Page 127 of Mate
SHOWERING FEELS LIKE A THOUSAND FOUNTAIN PENS SCRAPINGmy body head to toe, but smelling like blood, grime, and my deranged aunt’s homemade tea is worse than the pain, so I grit my teeth and do it anyway.
Heat, I’m starting to realize, might not be a misnomer. I put on a sleeveless top and shorts, sweating despite the cool November air. When I walk into the living room, Koen is facing away from me, talking on the phone about winning friends and influencing people. Regular Alpha stuff.
I lean against the doorway, eager to observe him, unobserved, for a moment. The strain in his broad shoulders constricts my chest. But he must pick up my scent, because he spins around to face me, and it feels a little like his senses are sloping the room, giving him no choice but to roll toward me, and—
The phone slips out of his hand and thuds against the wooden floor. Several pieces break off and skitter in every direction, but he doesn’t even glance at them.
“I think you dropped your phone?” I say, pointing at his feet.
He keeps staring at me. Suddenly, I feel immensely aware of my body. The way it pushes against the clothes’ fabric. My exposed skin. Koen’s dark, shifting eyes roaming it.
In a heartbeat, he crosses the room and cups the side of my head to inspect the base of my neck. That’s when I remember.“The stains?” I trace the green ribbon-like twist below my palm. “It’s not blood or anything. Just dye.”
“Who did it?”
“Nele.”
“The Human girlmarkedyou?”
“Irene instructed her to. And you know how it is, when you’re in the middle of an unlawful detainment and people start asking wacky stuff of you, and you really don’t wanna say yes, but you decide to pick your fights and throw them a bone so that maybe later when you refuse to rob a bank they won’t take it too personally, and . . . Koen?”
After several seconds and a substantial amount of effort, he manages to tear his eyes away from my neck. His Adam’s apple shifts.
“I cannot figure out whether you’re offended by these, or . . .”
A step back. He clears his throat. Shoves his fists in the pockets of his pants. “Not offended,” he says, hoarsely.
“Glad to know that I’m not a walking insult. What are they?”
“Markings. Around your glands.” He licks his lips. “They are used in mating ceremonies.”
“Right. Irene had grand dreams for my Heat. I showered, but they didn’t come off.” I shuffle my feet. His eyes on me are feral. Carnivorous. He’s a predator, tracking every movement of a prospective kill. “Koen? You’re being a smidge weird about this.”
“Right.” Another step back— somehow, he drifted closer again. “Did they do the one on your back, too?”
“Yeah, but maybe it washed off.” I lift my hair. “You can check— ”
“Don’t.”
I freeze.
He swears under his breath. “The marks are . . .” He jerks a hand through his hair. Opens his mouth about four times before settling on “Beautiful.”
“Beautiful.” My face tingles with heat. “That’s not the word you were thinking.”
“No.” His jaw tightens.
“I can scrub harder. Or cover them.”
“Absolutely fuckingno.” At last, his mouth softens in one of those self-effacing, disarming smiles that I already know I’ll bring to my tomb.
Confusing, all of this. I busy myself and crouch down to pick up the phone. The screen is cracked, but the other pieces easily fit back together. “Here. Wanna call them back?”
“It was Lowe. I’ll text later. Say that you tackled me.”
“Credible. Did you tell him I was missing?”
“And promptly regretted it. The Vampyre called for updates every ten minutes.”
