“You’re just stuck with her because she’s . . .”
“Because she’s what?” Boden seems to have found his limit. The one thing he isn’t willing to bring up. “Come on,” Koen urges calmly. “Say it. What is she?”
“Your mate.”
“Ah, yes. I’d forgotten about that.” Koen slaps his own temple with the heel of his palm. He continues, monotone, “Since you’re so sure that everyone here despises her, including me, let this be known: fuck with my mate, and I’m going to kill you so slowly, draw it out so long, tectonic plates will move and create whole new mountain ranges. And when the rest of your family comes to avenge you, I’ll do the same to them. And if your friends come, I’m not going to fucking stop. Not even if all that’s left of the pack is me and her. I will paint this entire territory green before I let anyone in the pack spill a single drop of red. Okay?”
My belly swoops with liquid warmth. Boden’s fist clutches so tight, I brace for an attack.
But next to me, Koen never tenses. Like he knew from the very start of this conversation that Boden would eventually hang his head and say, “Yes, Alpha.”
“Good.” He clasps the boy’s shoulder with a grin. “Now get out of my kitchen and go put product in your hair, or whatever the fuck it is that you do in your spare time.”
Koen wraps his entire arm around my shoulder, the heel of his open hand bouncing loosely on my chest, and pulls me into him. It’s less a gesture of affection and more of a statement, so I don’t take it personally. But neither do I break away the second Boden disappears. Koen’s heat is like . . . like thermal water. Like one of those pillow chairs Misery loves, the ones that are terrible for your posture. Something to sink into.
“That sounded mean,” I say softly.
“Yeah. Unfortunately, I am mean.” He says it like he couldn’t care less but feels like he should. Kind of endearing. “And no one’s touching you on my watch.”
“Noted.” I clear my throat. Because my heart is beating in it. Koen is just . . . very, very close. And his touch, unlike everyone else’s, doesn’t make me want to fling myself down a scarp. “That was some intense stuff. I’m . . . flattered.”
“Don’t be. The threats were highly embellished, and less about you than about keeping pack assholes in line.”
“Right, yeah.” It’s not disappointment, the bitter taste in the back of my throat. Or, not precisely. “I figured.”
He pulls away, and my body wants to follow him. Since I can’t, I once again try to hoist myself onto the counter. Once again, his hands find my hips and settle me on the surface.
This time, they linger.
A ravenous, whiny little thing starts beating deep inside of me. “Is Boden going to be the next Alpha?” I ask to distract myself.
“I doubt it. There are a handful of young pack members that are as dominant as he is and don’t even behave like skid marks on the thong of the universe.”
Koen’s still . . . not too close, but not far, either. Warmth flares into something liquid as I stare up at him. The beard, the long hair, they don’t just hide his good looks- they are a mask of sorts. It’s impossible to tell how he truly feels about anything.
A lock has escaped the infamous topknot, so I reach up and push it from his forehead. “Does it worry you? That you could be challenged at any time?” Misery has given me a very graphic rundown of how Weres become Alphas, which involves physical duels that often end in death. It’s possible that she was just being dramatic, but she heavily implied the presence of cartoon fight clouds, torrents of blood, and confetti made out of skin flying about. “That one day a new Alpha will come along and try to take all of this away from you?”
He laughs softly. “Killer, none of this is mine to be taken. An Alpha doesn’t own a pack, and whoever tells you otherwise has no business overseeing a gas station toilet, let alone thousands of Weres. It’s the opposite: the pack owns the Alpha like it would a tool, and if a newer, better tool shows up, I’ll gladly step down.” There is no resentment in his tone.
“You don’t hate it, do you?”
“What?”
“Being Alpha.”
He cocks his head. “Why do you sound surprised?”
“I don’t know. I guess Lowe seems to feel much more conflicted about his Alpha status.”
“Lowe had a whole other life planned. He is a trained architect. I only know how to be an Alpha. As demonstrated by the fact that when he brought me to a museum, I sat on a sculpture that cost more than the gross domestic product of most packs.”
“Why?”
“Because it looked like a fucking chair.” I laugh, and it makes his mouth twitch upward in a curve that is so . . . so charming, I need to trace it. But then he continues, “Alpha is all I’ve ever been, and all I’ll ever be.”
“What about after?”
“There might not be an after. But if there is . . . I guess I’ll find a hobby.”
“What hobby?”
“No clue. I’ll have to figure it out.”
A sudden, stupid idea pops into my head. I hold out my fists and say, “Pick one.”
“Not this fucking game again.”
“Pick one,” I insist, more forcefully. He sighs like I’m forcing him to muck a stable and points to my right hand- thank God. I don’t know what his reaction to me gifting him an online architecture class would have been. “I’ll teach you how to play the piano.”
His brow furrows. “You can play?”
“Of course. The Collateral and her companion are well-rounded young ladies. Honestly, Misery was so terrible at it, I felt bad for our tutor.” I pretend to shudder. “I’ll give you lessons, and you’ll have a hobby that’s not, you know, just standing there and being tall and imposing and
Alpha.”
“Can’t you just play something for me?”
“But that won’t make you a well-rounded young lady.” His laughter is a groan. “Plus, I need to earn my keep, and it’s not like I can defrost your freezer. Come on, I can teach you a chord every day.” I hop down from the counter, wrap my hand around two of Koen’s fingers, and pull him toward his bedroom. We get a couple of curious looks on our way, but I ignore them, and so does he. It’s not like I’m planning to ravish him in the closet, anyway. I just want to . . .
“Sit,” I order once we’re in front of the piano, and despite his usual overburdened sigh, he obeys. The door remains wide open. Chatter and laughter seep in from all around us.
Back at the Collateral mansion, the piano came with a little bench that could house two. Koen’s just has a round stool that is not wide enough for the both of us. “Hang on.” I glance around. This is going to be a problem, considering his strained relationship with sittable furniture. “Let me drag another chair- “
Before I can go in search of one, he tugs at my wrist and pulls me between his knees. My ass hits the hard muscles of his quads none too gently, and his left arm loops around my hips, the back of his hand resting on the upper part of my left thigh. He angles me so that my legs occupy the slice of space between his.
“Let’s just get this over with,” he grumbles, low against my ear. My heart skips around for a minute, and there is no way he misses it, but . . .
Okay. Sure. Fine. Just one chord. He picked it. He won it, fair and square. “Any objection to C major?”
“Nope.”
“Cool.” I swallow. Take his right hand in both of mine and gently splay his fingers- thumb, index, ring. “Here,” I whisper, and they seem to fall on the white keys instinctively, almost too easily. Maybe someone else tried to teach him how to play in the past? Maybe there is some knowledge of the basics, deep in the recesses of his brain? “Now, you just press- like this. Yeah.” The simple chord rises up, enveloping us. “You did it. Look at you.”
I grin wide, lift my eyes to meet his, and find that he’s already staring at me, black eyed and voracious.
“Look at you,” he says. At least, I think so. I could have imagined it, because it’s little more than a whispered growl, quickly followed by a much lighter question. “Now what?” he asks.
I take a deep breath. “Now you just, um . . . I don’t know. Repeat the chord over and over, and play the most boring song in history?”
His eyebrow lifts. “I think I’ll do that. It’s what my roommate deserves.”
I snort and watch him hit the C chord ten more times in quick succession, his this is what you get look boring into me and making me laugh even harder. I’m so busy being amused, it takes me a second to realize that his left hand, the one on my thigh, is moving, too.
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