Page 8 of Mate
His once-over is skeptical. “You’re what? Five feet?”
“I’m two and a half inches over that. And for your information, the other day these stubby little legs butchered several Vampyres.”
“Look at you go, killer.”
“Guys.” Lowe’s voice startles me. I forgot he was there. “We should get back to the matter at hand.”
Koen and I exchange a briefCan you believe this narc?glance.
“I think that part of the conversation is over,” Koen says, pushing nonchalantly away from the doorway. “She’s been informed. She understands. We can all resume our normal activities, such as running packs, or”— he glances at my laptop— “boycotting power outlets.”
I stave off a smile. “I forgetone timeand— ”
“Serena.” Lowe. Interrupting again. “Do youreallyunderstand what it means?” The urgency in his tone is a confusing contrast to Koen’s indifference.
And then the full impact of it slams into me.
No, Idon’tunderstand. Because I haven’t even stopped toconsiderit. “Is it . . . Does it mean that he . . .” On the mate thing, Misery was light on the specifics. And it’s not as though Lowe unburdens his secret heart to me. “Does it mean that he likes me?”
“Yes,” Lowe says— which perfectly covers Koen’s “No.”
I frown. “Wow. This is bringing me lots of clarity. Thanks, guys.”
Lowe glares at Koen, who’s sporting a shit-eating grin. “Look, I’m sure you’re a very likable person. It’s not what this is about, though.”
“Whatisit about?”
Lowe massaged the bridge of his nose. “For a Were, finding a mate triggers a chain of physiological changes. Misery compared it to falling in love at first sight, and there’s some truth to that, but— ”
“I’m sorry.” I cut in. “Could you leave the two of us alone?” I’m looking at Koen, but the question is for Lowe— whose concerned scent signals astrongobjection.
In all fairness, a one- on- one with a possible nutjob who wants me to become his mail-order bridedoesseem like a terrible idea. But I suspect that if Koen wanted to hurt me, he could do it whether Lowe was babysitting us or not.
More importantly: I suspect that Koen has no interest in doing any of that.
“Please,” I add calmly.
In response to Lowe’s searching gaze, Koen nods. Once.
“Call if you needanything,” Lowe says gruffly before turning on his heel, an invite interestingly directed at both meandKoen.
Then we’re alone. Somehow, my stomach feels ten pounds lighter. Weird. “Will you come in, please? And, ah, sit down.”
He does, no questions asked— kneeling briefly to plug my damn charger into the damn socket. I pretend not to see it, and close the door.
Koen slouches lazily on the chair next to mine, almost too relaxed, a large apex predator examining its quarry. Like we’re about to discuss the new garbage collection schedule, and not amajor psychosocial milestone in the life of a Were. Maybe this mate business isn’t that big of a deal?
“Lowe seems . . .” I return to my chair. Run my palms down the legs of my sweats. “Very protective. Of meandof you, I think.”
“Isn’t he fucking adorable?” Koen’s tone is pure fondness. “Always been like that, since before his balls dropped. Best Were I’ve ever met.”
I smile. “I’m glad Misery is in good hands.”
“And vice versa.”
I tilt my head. “It doesn’t bother you that she’s a Vampyre?”
“They obviously care for each other.” He sounds as though nothing else would ever factor into his approval, which I find very endearing.
