Page 60 of Mate
“She’s not your guest.” A sneer twists Boden’s mouth. “Half of the members of this pack want her dead.”
“Is that so.”
“Yes. And we all know that you despise her just as much as everyone else does.”
“Do I.”
“You’re just stuck with her because she’s . . .”
“Because she’s what?” Boden seems to have found his limit. The one thing he isn’t willing to bring up. “Come on,” Koen urges calmly. “Say it. What is she?”
“Your mate.”
“Ah, yes. I’d forgotten about that.” Koen slaps his own temple with the heel of his palm. He continues, monotone, “Since you’re so sure that everyone here despises her, including me, let this be known: fuck with my mate, and I’m going to kill you so slowly, draw it out so long, tectonic plates will move and create whole new mountain ranges. And when the rest of your family comes to avenge you, I’ll do the same to them. And if your friends come, I’m not going to fucking stop. Not even if all that’s left of the pack is me and her. I will paint this entire territory green before I let anyone in the pack spill a single drop of red. Okay?”
My belly swoops with liquid warmth. Boden’s fist clutches so tight, I brace for an attack.
But next to me, Koen never tenses. Like he knew from the very start of this conversation that Boden would eventually hang his head and say, “Yes, Alpha.”
“Good.” He clasps the boy’s shoulder with a grin. “Now get out of my kitchen and go put product in your hair, or whatever the fuck it is that you do in your spare time.”
Koen wraps his entire arm around my shoulder, the heel of his open hand bouncing loosely on my chest, and pulls me into him. It’s less a gesture of affection and more of a statement, so I don’t take it personally. But neither do I break away the second Boden disappears. Koen’s heat is like . . . like thermal water. Like one of those pillow chairs Misery loves, the ones that are terrible for your posture. Something tosinkinto.
“That sounded mean,” I say softly.
“Yeah. Unfortunately, Iammean.” He says it like he couldn’t care less but feels like he should. Kind of endearing. “And no one’s touching you on my watch.”
“Noted.” I clear my throat. Because my heart is beating in it. Koen is just . . . very,veryclose. And his touch, unlike everyoneelse’s, doesn’t make me want to fling myself down a scarp. “That was some intense stuff. I’m . . . flattered.”
“Don’t be. The threats were highly embellished, and less about you than about keeping pack assholes in line.”
“Right, yeah.” It’s not disappointment, the bitter taste in the back of my throat. Or, not precisely. “I figured.”
He pulls away, and my body wants to follow him. Since I can’t, I once again try to hoist myself onto the counter. Once again, his hands find my hips and settle me on the surface.
This time, they linger.
A ravenous, whiny little thing starts beating deep inside of me. “Is Boden going to be the next Alpha?” I ask to distract myself.
“I doubt it. There are a handful of young pack members that are as dominant as he is and don’t even behave like skid marks on the thong of the universe.”
Koen’s still . . . not too close, but not far, either. Warmth flares into something liquid as I stare up at him. The beard, the long hair, they don’t just hide his good looks— they are a mask of sorts. It’s impossible to tell how he truly feels about anything.
A lock has escaped the infamous topknot, so I reach up and push it from his forehead. “Does it worry you? That you could be challenged at any time?” Misery has given me a very graphic rundown of how Weres become Alphas, which involves physical duels that often end in death. It’s possible that she was just being dramatic, but she heavily implied the presence of cartoon fight clouds, torrents of blood, and confetti made out of skin flying about. “That one day a new Alpha will come along and try to take all of this away from you?”
He laughs softly. “Killer, none of this ismineto be taken. An Alpha doesn’t own a pack, and whoever tells you otherwise has no business overseeing a gas station toilet, let alone thousands of Weres. It’s the opposite: the pack owns the Alpha like it would atool, and if a newer, better tool shows up, I’ll gladly step down.” There is no resentment in his tone.
“You don’t hate it, do you?”
“What?”
“Being Alpha.”
He cocks his head. “Why do you sound surprised?”
“I don’t know. I guess Lowe seems to feel much more conflicted about his Alpha status.”
“Lowe had a whole other life planned. He is a trained architect. I only know how to be an Alpha. As demonstrated by the fact that when he brought me to a museum, I sat on a sculpture that cost more than the gross domestic product of most packs.”
