Текст книги "Mate"

Автор книги: Ali Hazelwood

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Текущая страница: 25 (всего у книги 26 страниц)

EPILOGUE

HE MANAGES TO HOLD IT TOGETHER FOR A LITTLE OVER SIX weeks.

As feats go, this one is so Herculean, so strenuous, so immensely exacting, Koen is certain that it’ll make up for every single shitty thing he’s done during his wretched, questionable life. He is able to control his instincts and deny himself the one thing he wants with an all-consuming, ferocious, overwhelming passion. That, if nothing else, will guarantee him a place in his particular brand of Were heaven.

Which, he’s come to realize, requires only one single thing: Serena.

“ARE YOU BORED YET?” SHE ASKS HIM A MONTH OR SO AFTER MOVING in for good. It’s an absurd question. And yet, in a rational, detached sort of way, Koen understands what she’s getting at.

They had a rocky start. The near murders and the kidnappings and that other bullshit. The medical scares. The fact that he had to push her away over and over, even as keeping his distance tore him apart. Bottom line, their first few months were very eventful. Compared to all that, the last few weeks have been strikingly low stakes.

They wake up in the morning. He leaves for his job. She does hers– remote, for Karolina, something about money or stocks that reminds Koen every day how much smarter than him she is and fills him with glowing, besotted pride. He returns home. The end.

Taken at face value, it does seem boring. But there’s so much hidden in the crevices of their daily rhythm, Koen can’t imagine ever finding his time spent with her anything less than thrilling. Not that he’d be caught dead admitting it to anyone, but he’s just fucking . . . enamored, that’s the word. The way she needs to be coaxed out of bed with tea and kisses in the morning. Her unabashed joy at discovering every corner of their territory. The fact that every mundane little action feels new and shimmery and magic when she’s around.

And yeah, it’s ordinary stuff. Boring, he supposes. She sits in his shop doing her crosswords while he builds her more goddamned chairs. She makes him buy her a TV and forces him to watch stupid Human movies she grew up with, and it’s just not plausible, that the twins came back from camp having switched places and the parents did not immediately figure it out from their scents. She chatters and mumbles to herself and tells him things, all sorts of things, funny and serious, big and small, and the more she talks, the more he wants to do nothing but listen to her. She asks him to play the piano for her, so he finds some Bach sheet music. She wants to go on runs, and that’s when he takes her to his favorite places, deep in the belly of the forest. She cooks, and that’s– he’s so fucking lucky. Especially because when she doesn’t feel like it, when he hunts small game for her and drops it by her feet, tail wagging and tongue lolling out expectantly, she also acts happy and satisfied and pleased with him. Alpha instinct doesn’t normally concern itself with external approval, but Serena . . . she feels like another part of him.

His heart, in another body.

“Are you bored?” he asks her, instead of replying. They’re on the porch, and she’s brushing the wolf dog with some de– shedding tool she bought online. He now sports a collar, equipped with a heart-shaped charm that sparklingly proclaims: Twinkles. Koen keeps expecting to see betrayal in the beast’s eyes, but he seems genuinely happy to have been domesticated and bedazzled.

Koen can relate.

“No,” Serena tells him. “No. I’m not. This is everything I’ve ever . . . It’s just, you’re an Alpha. Maybe you like adventure?”

To him, it feels like an adventure. This. Them. Waking up every morning wondering if he’ll survive the intensity of his feelings for her. Seems unlikely, and yet. He always makes it to the night. “I’m good,” he simply says.

“Okay. As long as you don’t mind.” Another swipe of the brush. “The whole boring, married routine.” Her teeth bite fussily into her lower lip. She is so enchantingly beautiful, sometimes Koen loses track of time and space. Sometimes he finds himself wanting to snarl at other people for looking at her. He’s going to have to work on that. “As long as you don’t change your mind,” she adds.

Koen doesn’t immediately follow, too taken by the soft curve of her neck as she folds her hair behind the delicate shell of an ear. He considers asking Change my mind on what? When it finally occurs to him what she’s talking about, he takes the brush from her hand and pulls her into his lap.

To kiss her in the least bored way he’s capable of.

HE HAS WANTED IT FROM THE MOMENT HE FIRST SAW HER IN Lowe’s living room, on her knees to receive Ana’s hug, her hair pinned up and her expression sad. That is to say: he has wanted it for a long time, but now he aches for it. He itches.

He might even need it.

“She might not know that it’s a thing,” Saul says after Koen almost snaps his spine in two during play-fight.

“She does know,” Koen mumbles.

“How can you be so– ”

“I told her.”

“Did you tell her what a mating bite is?” Amanda asks, as obnoxiously shrewd as always. “Or did you tell her that you specifically want to bite her to finally seal the mating ritual, and that restraining yourself is driving you banana pants?”

