Bride (Ali Hazelwood) by Ali Hazelwood

Is it a Vampyre thing, shoving your pointy little fangs into other people’s business and ruining their plans? Or is it more of a Misery Lark passion project?”

            I’ve been nursing my abused soles on the living room couch for less than five minutes, but it’s the third time a variation of this question has been asked of me. So I keep my head bent down and ignore Lowe’s second—the one who looks like a Ken doll—as I pluck an assortment of detritus from my toe. I need tweezers, but I didn’t bring any with me. Do Weres use them? As the original furries, do they find them morally repugnant? Maybe they hold body hair sacred, and any threat to its rightful dwelling on the flesh is considered blasphemous.

            Food for thought.

            “Let me go,” Max whines. Like me, he’s sitting on a couch. Unlike me, his hands are tied behind his back, and he’s being watched by several guards with the kind of icy treatment one would reserve for someone who tried to kidnap a child.

            Which is exactly what Max did.

            “You can stop asking,” Cal tells him mildly. “Because it ain’t going to happen.” Out of all the Weres in here, it’s clear that he and Ken Doll are the highest ranking. They also appear to have a bad cop, even worse cop thing going on. Cal is affably scary, Ken is snarkily terrifying. Whatever works for them, I guess.

            “I want to see my mother,” Max re-whines.

            “Do you, champ? Are you sure? Because your mother is out there, humiliated by what you just did and the company you’ve been keeping.”

            “I dunno, Cal.” Ken fixes his baseball cap. “Maybe we should turn him over to his mother.” He leans forward. “I’d love to see his face when she declaws him.”

            Max growls, but it turns into a whimper when his Alpha comes in, Juno and Mick in tow. I mouth a bashful So sorry to Mick, worried that he’ll get in trouble for taking a piss and leaving me alone for a minute. He waves his hand at me, and the entire room drops into silence, everyone focusing on Lowe like his presence is a gravitational pull. Even I cannot look anywhere else, and abandon my toe to its infected destiny. Lowe looks so stone-cold pissed, I shiver. Though it could be the blast of the AC on my blistering flesh.

            “Is Ana okay?” Gemma asks.

            Lowe nods. “Playing with Misha.” Hands on his hips, he surveys the room. Every pair of eyes is instantly downcast.

            Except for mine.

            “Who wants to tell me what the fuck just happened?” he asks, staring at me. I expect everyone to explode into rushed explanations, but Were discipline is better than that. A heavy silence stretches, broken only by Lowe coming to stand in front of me. I’m ready to say my final words, but all he does is take off his zip-up hoodie, wrap it around my shuddery shoulders, then admire the result for a beat too long.

            Everyone’s eyes are still on the ground.

            “Cal,” he says. It’s embarrassing, the sense of relief I feel at not being called on.

            “Everything was going according to plan,” Cal starts. “As expected, Max was trying to lure Ana away. We were tailing him to see who he would rendezvous with, when . . .”

            He turns to me, and suddenly I am the center of the room. My relief was premature.

            “I’m sorry.” I swallow. “I had no idea this was some kind of cahooty ambushy plan. If I see a guy who’s been a total dick to me absconding with a child, it’s only natural for me to . . .” To what? Why did I intervene, again? Now that the adrenaline has dried up, I cannot recall what my reasoning was. I’m no hero, nor do I want to be.

            Ken Doll snorts. “Were you watching us from the window?”

            “I mean . . . yeah?”

            “Creepy. You need a hobby.”

            “You’re right. I’ve heard amazing things about paragliding, or competitive duck herding. Maybe I could—oh, wait. I forgot that I’m literally stuck in a one-hundred-and-thirty-square-foot bedroom twenty-four seven.”

            “Read a book, pointy.”

            “Enough.” Lowe stalks across the room to crouch in front of Max, who instantly tries to scramble away. His tone is firm but surprisingly gentle when he asks, “Where were you going to take Ana?” Max doesn’t reply, so he continues, “You are fifteen, and I’m not going to punish you like an adult. I don’t know who you got mixed up with, or how, but I can help you. I will protect you.”