Page 6 of Mate
A mix of anger and outrage simmers in the pit of Koen’s stomach. “No Were will harm her, because I’ll be there to fucking kill them.”
“Will you? Misery is here, and Serena wants to be with Misery. You won’t be around.”
“Then I’ll move into the Moreland compound. My pack runs itself.”
But Lowe just looks at him like he did when he was twelve, already way too fucking serious for his age, like the pillars of Earth rest in his clenched sphincter, and Koen has never been able to stand it. Back then, all he wanted was to shield Lowe from the ugliness of being the kind of Weres they are. He still does.
“You’re so fucking annoying.” Koen drags a hand down his face.
“Yup.” Lowe stands. “Had a great role model.”
Four and a half months earlier
Southwest territory
KOEN ALEXANDER’S FIRST WORDS TO ME ARE “IT’S NOTplugged in.”
Memorable stuff, really.
I’m sure it’s the start of every epic love story: a girl, trying to turn on a laptop and jabbing the power button with increasing violence. A very big man in a plaid shirt, leaning cross armed against a doorjamb, staring skeptically at her. The ego-pulverizing embarrassment of making a less-than-excellent first impression on someone your friends love and respect.
Koen appeared in Lowe’s driveway a couple of hours ago, Lowe’s little sister in tow, triggering the family reunion that’s currently going on downstairs. It involves Ana being bubbly, Misery pretending not to adore her, and Lowe pretending not to be awestruck by Misery’s inability to successfully hide her adoration. It’s cute, and it deserves some privacy.
Misery is at her best. I may not be at my worst, but I’m still a definite work in progress.
I spent the last two months imprisoned in Vampyre territory. I was certain that my abduction would end with my spleen being fed to the raccoons, meaning that this is a second chance at life that I don’t yet know what to do with. I’ve been wading through time and space slowly, never fully coherent, constantly overstimulated. After months of silence, whispers are too loud. The cicadas feel single-mindedly focused on rupturing my eardrums. My skin is either boiling hot or a glacier. These days, I enjoy being on my own. So I snuck up to Lowe’s office. Sat ona leather chair. Grabbed a laptop and made the radical choice to check my email.
That’s where Koen found me and decided to educate me about electricity.
“Oh.” I glance at the, yes, very dangling power cord. “Duh.” I smile, trying to display the right ratio of self-deprecating to mortified, and look for an outlet.
“On your left,” he says.
I turn.
“Yourotherleft.”
I want to go outside, swallow a porcupine, and wait for the internal hemorrhaging to finish me. Instead, I set the laptop aside and stand. “Koen, right? Nice to meet you.” I offer my hand— which he looks at but doesn’t take.Okay, I think, tucking it in my back pocket.
Maybe it’s a Were thing. Maybe Koen’s hand-shaking partners must clear a certain IQ threshold, which I clearly do not. Misery mentioned something about him being “an exceptional asshole”— a seldom-offered compliment from her— so if he doesn’t like me, I’m not going to bawl. There’s more pressing stuff taking up my brainpower. “Was there anything you needed?” I ask with a polite smile.
“To talk. Do you have a minute?”
“Of course. What’s up?”
He doesn’t tell me. Instead he looks, and looks, and looks some more. His eyes are . . . not black. Not gray, either. Somewhere in between. Reflective. They feel like tar: viscous, sticky, well-laid traps. I cannot tear mine away, but neither can I hold his gaze.
“Are you here to behold the hybrid?” I ask without hostility. The Weres I’ve met so far have shown me nothing but kindness, and their curiosity is a small price to pay for their welcome. Especially considering that most Humans would shoot me onsight. “Here I am.” I twirl around to give him the best three-sixty view of my aberrant self. “Honestly, I think I just look Human, but . . .” I cut off, because his eyes . . . That thing they’re doing, it’s not normal. They glow and contract and—
Koen grunts. His head tips back, showing a strong neck and a working throat. “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.”
“I . . . don’t follow?”
Heavy steps thud up the stairs. It’s Lowe, who joins us and asks, “You told her?”
