Mate (Bride, #2) (58)

“Is the rest of the Assembly going to be balls deep up my ass?”

“Not Conan— you know how little he likes the covenant. Jerzy, maybe.

He’s busy dealing with the Canada pack, though.”

“He knows my offer for help stands, right?”

“Of course.” Karolina turns to me. “Serena, let me introduce myself properly. I am the leader of the Moon Craters huddle. Saul, whom I believe you know, is my younger brother.”

“Nice to meet you,” I say.

“After all of this is over,” she asks, “where do you plan to go?”

Rotting down a dark hole, preferably inside a mushroom death suit is not an acceptable answer, is it? “My sister lives in the Southwest.”

“Ah, yes. The Vampyre? Well, should you change your mind, you are welcome in our huddle. You were a financial reporter, right?”

“Before. Yes.”

“We’ve been doing more and more business with the Humans. We could use someone with your background.”

“Oh. That’s really cool. I . . . I’ll give it a think,” I say, somewhat sad that it’s a lie. I try to camouflage it with a smile. “I’m sure I’d thrive there. I mean, I get along with you and Saul. It’s gotta be a sign.”

“It’s not a sign,” Koen declares flatly. “It’s fucking poaching.”

Karolina laughs, reaches forward to exchange a long hug with Koen, and then leaves as I yell after her, “Please, do share with the pack newsletter about my excellent work as Koen’s personal groomer.” I turn around to receive what should be Koen’s undying gratitude but will likely be a giant load of crabbiness, and—

Suddenly, I cannot breathe.

Because I didn’t expect him to be standing so close to me. But also, clean shaven and without his hair hiding his features, he seems younger.

Less moody. His face feels so . . . open. Direct. Available. Like maybe, if I applied myself, I could tell what he’s thinking half of the time. There could be room for me, in the life of a man with that face.

“Hey,” I say.

His nostrils work. “Hey, killer.”

I clear my throat. “You look so much more dignified, now that I’ve de-shed you. Cuter, too. Just like that hot guy. From that movie.”

“What movie?”

“All of them.” I wet my lips. Look down at my toes.

“Serena.” There is something in his tone, something that I refuse to contemplate, something I need to cover up quickly.

“By the way.” It comes out shrill. I don’t care. “I know you have a job and everything. You don’t have to stick around with me all day, if there’s something else you need to be doing.”

“The bowling league will wait. We’re going out.”

“Where?”

“I had an idea.” He dusts hairs off his pecs. I really wouldn’t mind it if he put on some clothes. “Well, Brenna had an idea, but if it works, I’ll pass it off as mine.”

“An idea for . . . ?”

“Figuring you out.”

“I love it when you talk about me like I’m the ultimate escape room.

Tell me more.”

“You’ll see when we get there. Give me five to shower.” He heads for his room. Stops. “And, killer?”

“What?”

“Tuck that T-shirt in your pants. It’ll look less like it’s mine.”





CHAPTER 18

He wants to show her every corner of his territory. The deep blue lakes and the snow-capped peaks. Moss-draped trees and rock spires. He wants to be with her for each marveled intake of breath.

THE DRIVE LASTS ABOUT HALF AN HOUR, ONCE AGAIN ALONG the jagged coast. Koen spends most of it on the phone with a dozen different people, discussing pack matters that seem to range from crop rotation to solar power to children’s swimming lessons.

I listen to him talking a group of teachers out of taking a shit on their principal’s desk and wonder if all Alphas are this intimately involved with the goings-on of their packs. Why am I surprised that Koen is this good at this job?

We park in front of a red-roofed farmhouse that looks like something I once saw on a postcard. “No way.” I once again paste my face to the window. “This place is unreal.”

“Of course it is. It’s my territory.”

“I still don’t think you can take credit for that.” I laugh. “Look— they have cows!”

“If I’d known what a fan of livestock manure you are, I’d have— ”

I ignore him and exit the car right as a young man comes toward us. His mop of dark curls is swept around by the wind, and his frame is slight, especially for a Were. “Dr. Sem Caine,” Koen explains after they exchange a hug.

My stomach drops. Did Koen find out? Does he know that I’m about to

—

“Don’t worry,” Sem says. “You’re not here as a patient. In fact, you’re not even here to see me.”

The reason we came, I discover after we step inside, is Sem’s grandfather— “Dr. Silas Caine,” Koen explains. “Dr. Silas is one of the elders of the pack, and he used to specialize in pediatrics. Any boy or girl who was born in the Northwest in the last sixty years was examined by him at some point.”