelwood

Koen clucks his tongue. “You gotta tell me your name, or I’ll have to make one up. Any ideas, Serena?” I clear my throat. “I like Bob.” “Bob the Vampyre. Love it.” “That’s not my na—” “It is if the lady says so, shartstain.

Maybe Koen’s hand-shaking partners must clear a certain IQ threshold, which I clearly do not. Misery mentioned something about him being “an exceptional asshole”—a seldom-offered compliment from her—so

“Does it mean that he likes me?” “Yes,” Lowe says—which perfectly covers Koen’s “No.” I frown. “Wow. This is bringing me lots of clarity. Thanks, guys.”

“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.”

and I don’t believe

I’ve ever heard her call someone a “rotten cockwomble.”

His leadership philosophy seems to be if inconvenient, why not dead?

When two people fall in love, how many nights do they spend together, doing absolutely nothing, before they’ve had their fill? How many silences and crosswords and mugs of tea do they share?

This mate business—does it feel like I have you in my palm? Like we’re tethered to each other? Like I changed you at the nuclear level? Asking for a friend.

“It’s kinda gross, how madly in love with her you are. But please, continue. Pitiful, twitterpated men are very entertaining.”

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.”