Mate (Bride, #2)

by Ali Hazelwood

This is Koen in a nutshell. Mocking and unreadable and maybe even a little cruel. He does, however, get shit done.

Still, change requires adjustment—and secrets require distance.

For a moment I am—I don’t know. Eager. Uneasy. Heated. Full. Empty. Heavy. Good, but bad. I don’t know.

“I want you to be scared shitless, Serena. I want you so fucking terrified of me, you won’t even dream of not doing what I say. I want you to feel like your soft little throat is in my hands, and I want you to be so afraid that I’ll tear into it that when I tell you to do something for your own fucking safety, you won’t consider saying anything but ‘Yes, Alpha.’ ”

Cute, how she thinks he’d ever let her out of his sight.

Mundane things can feel so exotic when your entire life has been one plot twist after another.

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.

“Serena. If you’re not going to let me bullshit an answer, just stop asking questions.”

“I think your toaster is broken,” I inform him. “You don’t say.” “No, I mean—it was broken before.” “Was it?” His gaze travels to a spot on the counter. I follow it, and… Okay. Fine. The damn toaster wasn’t plugged in, and I have learned nothing. Cool. “You, um, might need a new one,” I say, with all the dignity I can muster. Which is appallingly little. “Because I’m a generous person, I will pay for it.” “Will you.” “Yeah. I’ll even go buy it at the store.” I hold out my hand. Why am I close to tears? “Give me the keys to your car.” “You want to break that, too?”

He’s hers. He always was, but now she has claimed him, and he’s going to rub it in everyone’s fucking face until they plead with him to stop, and even then, he will not. Instead, he’ll beg her for another one. On the wrist, maybe, so that he can look at it every second of every day. On both wrists. Why not? How many mating scars is too many? Frankly, whoever said that less is more was—