Bride (Ali Hazelwood) by Ali Hazelwood

            “It’s different.”

            “Why? Because I’m a Vampyre?” I look down at the way I’m clutching the hem of my oversize shirt like it’s a life raft. What we need here is some humor. To defuse. “I swear I don’t have teeth down there.”

            He doesn’t smile. “You are not the problem.”

            “Ah.” I wait for him to continue. He doesn’t. “What’s the problem?”

            “I don’t want to hurt you.”

            I glance at his groin. He pulled his underwear back up. It’s tented, and the room is dark, and my view is not exhaustive by any means, but he looks normal. Good. Big, sure. But normal.

            I remember what he told me about Switzerland. The way different species lived together. He said he didn’t hang out much with Vampyres, but . . . “Have you ever . . . with a Human?”

            He nods.

            “And you hurt them.”

            “No.”

            “Then—”

            “It will be different.”

            We’re discussing sex, right? Penetrative intercourse? This insurmountable obstacle he’s talking about must be located somewhere between his and my hardware. Except that he seems structurally standard. “I grew up with a Human. My reproductive organs don’t significantly differ from Humans who are assigned female at birth.”

            “It’s not because you’re a Vampyre, Misery.” He swallows. “It’s because you’re you. Because of what that does to me.”

            “I don’t understa—” He interrupts me with a kiss, bruising in a delicious, unhinged way. He cups my face, teeth pulling at my lower lip, and I lose track of our conversation.

            “You’re going to smell like this,” he murmurs against my lips. “It’s happened already, and you weren’t even in the fucking room.” It? “And I’m not going to be able to stop myself from wanting to finish.”

            “That’s fine.” I laugh. My forehead settles against his. “I want you to finish, I—”

            “Misery, we are different species.”

            I close my fingers around his wrists. “You said you’d . . . You said we would. In Emery’s office.” I’m blushing, embarrassed to admit that I’ve been thinking about those words for days.

            “I said I could fuck you.” His throat works. “Not that I would.”

            I lower my eyes. “Were you ever planning to tell me? That we couldn’t have sex?”

            “Misery.” His eyes capture mine, and I suspect he can see everything. The very inside of me. “It’s sex, what we’ve done. What we’re going to do. It’s all sex. And it’s all going to feel really good.”

            I believe him, I really do. And yet: “Are you sure? That you and I can’t . . . ?”

            “I can show you. Would you like me to?”

            I nod. He kisses me again, tenderly, clearly trying to take things slowly. I’m the one to wriggle away to take off my shirt.

            “Have you done any of this before?” he asks against the crook of my neck, and I shake my head. He’d never judge me for it, but I want to explain. “It felt weird. Doing this with a Human when I was already lying to them about everything.” And Vampyres were never an option. I was always alone, at the border between those two worlds. The fact that I feel more at home than ever before with a Were, with someone whose proximity I should have never been in . . . There’s something wrong about it. Or painfully right.

            “Feed more,” he orders, pushing me down on the bed. We end up on our sides, facing each other. Not a position I’d associate with wild and uninhibited sexual activities.

            “If I feed, we can’t—”

            With a hand on the back of my head, he guides my face into his neck. “We can.” He kicks his jeans away, and it’s just his skin, hot against mine, the rough hairs on his arms and legs subtly foreign. I slip my shin between his knees and let my hand roam, curious, eager to explore. He is gloriously different, and while I’m not one to admire beauty, I cannot stop thinking that I like him: the way he looks, the way he feels, the way he likes me. The slight tremble in his fingers as they settle on my waist, the muscles of his body tightening with patient anticipation.