Mate (Bride, #2) (44)

“Cool. I’ll be in charge of buying your— ”

“Unicorn waffles. Look at you, holding on to jokes like your life depends on it.”

It’s what I’ve got, I think. I lean back against the headrest, roll my chin up to look at him. “Thank you for— ” I immediately start laughing when he begins to protest.

“I told you to— ”

“Come on.”

“— just dust the goddamn fixtures— ”

“Listen, just . . .” I rub my eyes. He immediately falls quiet. “Do you think the Vampyres know I’m here by now?”

“I’m certain.”

I tilt my head. “Are you ever not?”

“Not what?”

“Certain. Are you ever insecure?”

“Not really, no.”

“Is it an Alpha thing?”

He shrugs. No. I think it means It’s a me thing. You’re welcome. The conversation pulls a little laugh out of my mouth, even though it never even happened. What a florid internal life I have.

“Well,” I say, “here’s hoping that it’ll rub off.”

He shakes his head and reaches out to me. His rough, warm fingers push a few strands of hair behind my ears, and heat glows in my belly. Up my spine. Zaps at my brain, like a lightbulb turning on.

It’s an odd thing for Koen to do. It surprises him as much as it does me, I think, but he doesn’t pull back. It’s like the rest of the world has taken a break from existing. It’s just us.

“Actually,” I whisper. “I had an idea. To show the gratitude I cannot verbalize.”

“We already discussed it.” His voice is a low murmur, too. “Dusting.”

“The problem is, you do not own a duster. You barely own fixtures.”

“I’ll buy more useless shit. To keep you busy.”

“No, I was thinking, what about . . .” It’s my turn to reach out, and he’s obviously not used to this— to people, to me, initiating physical contact.

Guess that’s what happens when you’re the predator at the apex. Not a lot of spontaneity and liberties taken.

But he doesn’t jerk back when I tug at a wisp of hair brushing against his neck. “What if I fix this mess? Give you a makeover.”

“A what, now?”

“You know. The issue we discussed with Carter. The one where you look like a medieval peasant who’s about to die of the whooping cough. I’m a pro.” I might be coming undone. Or maybe some very dumb spirit has possessed me, because I let my wrist drag against the skin at the base of his throat, as if to . . . as if to rub off on him? More, my instinct screams at me.

More. Make him smell like you. But Koen’s breathing speeds up, and he twists his head away after shuddering in something that could very well be revulsion. I force my arm to retreat. Clear my throat. “At the very least, I’m a very experienced amateur. Misery had a mullet phase.”

“Uh-huh.” He sounds raspy. “Was that before or after she scrambled your brain?”

“During, probably.” When did he start the car? It’s hard to think in here.

My brain feels fuzzy. “Anyway, I can do you, too.”

He winces. Runs a hand down his face. “Do you even fucking hear yourself?”

“And I can shave you! I mean, I used to shave my legs, back when I made an effort to look presentable. All the time. Well, not all the time, just before dates, but I’ve never nicked an artery. That I know of.”

“Reassuring,” he grumbles, putting down the window. Fresh air blows inside the car, and we both take deep breaths. I feel instantly more clearheaded.

“Please. Let me make you pretty.”

“I’m already pretty. I’m fucking stupendous.”

I sigh. “Oh, if only you could use suppositories to— ”

“To cure my malignant narcissism?”

How does he always know? “Listen— I just want to make you presentable. You said that you don’t have time to go get a haircut, but I’m already in your house, and you’re my live-in nanny. Think of the ease.”

“Has anyone told you that you’re kind of a nuisance, killer?”

“A guy. Once or ten times.” I grin. “But I could be so much worse.”

“I’ll take it as a threat.” The car stops. Somehow, we’re back at his cabin. Excellent awareness of your surroundings, Serena. “I have to go meet someone,” he tells me, taking the bags inside. The only thing left for me to carry is Ana’s unicorn headband, which is already shedding glitter around Koen’s trichromatic home.

“Who?”

“A friend. It’s about your necklace.”

“Ah. Have you discovered who dropped it off?”

“I have not, which is a problem in and of itself.”

“So it’s not . . . The mother thing . . . ?”

He sighs. “I don’t know yet. I’ll be back in a few hours. If anything weird happens, anything, call my phone. And yell. Amanda is watching the northeast, and Colin the southwest.”

“What about attacks from above?” I tease. There are no chairs in the kitchen, so I try to lift myself onto the counter, but it’s too tall. “No werestork second on air patrol?”