Koen glares. “She was fucking Human until three hours ago. The decent thing to do is let her get used to being a Were before I mangle her with my meat-mincing jaws and leave a scar, for my own personal pleasure.”

“The former, huh?” Amanda smirks knowingly. “Did you explain to her the immense peace of mind the bite would give you?”

“How would that not be pressuring her?”

“The thing is,” Saul points out, “I understand wanting to give her space, but until you bite her you’ll be sullen and ill-tempered and crusty. I bet Serena’s not enjoying it very much, either.”

“Oh, come on, Saul. Be for fucking real,” Amanda scoffs. “Koen’s crusty with us, not with her.”

That’s correct. Because when he’s with Serena, he’s in a great fucking mood. When he’s with her, she’s his. And it doesn’t matter that he hasn’t bitten her yet, because her soft throat is just inches away, because she smells like she needs nothing else but him, because she has the unspeakable ability to turn him into a creature of patience and bliss and repose.

The problem . . . well, the problems mostly occur when she’s not around. Six weeks after all that shit with the Favored went down, for instance. When he’s in Human territory for a three-day work trip. The purpose is, ostensibly, to help the Humans figure out what to do with the bunch of not-yet-deprogrammed cult members the Northwest just turned in to the authorities. Koen is a hairbreadth away from asking Lowe and Maddie why the fuck he had to come all the way here only to get roped into business that no longer has anything to do with his goddamn pack.

Until his patience runs out, and he growls, “Why the fuck did I have to come all the way here only to get roped into business that no longer has anything to do with my goddamn pack? I don’t give a shit about Humans. Give them therapy, or send them to rot at the bottom of a ditch, or put them on an all-inclusive cruise ship– just don’t involve me.”

Maddie’s eyebrow arches. “I would have thought you’d want to see with your own eyes the people who tried to invade your territory brought to justice.”

Lowe snorts, and Koen shoots him a Don’t you fucking dare glare.

Lowe, unfortunately, dares. “He’s mated now.”

“I’ve heard.” Maddie smiles. “I hope you and Serena are very happy.”

“At the moment I’m pretty fucking unhappy.” Because he’s here, and Serena is elsewhere. The months he spent away from her before were abominable, but Koen foolishly believed they’d taught him how to bear her absence. He’s starting to realize that might not be the case. He counts the hours and the minutes. He smells shadows of her scent in places she’s never set foot. He’s not a restless man. Why the hell can he not stop bouncing his leg, then?

It doesn’t help, that he doesn’t hear from her more often while he’s gone. He refuses to become the kind of person who sends little heart emoji texts every ten minutes, but by God, can’t Serena shoulder the burden of being the needy one? Can’t she blow up his fucking phone?

“How does Koen’s recent mating relate to his lack of interest in Were-Human relations?” Maddie asks Lowe, as if Koen weren’t in the same room.

“Indirectly. He misses Serena. Can’t be bothered with stuff that’s not her for long.”

“Has this been a long trip for him, then?”

“Nope. Two days.”

“Two and three-quarters,” Koen mutters.

Maddie ignores him. “Is that why he checks his phone every two minutes?”

“Yes,” Lowe says, just as Koen grunts morosely, “I have a Tetris addiction.”

“It’s complicated,” Lowe continues. “Being away from one’s mate. On many levels. And the fresher the mating, the more unpleasant the distance.” He looks like he knows from personal experience.

“Does it get better with time?” Maddie asks.

Lowe winces. “Not as far as I know. Although . . .”

“Don’t you fucking dare say it,” Koen growls.

Once again, Lowe dares. “There are things he could do that would make it more bearable.”

“And he isn’t doing them because . . . ?”

“Your guess is as good as mi– ”

Koen chucks his phone at Lowe and is proud of how squarely he hits his mouth.

So– yeah. Fine. He’ll need to bite Serena. Then there’ll be a tangible sign of the mating, this whole business will be complete, and the instinctual, feral part of him will be soothed. He’ll feel less like his world could explode for lack of her, less like absconding with her and tucking her in the trunk of a tree and keeping her as his precious, beautiful secret. He will bite her– the alternative is inconceivable– but first he’ll give her time. Space. A chance to settle.

Just be fucking patient, he snarls at himself. You’re not the center of the fucking world. She is.

But it feels like torture when he returns to her after three days (and three hours and twenty minutes) away. Serena’s with Twinkles, waiting for Koen on the cabin’s porch, but sprints toward him before he even slows down the car. He’s terrified he’ll run her over, so he parks right in the middle of the driveway, gets out of the vehicle, and lets her softening body slam against his when she throws herself into his arms.

