Bride (Ali Hazelwood) by Ali Hazelwood

            “I’m not?” I gasp, and instantly feel guilty when he takes a step back and fingers his collar. “Sorry. Another joke.” I wish I could smile reassuringly at him. Without looking like I’m about to butcher everything that he holds dear, that is.

            “Do you, um, have . . . preferences?”

            “Preferences?”

            “Like . . . AB, or O negative, or . . .”

            “Ah.” I shake my head. Common misconception, but cold blood is nearly flavorless, and the only things that would influence its taste would disqualify people from donating in the first place. Illnesses, mostly.

            “And when do you . . . ?”

            “Feed? Once a day. More when it gets really warm—heat makes us hungry.” He looks queasy at the mention of blood, more so than I’d have expected from someone who turns into a wolf and mauls rabbits by the litterful. So I wander away to give him a minute to recover, taking in the stone accent wall and the fireplace. Despite the chill, there’s something just right about this house. As though its place was meant to be here, carved between the trees and the waterfront.

            It’s probably the nicest home I’ve ever lived in. Not bad, since there’s a nonzero chance that I’ll also croak in it.

            “Are you one of his seconds?” I ask Alex, turning away from the waves lapping at the pier. “More— Lowe’s, I mean.”

            “No.” He’s younger, softer than Juno. Not as defensive and buttoned up, but more jittery. I’ve caught him squinting at the points of my ears three times already. “Ludwig is . . . The second from my huddle is someone else.”

            His what? “How many seconds does Lowe have?”

            “Twelve.” He pauses to stare at his feet. “Eleven, actually, now that Gabrielle was sent to the . . .”

            Gabrielle, I file away for future perusal. God, is that the mate? Was she his wife and his second?

            Alex clears his throat. “Gabrielle will be replaced.”

            “By you?”

            “No, I wouldn’t . . . And I’m not from her huddle; it’ll have to be someone who . . .” He scratches his neck and falls silent. Oh, well.

            “Are there any close neighbors?” I ask.

            “Yeah. But ‘close’ is different for us. Because we can . . .”

            “Transform into wolves?”

            “No. Well, yeah, but . . .” His cheeks have an olive tinge. God, I think he’s blushing. Because of course they’d flush green. “Shift. We call it shifting. We don’t become something else. We just kind of toggle between two settings.”

            This time I do smile, keeping my lips sealed. “Love the coding references.”

            “You like tech?”

            “I like what tech can do.” I lean against the counter. Years with the Humans, and I’m still freaked out that houses contain entire huge-ass rooms dedicated to the preparation of food. “So, when you guys shift into wolves, do you still think the same way? Does your brain shift with you, too?”

            Alex mulls it. “Yes and no. There are some instincts that take over in that form, more than they otherwise would. The impulse to hunt, for instance, is very powerful. To chase a scent, track down an enemy. That’s why you maybe shouldn’t venture out alone to . . .”

            “Skinny-dip at midnight?”

            He looks away. He’s kind of adorable, in an I want to tie his shoelaces and blow on his skinned knee kind of way. “Do you . . . It’s probably bullshit, but I just wanted to make sure . . . Vampyres don’t, right?”

            I tilt my head. “Don’t what?”

            “Shift into animals. Not that I believe the bat rumor, but just in case you’re going to fly away and . . .”

            I bet Alex gets along great with Ana. “Nope, I do not turn into a bat. Would be lovely, though.”

            “Okay, good.” He seems incredibly relieved. I decide to take advantage of that, broadcasting a mix of casualness and very mild interest in my surroundings, then say offhandedly: