Bride (Ali Hazelwood) by Ali Hazelwood

            “I dropped Serena off, and I think it would be great if she and Ana were able to meet. It could do Serena some good, and vice versa. I doubt they’re the only two half Weres out there, but . . .”

            “As far as we know.”

            I nod. “Would that be okay?”

            He scratches his jaw. His beard is the longest it’s ever been since I met him. What have the last few days been like for him? “I’m planning to tell Ana about her parents once Koen brings her back. I was going to save that conversation for later, but there are simply too many people who know, and I don’t want her to find out from someone else. After that, I’d love for her to meet Serena. And of course, Serena is always welcome among us. She is part of our pack, if she wants to be. I tasked Juno with checking in with her while I was gone, but I’ll arrange a meeting to explain everything now that I’m back.”

            “Back?”

            “We were dealing with Emery.”

            My eyes widen. “Yikes?”

            He lets out a soft chuckle and leans a shoulder against the door. “Indeed.”

            “We kinda suspected the wrong Were, didn’t we?”

            “When it came to Ana. We finally have enough evidence to hold Emery accountable for the activities of the Loyals, including an explosion at a school that happened three months ago. I went to inform her that there will be a tribunal. But when it comes to my sister . . .” His expression darkens. “It’s not her fault if I chose to believe Mick.”

            “Did you find his son?”

            “Yes. They’re together, heavily guarded. I’m not sure yet what I’m going to do.” He presses his lips together.

            “I’m really sorry, Lowe,” I say heavily. “I know how much you trusted him.”

            “Any other Were, I’d have realized that they were lying to me. But Mick . . . his scent had changed drastically. It was sour and bitter and overpowering, but I figured it was grief. That losing one’s mate and son would do that to someone.”

            I take a step closer, wanting to comfort him, not quite sure how. Eventually I just repeat an utterly inadequate “I’m sorry.” I try to continue, to unspool that ball of words that weighs on my stomach so densely, but the sound dies on my lips. I’m stunted, incapable of being coherent.

            “It’s not like you,” he says with a slim smile.

            “What isn’t?”

            “Not saying exactly what you think.”

            “Right. Yeah.” A gust of irritation sweeps over me. I bounce my foot to stave it off. “It was easier, being honest with you, when I thought you were being honest with me.”

            He frowns. “You can speak honestly with me, Misery. Always.”

            I let out an impatient breath, then march to him, ready to attack. I only stop when I’m so close, he has to bend his neck to look me in the eye. “Why would I, though? So you can use my deepest wounds and what you know about my past to hurt me when you decide that you should push me away?”

            He looks crestfallen at the memory of the things he told me, as though they hurt him as much as me. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

            “You lied,” I accuse. “You said all of that—and it was all a lie.”

            He doesn’t deny it, which makes me angrier. Instead he inhales, deep and slow until his lungs are full.

            “Why?” I prod. When no answers come, I lift my hand to his face. “I could force you to tell me the truth.” The flat of my thumb presses between his brows. “I could thrall you.”

            His smile looks sad. “You already have, Misery.”

            I squeeze my eyes shut. Then open them to ask, “Am I your mate?”

            “I meant what I said,” he says calmly. “You should not use Were words you cannot comprehend.”

            “Right.” I spin on my heels angrily and stalk away. Fuck this. If he didn’t want me to use Were words, then he shouldn’t have given them to me.