She stretches up for a kiss, two, a million, but she’s too little and maybe too eager and clearly hasn’t planned this out, so he has to pick her up and slide his hands down to squeeze her thighs as she wraps her legs around him.

“Can you,” she says between kisses, “never”– kiss– “leave again?” Kiss. “Like, ever?” Kiss.

The only response he can manage is a groan. He breathes her in, nose buried into the gland at the base of her neck. Yeah, of course he’ll never leave again. He’ll do her one better: they’ll stay in his cabin forever. Brick up all entrances. Sounds like a pretty fucking good deal.

He’d love to be a gentleman for once– carry her inside, give her the snacks he brought back from Human territory for her, ask how her week at work went, tell her that he missed her and– God, the banality of it sounds outrageously enticing. Problem is, it doesn’t go like that. Koen can rarely stay on task when it comes to Serena, which is his fault, his weakness, yeah, sure, but it doesn’t help that her scent is phenomenal, or that she no longer smells as intensely his as when he left. Not to mention, he apparently does require sex in quantities and frequencies that are . . . humbling. And he won’t be able to let go of her until he’s certain that she’s unharmed and whole, because that’s the bottom line: he doesn’t really trust the world to treat her right if he’s not around. She’s simply too beautiful.

Koen wishes he could help himself, but that’s not the case. She’s pliable in his arms, and the couch is enticingly horizontal, and at least he manages to kick the door shut behind him before laying her down and pulling at her shirt so hard that– “Fuck”– the neckline tears. He should be sorry, but now he has full access to her tits, and maybe the universe is a good, just place after all.

“I think,” he pants against her ear, ragged, “you should just start coming on these trips with me.” His hands are trembling. He wants her too much.

“I missed you,” she says instead of yes, licking the gland under his jaw, and he doesn’t bother telling her that he missed her back, because it feels so fucking redundant when he’s trying to inhale her.

“Serena,” he mouths against her temple. It really is terrible mate behavior, fucking his partner before even saying hello, but she’s squirming underneath him, and the friction is unfuckingbelievable, and he can’t control himself. Maybe she can’t, either, and that is when it happens.

The most life-changing event he’ll ever experience.

It almost feels like a miscalculation on her part. Because one moment she’s kissing and sucking his gland, and the next her teeth sink into the skin of his neck.

The pleasure is as stupefying as it is annihilating. He doesn’t come in his pants, but it’s a close thing. The only reason he’s able to stop himself is that the world grinds to a halt. For several seconds, it doesn’t spin. Koen and Serena stay like that, still, tethered by her bite, for long moments. And then . . .

Then she pulls away. She licks her lips, and he discovers that they are dark.

With his goddamn blood.

This time he does come a little bit.

For a few seconds, Serena’s eyes are full wolf. Then they transition back to human, still that beautiful, rich brown he fell for, and she’s with him once again, present, aware, and—

She blinks. “Holy shit. Did I . . . ?”

Yeah.

“Oh my God. I bit you?”

She did. She fucking did. Koen is inordinately proud of her. How deep her little teeth got. The sharp blades of her canines. It even hurt a little. Okay, not really, but he felt her seize the inside of his soul.

She owns him. It’s official.

“I’m so sorry. I– I didn’t mean to. I was just– I’ve been thinking about you and I . . . I’ve been having these dreams and– I got carried away. Your neck was right there and . . . Oh my God. Are you okay?” She seems highly alarmed. “Is it going to stick? Leave a scar?”

Nothing has ever given Koen more joy than being able to tell her, “Oh, yeah.”

“Are you sure?”

He doesn’t have much experience with it, but . . . it damn better. He hopes it’ll be twisted. In relief. Beautiful in its own ugly way. He hopes it’ll be a mess of thick, ropy lines that no one can pretend not to see. He’s hers. He always was, but now she has claimed him, and he’s going to rub it in everyone’s fucking face until they plead with him to stop, and even then, he will not. Instead, he’ll beg her for another one. On the wrist, maybe, so that he can look at it every second of every day. On both wrists. Why not? How many mating scars is too many? Frankly, whoever said that less is more was—

“I’m so sorry. I probably should have asked if– ”

A deep sound snaps out of his throat. No. There was no need for that. The thought is so ridiculous, he decides to focus on something else.

Like taking off her pants.

“Koen? Are you okay with me having done that?”

He’s dazed. Overwhelmed in the best possible away. He truly is not sure how to communicate to her that he’s never been harder, happier, and more certain of the existence of a benevolent God than he is right now. “Yeah,” he grunts.

“Okay. Good. I . . . Good.” There is some blood trickling down the column of his throat, because she butchered his gland. He feels her arch up to lick it, and—

Perfection. His mate is perfect. He’ll massacre whoever tries to take her from him, of course.

She smiles at him, and he smiles back as she asks, “Would it be okay if . . . ?”

