Mate (Bride, #2) (7)

“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 a strong objection.

In all fairness, a one-on- one with a possible nutjob who wants me to become his mail-order bride does seem 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 need anything,” Lowe says gruffly before turning on his heel, an invite interestingly directed at both me and Koen.

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 a major 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 me and of 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.

“So.” I run my tongue against the back of my teeth. “Love at first sight, huh?”

Koen winces. “Not quite. Lowe’s a bit of a romantic.”

“Oh?”

“A side effect of all that decency, probably. Colors his perception of the world.”

“But your perception is unmarred. Because you’re not decent?”

He doesn’t reply, but he smells like he agrees. “What’s happening here has very little to do with loving or liking, Serena.”

“What does it have to do with, then?”

A beat. His lips curve. “Really?”

I stare at him, stumped.

“Oh, killer. I’m happy to spell it out for you, if you need me to.”

“I do need you to. Like I’m five, preferably.”

“Not sure I can make it anything under NC-17.”

“What do you— ooh.” My cheeks flood with heat. After gawking owl-eyed at Koen for a long stretch, I realize that I’m clutching my chest like a Victorian governess and abruptly let go.

“I . . .” I shake my head, not wanting to come across as some sex-ed-deprived orphan who thinks that childbirth occurs when nose boogers reach critical mass.

I’m not. Although I used to be, in my teens. Misery was the Vampyre Collateral, obligated to live among Humans, to be killed if the Vampyres violated the rules of the ceasefire between the two species. I was her companion— an orphan randomly selected to be her friend and make sure that she wouldn’t get too lonely (something no one gave a shit about) or too disruptive (something everyone was scared shitless of). Except that the Randomly Selected Human Orphan turned out to be more like the Purposefully Chosen Human-Were Hybrid Who Needed to Be Kept Under Surveillance by the Vampyres to Prevent the World from Finding Out That Humans and Weres Are Actually Reproductively Compatible and Might Therefore Decide to Not Hate Each Other or Even Form Alliances Against the Vampyres.

Plot twist.

But at the time, no one knew that. Back then, my entire value was exclusively reflected in Misery. My education hinged on hers. And since no one was certified to teach reproductive anatomy to a Vampyre, I didn’t get sex ed, either.

Once we got out, though, we had unlimited access to the internet and dates and boyfriends. And, of course, sex.

Except, that was a lifetime ago. A handful of years that might as well be entire geologic eras. Back then, I was Human. I wasn’t terrified of the full moon, or of what color my blood would spill if I cut myself. Once I began to realize that there was something very, very wrong with me, the entire concept of sex became laughably trivial. At the beginning of my abduction, I was briefly concerned that it might be forced upon me. When that wasn’t the case, it was pleasantly forgotten.

And now here I am. Thinking about it. Sex is a giant winged dragon, stretching awake in my head.

“Can you . . .” I swallow. “These biological changes you mentioned.

Can you control yourself?”

The meaning takes a minute to sink in. When it does, I half expect Koen to resent my question, but there’s no trace of defensiveness in his firm

“Always.”

It makes it easier to believe him. “So, basically, you just want to . . . ?”

“Correct.” He nods casually. Yes, I would love a cup of Earl Grey. Yes, I’ll respond to a brief survey in exchange for a ten percent discount on my purchase. Yes, I do want to f—