Page 10 of Mate
Maybe it’s a good thing, Misery said skeptically, noticing the way Mr. Elrod would track my movements.Maybe it means that you’re beautiful?
I doubt men twice my age looking at me is a proxy for anything other than them wanting to take advantage.And that was the crux of it. Misery was the Collateral. Misery needed to be kept alive, or an interspecies war would ravage the south of the North American continent. Above all, Misery wasspecial, and therefore off-limits.
I, on the other hand, was a Human orphan. Replaceable. A dime a dozen— less than. My value was null, and the staff was fully aware. I saw it in their stares. Heard it in the comments they never bothered to whisper. Felt it in how intensely I had to request, press, beg, advocate, to receive my first bra, or clothes that I wouldn’t outgrow in a few months. I was there at their discretion, and without protection. If I wasn’t careful, who knew what might happen?
Iknew. And when I was twelve, I began wedging a chair under the door of my room every night.
“I don’t doubt you’re approached by many men. But I’m not Human, so I’m not sure how it differs.” He shrugs, once again bored by the conversation. “It might be just quantitative. In the end, it’s hormones. Sex. The rest— liking, or loving, doesn’t come with it.”
“I see.” I drum my fingers over my armrest and lean back, observing. Not just Koen, but also the way Koen makesmefeel. In my previous life, I wouldn’t have spared him a single glance. Were Serena, though, studies the lock of black hair falling over his forehead; the clean-shaven, aggressively handsome face. He is too intense, too brash. Too rough around the edges, and at least a decade older than me.
I have— had?— a type: cute, polite, solicitous. Boyish. My age. Gentle guys who underlined their favorite prose passagesin books we buddy read, and who were secure enough in their masculinity to borrow my moisturizer when they spent the night. I never enjoyed being overwhelmed.
Koen is the Alpha of a pack that takes up a quarter of the country. Koen confuses me just by breathing the same air. Koen is so diametrically opposed to the kind of men I prefer, a protractor must be involved. “The gist of this,” I summarize, as though taking minutes for a meeting, “is that you find me attractive.”
“That might be the dictionary definition of ‘understatement,’ but yes.”
I’m a little heated. “But you won’t, um, die of a broken heart over me?”
He sighs. “Humans are so fucking dramatic.”
“And Weres are such dicks,” I reply sweetly.
“Lucky for you, you’re a mix of both.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, desperate to hide how entertained I am. Going by the swirl of amusement in his eyes, he’s perfectly aware.
“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 doesnotdeny it.
“Okay. Well. As I said, thank you for your consideration. Unfortunately, I’m not in the position to start a relationship, so I must decline your offer, and— ”
“What offer?”
“The one that you . . .” I frown. Because he didnotmake an offer.
“This conversation isnotan invitation, killer.”
That is . . . true, even though I’m not sure why I’m realizing it just now. Koen is not hitting on me. He’s not trying to cha-cha real smooth into my life. He didnotdecide that pairing up with me would perfectly round out Lowe and Misery’s nuclear family and allow us to host holiday meals at alternating intervals.
There is no expectation of anything.
But . . . “Why did you want me to know, then?”
“It’s the truth. You should be aware.” He says it matter-of-factly, likerealandsharedare overlapping constructs.
