Mate (Bride, #2)

by Ali Hazelwood

Koen. Koen’s here. It will be all right.

“They say she’s your mate.” It’s like the forest hears the words. Like it understands them. For a brief second every critter, every leaf, every drop of water stills, as if waiting for Koen’s reaction.

“Absolutely fucking no.” “If you don’t tell her, Koen, she’ll find out anyway.” “How? Will she steal my diary? Is she able to read minds?”

“What Misery is to Lowe, you are to me.” Oh. Oh? Oh. “Is this a, um…terminal diagnosis?” His lips twitch. “No cure, I’m afraid.”

Koen and I exchange a brief Can you believe this narc? glance.

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.

And you may quietly pine after me, if you must.”

Look at me, the little hybrid that could.

However, if I know about a threat, I can prepare and take care of myself—” “I will take care of you,” he says roughly.

“I can walk.” “Me too. Wanna start a club?” “Can I be president?” “Treasurer at most.” “No deal.”

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

“Very well. Deal. Now that I’m officially a Northwesterner—” “Not a name we go by.” “—in the name of Alpha-member confidentiality—” “Which doesn’t exist.”

It’s just, all my stuff is there.” “Your what?” “My clothes.” “I’m sure we can buy you a new burlap sack.”

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

The one where you look like a medieval peasant who’s about to die of the whooping cough.

I will paint this entire territory green before I let anyone in the pack spill a single drop of red.

“Killer?” “Yeah?” There is a false start. Like the words are too foreign to flow out with ease. But then he says, “Before I leave, I think I need to hold you for a minute.”

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

“No one ‘lets’ me do stuff or go places,” I point out tiredly. “That’s not how it works, Koen.” “If you were mine, it would. And clearly, you fucking should be.”

“If today was my last day, I’d be happy to have spent it with you.”

“Still, I don’t know that our lives necessarily needed a cult plotline.”

“As in, my smell brings all the Weres to the yard?”

Koen sits back. “Lady, fuck you and your tea.”

He sits quietly, looking up at me like I’m a queen. His life and death are but my decision. He wouldn’t dream of objecting. If I want to carve his heart out of his chest, he’ll crack his rib cage open and lie prone for me.

“All good. Serena tackled me,” I hear him say. And, after a pause, “Told you, she beat me up. Slapped the phone out of my hand. What is there to understand?”

“Koen.” I smile. He leans forward. I should be scared. I’m just not. “I love you,” I say simply. His eyes close. “You are mine. My mate. My—”

“She is my mate,” Koen snarls. “I get to treat her like she’s made of mother-of-pearl. You do not.”

“Where is she?” “Um, so. Koen was, um, mad.” “Ah.” “You have been de-aunted, I fear.” “How tragic,” I say, not giving a single fuck.

He misses Serena. Can’t be bothered with stuff that’s not her for long.”