Page 48 of Mate
“From when Ana was here,” he mumbles, and I’m pleased to detect some sheepishness. No waft of cold air, though, because the fridge isn’t even plugged into the power outlet.
“Guess I’m not the only one who doesn’t know how electricity works,” I murmur under my breath. Koen slams the door closed, hooks his finger under the base of my jaw, and forces me to look at him.
“Wanna say that again to my face?”
“Not particularly.” I bat my eyes at him and don’t bother to free myself. I’m resigned to staying here, and I must admit it: he smells nice. His touch feels nice. Being here is nice. Nice, nice,nice. My mind’s spinning a little. “Are most Northwest members too badass to consume food? Do you only eat in wolf form?” That must be it. He can’t very well bust out his grandma’s silverware and fine dine with truffle risotto and densuke watermelon if 80 percent of the time he’s got paws and carnassial teeth. “Poor squirrels, getting chased up the gutter.”
“Squirrels have it coming. Smug little shits,” he grumbles. He cocks his head and surveys me closely, as though something just occurred to him. He inches forward and forces me to take a step back until my spine meets the counter. “Close your eyes.”
“What?”
He grasps my chin. “For once, do what I say and close your damn eyes.”
I acquiesce, since he’s now my Alphaandmy landlord. Try not to shiver at his proximity. “What are you doing?”
“Same thing I do with unruly toddlers. Keep your eyes closed.”
“I— Excuse me?”
“Take a deep breath. Another. Good.Another.” His voice lowers to a rumble, not deeper than usual, but more resonant. Soothing and authoritative. It projects right inside my head, and listening to its bidding is like an itch that . . . Icouldhelp scratching, but why would I, when obeying feels so good? “Relax. I want you to think about the last time you were in wolf form.”
Of course. If that’s what Alpha wants.
“Don’t imagine yourself as a wolf. Focus on the way it felt, being surrounded by the noises of the forest. The other creatures. The scent of the soil and the trees.” His words are calm but feel as intense as a spear running through my abdomen. “Remember the last time?”
I’d gone on only four or five runs before my problems started, but they were . . . beautiful. Magic. Nature has its own, loving way of making sense to a wolf. Everything isbody, immersive, physical. Easy. Sun drenched, rain soaked. A stride toward something meaningful. Reaching. Forward. Reaching, reaching,reachingeven as everything slides out of—
“Stop,” Koen orders. His hand slips to my cheek. A gentle, soothing stroke. “It’s okay, Serena. You’re okay.”
Reluctantly, I open my eyes, somehow shocked to be standing in Koen’s kitchen. “What happened?”
My cheeks feel sunburnt. My shirt and my hair are soaked in sweat— so much so, the white fabric plasters to my breasts and my pebbled nipples. It’s wet T- shirt contest material. Spring break. Filthy.
Koen is staring, too.
I clear my throat. Cross my arms over my chest. “What just happened?”
“Not much.” His voice is rough edged. He swallows. It takes him a bit of time and a lot of effort to lift his eyes to mine. “Sometimes, when the block is mental, it can help. Being guided.”
“You mean, being commanded by an Alpha? It didn’t work, though. What does that say?”
“That there are other reasons at play.” He wets his lips. Takes a step back and then inhales deeply. Like the air around me is toxic, and he needs a break. “It was worth a try.”
“Why do I look like I just spent twelve hours in labor?”
“Because your body was trying to shift. Which is a strenuous and energy-intensive activity.”
“I didn’t, though.”
“Your cells still worked for it.”
I push back my damp, lanky hair. “Maybe I won’t be able to do it again. Shifting, I mean.” Even if Dr. Henshaw said that people with CSD usually can shift almost till the end. How fun, to be the exception to the rule.
“Then you won’t.” He shrugs. The ropes of muscles in his shoulders seem to say,I couldn’t care less. “As long as I know what I’m working with, I can keep you alive.”
I nod. My head is starting to pound. “I just want you to know, I really am grateful about the fact that— ”
“Serena,” he grunts. “What did we agree on?”
