His eyes darken. Panic prickles up my spine.

“I’ll be right back. Give me a sec,” I plead, turning around and starting down the hallway as fast as I can.

“Serena.” His voice is so harsh, my entire body clenches.

I freeze in place. After a long moment, turn around. “W- what?”

“Don’t run.”

I swallow thickly. “I . . . Why?”

“Walk slowly to the washing machine and get rid of the clothes.” His voice pins me to the ground. Something builds in my belly. “Do not make me chase after you.”

I have no idea why he’s asking that from me, but I do as he commands: calmly make my way down the hallway until I’m in the mudroom, watching the flannel sink into a pool of soapy water. I take a deep breath before heading back, but when I return, Koen is right where I left him, clearly unwilling or unable to move.

Neither of us mentions the exchange that just occurred— a silent, shared agreement to pretend that nothing happened. Instead, I grab the coffee from the counter and hand it to him until he accepts it with a muted grunt. His eyes don’t leave mine until he tips his head back to drink.

I can’t help staring at the bob of his Adam’s apple through his unshaven neck. The breadth of his body, muscles working under scarred, imperfect skin. The thick outline of him. His shoulders and back strain when he sees me watching; they don’t relax even as I smile.

It’s focus stealing, the way he looks. But most Weres are built this way, and the reason I can’t tear my eyes away from this one has more to do with the fact that . . .

He’s Koen.

He manages entire conversations in low growls. He can tell that I’m about to make fun of him before I’ve even formulated the joke in my head. He disturbs the space that surrounds him, and mine with it. And his eyes are always searching mine, shaping me, trying to make sure I’m okay, and never asking anything of me.

I remember the disjointed, vague images I keep seeing in my dreams. Feel the same liquid, low-pooling heat. Wonder how many fucking civil, criminal, moral, maritime laws I would break if I were to go and wrap my arms around him. Maybe say, Your tits are pretty spectacular, too.

“What?” he asks when I snort out a laugh, and I shake my head.

“How many packmates have you slaughtered on this fine morning?”

He mutters something about “whiny little shits,” and I try not to laugh.

“I made French toast. Want some?”

“I’m good.”

He didn’t eat any of the food I made last night, either. It stings, and I don’t know why.

“Where did Amanda go?” he asks.

“Just left. Sorry you missed her.”

“I’m not. I’m packmated out for the day.”

“It’s eight thirty in the morning, Koen.”

Your point? his look clearly asks. “Go get dressed,” he orders. “We’re going somewhere.”

I take a deep breath. Think about all the cruel little things he told me to push me away. About the big thing he neglected to tell me, the one that best explains the distance he’s been keeping. “Actually, we’re not. We’re staying in for a bit. And.” I glance at his shoulders. His biceps. The V of his stomach. “For what I have in mind, it’s better if you don’t get dressed.”

CHAPTER 17

The covenant was never a big part of his life. He would forget about it for months, even years. It never felt like a sacrifice, just a simple trade-off, an integral feature of who he was: the Alpha of the Northwest.

Then she arrived, assumed total control of him, and left no room for anything but her.

DON’T BE NERVOUS.”

“I’m not.”

“Koen. I know it’s been a while for you.”

“Just fucking get it over with.”

“What? No, that’s not how you do it. This is an experience.”

“Then make it a quick experience.”

“Why are you being like this? I’ll be gentle. Am I not gentle?”

“You mispronounced ‘annoying.’ ”

“Oh, come on. I’m having fun.”

“I wish I could say the feeling is mutual.”

“Should we put down a sheet or something? You’re making way more of a mess than I thought you would. Though I guess it’s normal, since it’s been so long.”

“If anyone’s making a mess, it’s you.”

“Hush. I’m doing this for you. The entire pack thinks you’re hopeless, but I’ll help you show them that— ”

The door bursts open, and Koen and I fall silent mid-haircut.

It’s very poor timing. I’m almost done with what will surely be known, postmortem, as Serena Paris’s most challenging and powerful artistic endeavor, but two women and a man are rudely letting themselves inside and interrupting my creative process.

“Does anyone ever knock?” I whisper.

“No, clearly. And I’m not sure what it is about me that says ‘make yourself at home.’ ” Koen glances down at the uncompromising bend of his own arms, folded on his bare chest. Then asks, louder, “Did someone install a fucking red carpet over my porch steps?”

“I must have missed it,” the man says. He is bald, with a long blond beard, thick-rimmed glasses, and a someone just dented my paint job frown.

“I’m not sure I feel comfortable knowing that my Alpha let some girl with scissors play around his throat,” the taller of the two women says, sounding just as irritated.

Koen shrugs. “Feel free to mull it over and never let me know, Anneke.”

“I think he looks good,” the other woman says, which I take as a much-needed compliment.

“Why, thank you.” I press one hand against my chest. “I do believe my muse is speaking to me.”

The woman’s laughter is low and musical. She’s much smaller than Anneke, and she looks a couple of years older than Koen. Unlike the other two newcomers, her stance is laid-back. She did not come here for a fight. “It was time for a change. Not that the depressed Viking cosplay wasn’t hot,” she tells Koen, who winces and massages his forehead.

“Is there a single fucking person in this godforsaken pack who does not have an opinion about my grooming habits?”

“No,” the three reply in unison, which gives me the boost I needed to continue shaving Koen’s beard.

“The reason we are here, Alpha,” the man starts, “is that— ”

“The pack newsletter let you know that I have a woman— my mate, no less— staying in my cabin as we wait for this new tide of murderous psychos to ebb, and you’re afraid I’m fucking her. Sound about right?”

Anneke and the man exchange surprised looks, but the older woman just smiles. I run my hand through Koen’s hair and tilt back his head until his neck is exposed. He follows my directions, pliant in my hands. “He’s not,” I say distractedly.

“He’s not . . . ?” Anneke asks.

“Breaking the covenant. I remain tragically unfucked.”

There’s sudden tension in his bare back, the trip of a heartbeat that I can detect only because I’m in his space, touching him. A tic of his jaw.

Ah. So you were hoping I wouldn’t find out. “Tip your chin up, Koen— perfect.” I swipe the razor down the column of his throat and run my fingers over his skin, pleased with the smooth slip. Koen didn’t have any shaving cream, so I’m using a blend of soap and conditioner. I take a short moment to admire my handiwork, and then smile at Anneke. “He’s not madly in love with me, either. Honestly, he barely even talks to me.”

“And yet he lets you brandish a weapon around his neck.”

“It’s more like community service, Anneke,” the older woman murmurs, and we exchange an amused look. I wonder what her name is—

“Karolina,” she tells me, lips curling. “And this is Xabier. We are three-fifths of the Assembly.”

“Serena. I’d shake your hand, but . . .”

“Understood.”

“Now that we’ve exchanged friendship bracelets,” Koen says, “can we move on with our day?” He makes to stand, but I push him back down with a firm hand on his shoulder.