He stops what he’s doing– trying to get inside her– and looks up. Waits for her request, whatever it may be, even though he already knows that his answer is going to be yes. It’s not like he’s ever going to deny her anything. He has tried and always, always failed. “Yeah?”

“If you . . .” She’s flushing a little. Her pretty pink cheeks– such a weird fucking color, and yet so enchanting.

“What?”

“Um, do you maybe want to bite me, too?”

That’s when Koen passes out for a minute. At least, he thinks so. His vision blacks out, and sound recedes. He’s suspended in nothing. Then, when he comes to, she’s still soft underneath him, and clearly in the middle of a little speech.

“. . . did it to you, so it would be only, you know, fair. And you said, a few weeks ago, that you wanted to bite me, too . . .” The cheeks– now that he’s regained his eyesight, he can tell that they’re even pinker. He thinks that he might come again just from looking at them.

And then the true meaning of her words sinks in.

“You asked me to bite you,” he rasps out.

She nods quickly.

“The mating bite.”

More nodding.

“Mine.”

Nod.

“On you.”

“You never really brought it up again. I was wondering if it was something I did, or– ”

“I was fucking– ” A deep, growly, unspeakable sound rises from deep in his chest. Koen had not known he was capable of that. “I was giving you space.”

She frowns. “What?”

“I was being a patient, considerate, respectful, non-intrusive, accommodating mate. I was trying to– ”

“Koen, you are the most intrusive mate ever. You never stop staring at me when we’re in the same room, you wake me up to have sex in the middle of the night, you keep tearing my clothes, and you want to be with me every second you’re not gone on pack business. You’re not really the space-giving kind of partner, and– ”

“I’m trying. I could be way fucking worse.”

“– and I’m not complaining, because I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

He swallows. Works his jaw. “You’ve been through some shit. And I’m trying hard to seem more . . . evolved than I actually am.”

She stares up at him with so much pity, he knows how miserably he has failed.

“I assumed,” he continues, “that you didn’t want me to shred your skin and make you bleed and scar you purely for my own sexual thrill, and– ”

“Koen. My love.” Her hand comes up to cup his face. She’s clearly holding in laughter. “Could you please shred my skin and make me bleed and leave a scar purely for your own sexual thri– ”

The force with which he flips Serena onto her belly is not evolved, nor is the way he tugs at the thick hair at the nape of her neck. The thing is, it’s in the way. So is her underwear, which means that he has to tear it off, and– okay, maybe Serena has a point.

Koen enters her quickly, maybe too deep and too soon, no time for adjusting, but she can take everything he dishes out. He hears her gasp and regains a smidge of control, trying for slow, unhurried thrusts, somewhat managing. His knot is already pulsating, starting to inflate, pressing against the tight walls of her cunt. She’s warm inside, glowing with heat.

He would die for her, and he would kill for her. More importantly, he will live for her. She’ll be the purpose driving every second of his every day.

“I’m going to do it,” he says, licking up her spine, a promise. She’s already nodding, arching back into him, and when he opens his mouth, the skin of her gland is soft under his tongue, under the scrape of his teeth. “I’m going to mark you,” he tells her, because that’s what this is about, and he wants to make it clear.

She doesn’t reply. But he feels her come, clenching around his growing knot. When he can’t wait any longer, his teeth cut into her supple flesh. The iron tang of her blood is strong and sweet.

It tastes, Koen thinks, like forever should.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

To start, I would like to acknowledge James Cameron: thank you, my good sir, for picking up Battle Angel Alita and changing the course of history.

Second (but really first), thanks to every one of you who read Bride. It was a departure from my previous books, and a bit of a gamble. As I was writing it, I knew that I wanted to give Serena a much-deserved happy ending, and it’s your support that made Mate possible. Once again, thank you for embracing the knot.

Many thanks, as usual, to: Thao Le, my agent; Sarah Blumenstock, my editor, and Liz Sellers, her assistant (and Cindy Hwang, her editor-mother); Kristin Cipolla, Tara O’Connor, Bridget O’Toole, and Kim-Salina I, for marketing and publicity; Jennifer Myers, my production editor; Christine Legon, my managing editor; Janice Lee, my copyeditor; my proofreader; Megha Jain, my cold reader; Daniel Brount, my interior designer; lilithsaur, for the best cover illustration; and Vikki Chu, for the cover design.

Also, my undying thanks to Claire, for being my cult consultant. To Jen, for making me write the bitey epilogue. To Alison, Becca, Christina, Danelle, Lauren, Leslie, Paola, Stephanie, and Susan, for immediately clocking the boobs situation at the Meet Cute dinner. To my family, and to all the people who I am lucky to call friends.

But above all: thank you, Dr. James Francis Cameron. The world is a better place because of you.