Page 70 of Mate
“Just fucking get it over with.”
“What? No, that’s not how you do it. This is anexperience.”
“Then make it aquickexperience.”
“Why are you being like this? I’ll be gentle. Am I not gentle?”
“You mispronounced ‘annoying.’?”
“Oh, come on. I’m having fun.”
“I wish I could say the feeling is mutual.”
“Should we put down a sheet or something? You’re making way more of a mess than I thought you would. Though I guess it’s normal, since it’s been so long.”
“If anyone’s making a mess, it’s you.”
“Hush. I’m doing this for you. The entire pack thinks you’re hopeless, but I’ll help you show them that— ”
The door bursts open, and Koen and I fall silent mid-haircut.
It’sverypoor timing. I’m almost done with what will surely be known, postmortem, asSerena Paris’s most challenging and powerful artistic endeavor, but two women and a man arerudely letting themselves inside and interrupting my creative process.
“Does anyone ever knock?” I whisper.
“No, clearly. And I’m not sure what it is about me that says ‘make yourself at home.’?” Koen glances down at the uncompromising bend of his own arms, folded on his bare chest. Then asks, louder, “Did someone install a fucking red carpet over my porch steps?”
“I must have missed it,” the man says. He is bald, with a long blond beard, thick-rimmed glasses, and asomeone just dented my paint jobfrown.
“I’m not sure I feel comfortable knowing that my Alpha let some girl with scissors play around his throat,” the taller of the two women says, sounding just as irritated.
Koen shrugs. “Feel free to mull it over and never let me know, Anneke.”
“I think he looks good,” the other woman says, which I take as a much-needed compliment.
“Why, thank you.” I press one hand against my chest. “I do believe my muse is speaking to me.”
The woman’s laughter is low and musical. She’s much smaller than Anneke, and she looks a couple of years older than Koen. Unlike the other two newcomers, her stance is laid-back.Shedid not come here for a fight. “It was time for a change. Not that the depressed Viking cosplay wasn’t hot,” she tells Koen, who winces and massages his forehead.
“Is there a single fucking person in this godforsaken pack who doesnothave an opinion about my grooming habits?”
“No,” the three reply in unison, which gives me the boost I needed to continue shaving Koen’s beard.
“The reason we are here, Alpha,” the man starts, “is that— ”
“The pack newsletter let you know that I have a woman— my mate, no less— staying in my cabin as we wait for this new tideof murderous psychos to ebb, and you’re afraid I’m fucking her. Sound about right?”
Anneke and the man exchange surprised looks, but the older woman just smiles. I run my hand through Koen’s hair and tilt back his head until his neck is exposed. He follows my directions, pliant in my hands. “He’s not,” I say distractedly.
“He’s not . . . ?” Anneke asks.
“Breaking the covenant. I remain tragically unfucked.”
There’s sudden tension in his bare back, the trip of a heartbeat that I can detect only because I’m in his space, touching him. A tic of his jaw.
Ah. So youwerehoping I wouldn’t find out.“Tip your chin up, Koen— perfect.” I swipe the razor down the column of his throat and run my fingers over his skin, pleased with the smooth slip. Koen didn’t have any shaving cream, so I’m using a blend of soap and conditioner. I take a short moment to admire my handiwork, and then smile at Anneke. “He’s not madly in love with me, either. Honestly, he barely even talks to me.”
“And yet he lets you brandish a weapon around his neck.”
