Mate (Bride, #2)

by Ali Hazelwood

“Uh-uh. Serena, he says he’s going to kill you. You cool with that?” His tone is pure intellectual curiosity. Charcoal eyes glow steadily in the night. “I did run out of instant noodles last week,” I croak.

“Bob the Vampyre. Love it.” “That’s not my na—” “It is if the lady says so, shartstain.

“She’s half Human, after all.” “And you’re half jackass. What a stunning coincidence.”

And you know what else they say?” “Bet you’re going to tell me.” “That she rejected you.” “Ouch.” Koen doesn’t look to be in any pain.

“How’s your night been?” “Uneventful,” I rasp out. “Yeah? You look like shit.”

“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.”

“On your left,” he says. I turn. “Your other left.” I want to go outside, swallow a porcupine, and wait for the internal hemorrhaging to finish me.

“What the fuck have I done to deserve this?” he mutters. “Excuse me?” “Actually, I just remembered.” He lowers his chin and sighs. His voice is deep and gravelly. “I’ve been a piece of shit for most of my life, that’s what.”

“She explained what a mate is?” Slowly, I nod. “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.”

But if you insist on a nickname, I’d prefer something with a bit more…” “More?” “More teeth.” His eyebrow rises. “Root canal?” “No. Come on, you know what I mean. Something that inspires fear.” “Real estate market crash.”

“We should get back to the matter at hand.” Koen and I exchange a brief Can you believe this narc? glance.

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

“Lowe seems…” I return to my chair. Run my palms down the legs of my sweats. “Very protective. Of me and of you, I think.” “Isn’t he fucking adorable?” Koen’s tone is pure fondness.

My cheeks flood with heat. 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.

“I hope I don’t sound conceited, but…how is it different from the reaction of most Human men I’ve met?” I cringe the instant the words are out. “God. I do sound conceited. I’m sorry. I promise I don’t walk around thinking that my face launches a thousand erections—”

“You’re the most beautiful woman that I’ve ever seen,” he says simply.

He sighs. “Humans are so fucking dramatic.” “And Weres are such dicks,” I reply sweetly.

I have no clue about your age, your last name, your favorite color…” I study him. “It’s probably black. It’s black, isn’t it?” “I’m actually partial to red.”

Koen is not hitting on me. He’s not trying to cha-cha real smooth into my life.

“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.”

“You seem…Misery and Ana love you, which means that you’re a nice guy. We could maybe, um, try to hang out sometime? Coffee, maybe. Or…I’m not sure what you guys do when you go out, but…The thing is, I know you very little, but so far, I kind of like you.” No Hey, I’d love to go on a date with you was ever uttered more clumsily, but it’s okay.

“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.”

WHAT THE FUCK IS HIS PROBLEM 😡 I’LL KICK HIS ASS 😡

“Is this Bach?” I ask, with no real clue what Bach sounds like.

“The reason I decided to disappear, if that’s even a word you can use for someone whose whereabouts were never not accounted for, is that the things I had to deal with in the past year include, in chronological but not traumatogenic order”—I

baby’s first mass murder—in which I partook as the murderer;

She needed a brain to train on, and mine was right there.” “Maybe there was permanent damage. That would explain it.”

Look at me, the little hybrid that could.

“I will take care of you,” he says roughly. Oh. “Oh.”

Koen just killed someone without batting an eye but cannot take me shedding a single teardrop.

Big Bad Murderous Wolf in Charge of Thousands Cannot Handle Girl Crying.

“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.”

“You might be the worst person I’ve ever met.”

Do you trust anyone at all? With your precious life, killer? How could I?

Six independent groups of scientists have confirmed that I am “an interspecific cross” (Latin for freak, I believe)

“I need you to make me a sandwich.”

I also would like a sandwich.

“—blessed with the power of blood and the blood of power, the flesh will be reborn and take new shapes—” The last one is my personal favorite.

“High praise.” “Didn’t say you did great,” he mutters, closing the door after me.

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

“You okay?” he asks, gruff. “Anything feel…loose inside?” “Loose? Like what?” “I don’t fucking know. An artery?”

The only thing he’s ready to tell me is that he’ll have me institutionalized.

Jorma loves rules, unnecessary clerical work, waiting in line, and—hazarding a guess, here—bland foods covered in protein powder. His childhood dream was probably to become a hall monitor. I’ve seen him smile only once, and it was a terrifying process, like he’d learned how to move his facial muscles from a book.

“The hoodie-chic, blood-spattered, final-girl outfit suits you. The hair, not so much.” I pout. “But my stylist said it was so me.” “You deserve a refund.”

“I’d forgotten that you’d declared it against the law to be excellent to each other, Koen.” “Make sure you write it down, then.”

“Just kidding about the toilet paper,” Misery adds. “I know you people just shift into wolves and lick your own butts.”

“I…Maybe I shrugged.” I glare around the room, defensive. “Is it, like, against pack rules?” “It’s just, you know.” Misery gestures vaguely. “A weird reaction to have when someone tells you that there are hordes of financially strapped assassins after you.”

“It’s fine, really,” I tell several increasingly understanding pairs of eyes, proud of the way I seem to have convinced everyone—and then I meet Koen’s gaze. Who, clearly, has never encountered a lie of mine he couldn’t shuck like sweet corn.

“Misery, I’ve seen you flick boogers at passersby.” “I was a child.” “You were seventeen.”

“You know what else can be therapeutic?” “Punching me in the nuts?”

His jaw tics. “Here’s the deal: you’re not an idiot.” “Wow. What a compliment.” “Sure. Keep that in mind when I ask you why the fuck you are acting like one.

“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.”