Bride (Ali Hazelwood) by Ali Hazelwood

            “Of course.” He scowls, indignant. “Lowe and I are basically best friends.”

            Lowe’s puzzled frown doesn’t quite broadcast best friendship.

            Owen snorts. “Thank you for the vote of confidence. It’s truly inspirational to know that the Were Alpha and his bride, who also happens to be my goddamn sister, think that I’d be a great leader. Truly the support system of champions. Assholes.”

            I smile. Lowe’s lips twitch up, too. Our eyes catch, and it feels even more menacing than before, a dangerous storm coming, like a current buzzing up my spine and water after a drought.

            It’s frightening, this thing between us. I need to interrupt it. “Can I . . . I have questions,” I hurry to say. “Where is Mick’s son?”

            “Owen and I have several people looking for him,” Lowe says. He rubs his hand across the back of his neck, looking pained.

            “And Mick? What’s going to happen to him?”

            His face sets. “I’ll let you know when I decide.”

            “And Ana? My father—”

            “—never knew where she was. She’s safe.”

            Relief floods through me. “I’m glad.”

            “She’ll be back as soon as the situation is resolved. Anything else you need to know?”

            I press my lips together, wishing this was the time and place for more questions. Wishing we were alone.

            Am I your mate?

            Is it okay if it doesn’t matter? Is it okay if I want to be?

            How much of what you said, what I said, what everyone said was real?

            Some of it must be, right?

            “No.” I glance at Owen. He’s either unaware of how much I’d love for him to leave us alone, or doesn’t care. The latter, probably.

            “You still haven’t told me what you’d like me to do with your father,” Lowe says softly.

            I glance at the chair. Father’s posture is as impeccable as always, but with his pointed ears hidden by headphones and his white hair slightly mussed, he could almost pass for Human. How the mighty have fallen.

            Maybe I’m truly horrible. Maybe he deserves it. Maybe it’s a little of both. Still, I say: “I don’t care. I leave it to you two.”

            When I walk past Lowe, the back of my hand brushes against his, and a shiver of undistilled warmth travels up my arm.

            I grip the door handle, still feeling his heat in my fingers. Without turning, I add: “Unless the need arises, feel free to never tell me what you settle on.”



* * *





            I fall asleep in my childhood bedroom, which is the weird cherry on top of the weirdest fucking night.

            In the month leading up to my wedding I was often at the Nest, but never in here. In fact, I haven’t been here since my brief stint back in Vampyre territory after graduating as the Collateral. The place is fairly clean, and I wonder who’s been dusting the empty shelves or changing the light bulbs, and on whose orders. I open empty drawers and unused closets. About an hour after the sun has risen, I go to sleep.

            My bed is Vampyre style, which consists of a thin mattress on the floor and a wooden platform about three feet above it, ideal for protection from the light. A tipped-over coffin, basically, Serena said the first time she saw it, and I still hate her a bit for it. But it’s deliciously comfortable, and I bemoan the fact that I could never find anything like this in Human territory, let alone among the Weres. Then, before I doze off, I wonder whether that’s even relevant. What will happen to me next? With Owen ascending, will there even be a need for marriages of convenience between our people?

            No. So maybe I’ll go back to my own apartment. And pen testing. But I’d walk into the sun before working with whatshisface—Pierce, yeah—before working with Pierce again. So I should probably refresh my CV and . . .

            I wake up forty minutes before sundown, with a body next to mine. It’s warm, very soft, and everything about it screams familiarity.