Bride (Ali Hazelwood) by Ali Hazelwood

            “—it would be really . . . What?”

            Owen’s eyes harden. “Three months ago, Misery. I’ve been working on this plan since I discovered that my father was considering sending my sister into enemy territory. Again.” He bares his fangs, and his tone is uncharacteristically earnest. “I could do nothing when we were children. I could do nothing when you returned, because I was too much of a coward to take a stand. I cannot do anything now, but I am determined to try.” His gaze fixes mine for a long moment, and he picks up in English again. “I want to be the one negotiating the next set of alliances. I want all Collateral systems gone. I want to stop enforcing artificial border lines, or holding on to disputed territories out of spite. I want to turn this place into something that’s not a powder keg.”

            I study him, astonished. Realizing that in all the years we spent apart, as I grew and changed and built my own life, my idiot brother did, too, and turned into . . .

            Not an idiot, clearly.

            “Father is going to kill you,” I repeat. This time not with the intent of dissuading him.

            “Maybe.” He turns to a spot high above my shoulder. Lowe. “Any advice on how to successfully carry out a coup, Alpha?”

            “I was going to recommend a hearty breakfast, but . . .”

            “How unfortunate.”

            Lowe’s hand slides to my waist, pulling me into his larger body. “I’m no fan of your father. And as the Weres and the Vampyres form alliances, I would love to see someone whose priorities align with mine.” My brother and my husband look at me, then at each other. Something I cannot decipher passes between them. An agreement. A shared port of call.

            Owen spends the next minutes updating me on the complex network of his supporters, allies, and coconspirators. He assures me that no one knows about his plan, and surprisingly, I find that I believe him. He may seem ostentatiously careless, but he’s been nothing but careful and circumspect about this. Still, he quickly shifts to inane gossip I’m not interested in, and I find myself tuning him out when I overhear Lowe asking Gabi, “. . . anything you need?”

            “Not really. There have been no signs of danger so far. Owen is surprisingly decent company and gave me access to his gaming consoles. Everyone else has been treating me coldly and leaving me alone, which is fantastic—they’re real pros at this Collateral exchange thing. They’ve had to deal with Human children for decades, and I’m much lower maintenance than that. They’re monitoring my internet usage, of course, but I have plenty of time to work on my master’s. I’m taking five classes this semester.”

            “Finance, was it?”

            “Electrical engineering. I should be done at the end of the year.”

            “Congratulations.”

            “Thanks. And you? You seem happy with your . . .” I think Gabi is pointing at me, but I cannot turn to verify. Just like I cannot be sure that Lowe nods and smiles faintly, even though it nearly resonates through me, the fact that he is. Happy. With me.

            “Let’s go, Gabi,” Owen calls, spinning on his heels. “I’m boring my sister with trivial details about who’s fucking whomst among our people.”

            I roll my eyes, then brace myself again. Lowe and Gabi didn’t greet each other warmly, but now it’s sure to happen: a hug, a tender moment, a wistful goodbye. She may not know that she’s his mate, but he feels for her.

            I would take anything she chose to give me—the tiniest fraction or her entire world.

            He’ll take what he can now, and even though I told myself I’d be able to deal with this when it happened, the jealous heartache is too much. I cannot watch. I wave goodbye at Owen and Gabi and step around Lowe’s car.

            But I’m just a couple of feet away when I hear, “Let me know if the situation changes,” followed by a short, “Yes, Alpha.” There are two sets of steps: Gabi walking after Owen, Lowe heading for the driver’s seat, and nothing else.

            Nothing more than a friendly wave.

            When I glance at Lowe, he’s not looking back in her direction. Not tracking her with his eyes. Not rubbing his jaw with his palm like he does when he is worried, or nervous, or pensive. His mate is heading back to enemy territory, and he might never see her again, and he is . . .