Mate (Bride, #2)

by Ali Hazelwood

“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.”

“Should you be calling me ‘kid,’ given the situation?” “I’m not married to it. What would you prefer?” “Well, there’s always my actual name. 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.” “Okay, maybe less fear and more…awe. Warrior-like.” His once-over is skeptical. “You’re what? Five feet?” “I’m two and a half inches over that. And for your information, the other day these stubby little legs butchered several Vampyres.” “Look at you go, killer.”

“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. “Always been like that, since before his balls dropped. Best Were I’ve ever met.” I smile. “I’m glad Misery is in good hands.” “And vice versa.”

“Well, this attraction you have for me is clearly beyond your control, so I won’t tell you that I’m flattered. And you seem like a great guy. You’re, um, gainfully employed, and look like you spend lots of time shirtless chopping firewood—” “I don’t.” “No?” “I’m Were. I produce my own warmth.” Makes sense. “What I meant is, you’re clearly a catch. But I know very little about you. 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.” “Like Human blood?” He does not deny it.

“I’m not going to lie to you, Serena.” “Well, I’m probably going to lie to you a lot.” “Yeah?” His smile is almost charmed. “What kind of lies do you tell?” “All sorts.” I swallow. Glance at my own knees. “But only if it’s for the greater good.” “You sure?”

“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.” God, he really is an epic asshole. “You might be the worst person I’ve ever met.” “Wouldn’t be surprised,” he mutters.

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

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

“Since you’re so sure that everyone here despises her, including me, let this be known: fuck with my mate, and I’m going to kill you so slowly, draw it out so long, tectonic plates will move and create whole new mountain ranges. And when the rest of your family comes to avenge you, I’ll do the same to them. And if your friends come, I’m not going to fucking stop. Not even if all that’s left of the pack is me and her. I will paint this entire territory green before I let anyone in the pack spill a single drop of red. Okay?”

“I’ll be back tomorrow morning. If anything happens to me, what do you do?” “Buy a black veil, pretend I’m a widow, cash in on your life insurance.” “You call Lowe. Ask him to come get you.”