Page 42 of Mate
Koen’s expression is quizzical.
“So different from Human cities. There isn’t a single high-rise. And it’s also . . .” The marine breeze flows through my hair. Strands stick to my lips. “A little ghostly? There are so many houses but few cars and so few people walking around . . .Oh.” I flush. It’s not that there aren’t many people. “Are they . . .” I bite my tongue, because of course the wolves milling around at the edge of the forest are Weres. Simple animals are never that large, nor do they have such all-seeing expressions. Above all, they wouldn’t join a chorus of howls after spotting Koen.
Which, judging by his reaction, is a typical welcome home. He lifts his hand in greeting, a small smile on his lips, and leads me to a cabin right at the outskirts of the woods.
“Third quarter’s not even over yet.” He must notice my confusion, and continues, “The pull of the moon is still strong enough that over half of the Northwest can easily maintain wolf form. Give it a week and you’ll see plenty of ‘people walking around.’?”
I climb the steps that lead up to the wraparound porch, a little embarrassed by the mockery in his voice, and admire the log exterior and tall windows. It’s pretty. Rustic. The door is unlocked, and Koen opens it without knocking or announcing himself. Must belong to someone he’s close to— a friend or a second or a girlfriend.
Does he? Have a girlfriend? Is that why he was so dismissive, when—
“Why do you smell so worried all of a sudden?” he asks, ushering me inside.
“Nothing.” I take a few hesitant steps, wondering if I’ll be mistaken for a home-wrecking intruder and deboned. What a way to go that would be. But I doubt it’ll be mine, because with my first deep breath, Iknowwho the cabin belongs to.
“You live here,” I tell Koen. Accusingly. His scent is everywhere. It coats every object in a blanket of good and calm and safe and— did I mentiongood? I feel it stick to my nostrils and the roof of my mouth. It’s like he took off his shirt and gave me permission to lick his skin, and—
What the hell?No.
“This is your house,” I repeat— less reproachful, more sullen.
“Yup.”
“The door was unlocked. And you were out of town.”
“I’m the Alpha of the pack, Serena.”
Fair enough. The likelihood of his space being invaded without an invitation is probably lower than someone gifting him a pet hippopotamus. Plus, there wouldn’t be much to steal. This place is not like Lowe’s house— large, crowded, and cluttered, an obvious labor of love. Koen’s decor style of choice seems to beI was going to hang a picture or two but got distracted, my bad.
The door opens into a single large room— kitchen on the left, living area on the right. He’s clearly not much for knickknacks and ornaments, but judging from the shelves full of books, he likes to read. On the coffee table, I spot a laptop. Some additional furniture, sparse but beautifully handcrafted. A couch. A hallway that’ll likely lead to the bedrooms, and . . . that’s about it. No TV. No stereo system. The appliances in the kitchen are the kind that would fetch less than the shipping cost on eBay. The fridge is an older model, not much taller than me. “Did you make this?” I ask, tracing the woodgrain of the beautiful cherry table.
“A while ago.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Shop’s in the back.”
“So youdochop firewood.”
“Iworkwood. Not the same thing.”
Lumberjack, I mouth to myself. “You don’t spend much time here, do you?”
“Not lately, no. Just write me a list and I’ll get you what you need.”
Which is when my heart stops. Because I understand why he brought me here.
I need the mother of all escape plans. “I can’t stay at your house,” I say, calm. Reasonable. I’m an adult. I’mnotpanicking.
“Why?”
“Because.” I attempt a playful smile. “I’m a kleptomaniac. I’d steal your razors and shaving gel— andclearly, you’re in dire need of them.”
“Serena.”
“Not to mention, I snoop around. You’d have to hide all your porn magazines.”
“I have Wi- Fi, killer.”
