Mate

PROLOGUE

THE CHILD HAD BEEN TRAINED WELL—NOT BY HER FAMILY, BUT by life.

When the door splintered open and she ran for her mother, it wasn't to seek comfort, but to provide it. *Come with me,* she wanted to beg, but since the words wouldn't come out, she tugged at her sleeve instead. *Come with me. It's better this way.*

But her mother wrenched herself free and didn't spare the girl a single glance. With no choice left, the child retreated upstairs, alone. There was a man sleeping in the bedroom—a cruel, nasty Were who scared her nearly as much as the people breaking in. Still, she shook him awake to warn him.

"I'm tryin' to get some fucking rest for once," he roared, shoving her away. The girl ducked before his hand could connect. "If you can't keep quiet—" He stopped, realizing something was amiss. She glanced around for a hiding spot and slipped inside the closet.

For a while, that was it. She hugged her knees and breathed through the musty scent of old clothes. When the screams started, she began counting. The people in the house always called her stupid, but she could count to a thousand. The numbers in her head, stacking one after another, covered the wails of pain, the snarled insults, the sounds of snapping bones. She kept silent, even as the noises grew closer and louder.

*Two hundred and five. Two hundred and six. Two hundred and—*

A pool of viscous blood seeped in from under the door, and the child could no longer hold it in. Her gasp ricocheted off the walls of the overstuffed closet before she could cover her mouth. She knew then that she was as good as dead.

*No. No, no, no.*

Trembling, she bit her lip and prayed to her mother's old god. In the darkness, she could not make out the color of the blood. *Stay calm,* she told herself, shrinking into a pile of ancient blankets. The pleas had stopped a whole minute earlier, but there was still movement all over the house. Maybe it was her mother. Maybe she was coming upstairs to look for her—

The closet door swung open abruptly. A dark figure stared down at the girl, his tall silhouette framed by a glowing halo from the ceiling light.

He was Death. Or what Death would look like if it walked as a man.

Seized by terror, the girl opened her mouth and filled her lungs with air, ready to scream. But the man lifted a finger to his lips, and the simple command froze her.

"Not a huge fan of shrieks," he explained, stepping closer. Behind him lay the corpse of the Were she'd tried to warn, forest-green liquid oozing from the gash in his neck.

She was going to be next.

"Don't beat yourself up. It's not because you made noise." Death's voice was a low rumble cutting through the silence. He seemed distracted, glancing around the room as if looking for something he might have misplaced. "I could smell you the second I walked inside." He crouched down to her height, carelessly stepping in blood.

The child's teeth chattered with pure fear. *Beg,* a voice ordered. *Beg him.* But her mouth wouldn't open.

"You up there?" someone yelled from the first floor, and the girl jerked. She tried to be brave, but tears began streaming down her face. The man noticed, and his expression turned displeased, just like Mother's had when the girl used to complain about their new life.

*Weak. Crybaby. Selfish.*

He reached for her with a sigh, and she screwed her eyes shut. In the riot of her heartbeat, she wished only for the end to be quick. *Let it be quick. It can be painful as long as it's quick.*

But then a thumb gently wiped the tears from her face, and her eyes sprang open.

"Hey!" Another voice traveled up the stairs, closer this time. "Anything you need?"

The man's dark eyes held hers. He sighed again. "Call the social worker."

"Shit. How many this time?"

"One." The man's jaw ticced as his finger did one last pass over her cheek.

"Don't cry. Or do, if you like. But it's better this way. I sincerely hope that this will be the worst day of your life." His lips curved in a small smile. "When's the last time you ate?"

She blinked, taken aback by the change of topic. Truth was, she couldn't remember. Yesterday? Two days ago?

"C'mon. Let's get you something warm." He held out his arms, and since the child couldn't avoid the sticky green puddle on her own, she let him pick her up. She wasn't sure why she was allowing a murderer to carry her downstairs. *Maybe he helped Mother, too,* she thought, knowing that the man was strong enough for the task.

Yes, he certainly had. She was sure that they were going to her right now. So she buried her face in the stranger's neck and let his slow heartbeat lull her to calm. And since she was able to, she started to count to a thousand once more.

CHAPTER 1