Mate (Bride, #2)

by Ali Hazelwood

Maybe he knows that a single ounce of sympathy would knock me over. Maybe he truly does not, and has never, given a fuck about anything.

“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. Instead, I set the laptop aside and stand.

They feel like tar: viscous, sticky, well-laid traps. I cannot tear mine away, but neither can I hold his gaze.

“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.”

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

But I suspect that if Koen wanted to hurt me, he could do it whether Lowe was babysitting us or not. More importantly: I suspect that Koen has no interest in doing any of that.

Then we’re alone. Somehow, my stomach feels ten pounds lighter. Weird.

“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. Like I could resemble the reflection of a wart on a doorknob, and it would change nothing for him.

“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.”

Alright calm tf down Ali

“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.”

His disapproval vibrates through time and space and anchors me to this moment. Nothing else here feels real.

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

Her pale elfin face is as close as I’ll ever get to having a home. I guess it’s fitting, then, how foreign she looks of late.

“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.”

He could be standing next to a dozen identical animals, and I’d still be able to single him out. God, am I about to use the word aura?

His stare, the dull black of his eyes, is abrasive. Sands me down to the skeleton.

Her bare nape is there for him to stare at, pink and vulnerable and accessible. It’s so flagrantly indecent, he must excuse himself.

“We could be related. I could be your cousin.” He scoffs, unimpressed. “You’re not.” “How do you know?” “I have a cousin. Looking at her does not feel like looking at you.”

Maybe I sort of like her. It’s Misery’s fault if I have a thing for tall blondes who use fuck off humor to shield their true selves. I’ll write my sister a strongly worded email of condemnation.

but I don’t need much in terms of feminine hygiene products, because I’ve never had a period.

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.

“Mouthy, isn’t she, Boden?” He sighs. “Never thought I’d be into that, and yet. Bane of my fucking existence.”

Koen’s heat is like…like thermal water. Like one of those pillow chairs Misery loves, the ones that are terrible for your posture. Something to sink into.

It’s as though my fur was being brushed against the grain, but this five-dollar shirt smoothed it back down where it belongs. No, I won’t be pondering the matter at this moment.

“Tuck that T-shirt in your pants. It’ll look less like it’s mine.”

He wants to be with her for each marveled intake of breath.

His eyes bore, debone me, until I can’t help fidgeting.

And he says, slowly, “If you think I’m going to let you die, Serena, you know fuck all.”

I think he might want to know everything that’s in my head. I think he could shake every thought I’ve ever had out of my skull, rummage through them for years, and still not be bored.

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.

His mouth brushes my fingertips, and the memory of it imprints against the pad of my thumb. The scrape of his teeth. An impression of heat.

and I can taste how much he wants me, feel it ricochet against my bones.

My afterlife will just be me, watching you move around my house in nothing but my clothes. Knowing that you’re warm and fed and safe and so damn soft.”

“I know that you took an oath. And I know that this is doomed. But…Koen. There is very little that I wouldn’t do for you, if you were to ask me.” “Serena.” I hear the blurry edge of his smile. A quiet sigh. “I would throw away my pack, my life, and my entire world for you. Which is the exact reason I cannot have you.”

AHHHHHH

In lieu of a reply, he drops down. Crouches till we’re eye to eye. And… I really am absolutely gone over this man. Fully, irreparably lost.

So I reach out. Run my hand through his hair, trying not to sigh at the way he leans into it, like my skin is his North Star.

He never says that he loves me, but it’s written all over my skin.

Stop a foot away from him. Pretend his scent doesn’t feel like home, like a blanket, like he’s holding me already, and that my heart doesn’t drop into my stomach

So pretty, he thinks that if she were the last thing he saw, he wouldn’t mind. Not at all.

Not that he’d be caught dead admitting it to anyone, but he’s just fucking…enamored, that’s the word.

To him, it feels like an adventure. This. Them. Waking up every morning wondering if he’ll survive the intensity of his feelings for her. Seems unlikely, and yet. He always makes it to the night. “I’m good,” he simply says.

Just be fucking patient, he snarls at himself. You’re not the center of the fucking world. She is.

He should be sorry, but now he has full access to her tits, and maybe the universe is a good, just place after all.

Perfection. His mate is perfect. He’ll massacre whoever tries to take her from him, of course.

It tastes, Koen thinks, like forever should.