Bride (Ali Hazelwood) by Ali Hazelwood

            Sweat trickles down Max’s temples. He’s much younger than I thought. “You’re just going to get rid of me. If I tell you, you—”

            “I do not hurt my own, especially not children,” Lowe growls. “I am not Roscoe.”

            “No.” Max’s eyes flick to me. “He’d never have made alliances with the Vampyres or the Humans, would never have taken one in and left her to kill the Weres—”

            “You’re right. Roscoe liked to kill the Weres on his own.” Max lowers his eyes. He’s just a boy. “Is an alliance with the Vampyres really worse than more Were deaths at their hands?”

            Max seems to grapple with the question, Adam’s apple bobbing. Then he remembers his rage, and spurts out, “You’re not the rightful Alpha.”

            It’s clearly a big faux pas. Because every other Were in the room takes a step forward to intervene—and then stops at once at Lowe’s lifted hand.

            “Who told you that?” he asks. Menacing, ruthless. “Maybe it’s a fair mistake. Maybe they simply weren’t there when Roscoe lost the challenge to me. I sent a message to the Loyals, let them know that I’d gladly accept the challenge from any of them. And yet.” Lowe stands. “Dissent and discussion are welcome. I’m not Roscoe, and I won’t dispose of those who disagree with me. But trying to take a child, sabotage important infrastructure, brutally attack huddles who support me . . . This is violent insurgence. And as long as I’m Alpha of this pack, I’m not going to accept it. Who sent you here, Max?”

            He shakes his head. “I don’t know.”

            “Did you forget?” Ken Doll comes to stand next to Lowe. Max recoils. “We have ways of making you remember.”

            “He’s barely more than a child, though,” Cal points out.

            “He chose to work with the Loyals,” Ken says, cracking his knuckles.

            Cal, to my shock, shrugs. “I suppose you’re right.” He, too, cracks his knuckles.

            I search Lowe’s face for a sign that he’s not going to let his minions . . . I don’t know, waterboard a boy. His expression is detached, happy to delegate. Not what I’d expect from someone who’s planning on deescalating this.

            “Wait!” I yell. Today must be a particularly nosy day for me. “Don’t hurt him. I can help you.”

            All heads whip around to me, with varying degrees of annoyance. “I think you’ve done enough, leech,” Ken says.

            I roll my eyes. “First of all, I grew up among the Humans, and leech, parasite, sanguisuge, bloodsponge, tick, sucker, bat bitch—they’re not the groundbreaking insults you think they are.” Vampyres do drink blood to survive, and we’re not shy about it. “I can find out who sent Max. Without nail pulling or whatever you’re planning.”

            “I dunno,” Cal says. “He deserves some harm.”

            But Max is shaking like a leaf. And I must not be the sadist I fancied myself. “Please,” I plead to Lowe, tuning out the rest of the room. “I can help.”

            “How?” He, for one, seems more curious than irritated.

            “It’s easier done than said. Here.” I stand and brush past him to go to Max. He stops me with his fingers on my wrist. When I crane my neck up to him, startled, he’s looking straight ahead. “Why?” he asks, without meeting my eyes. His voice is low, meant only for me.

            I’m not quite sure what he wants to know, so I go for what feels right. “Ana has been visiting,” I say, matching his tone. “She keeps me company, and even though she’s terrible at pronouncing my name and clearly doesn’t know whether she’s six or seven . . .” I swallow. “I’d rather she doesn’t get, you know. Kidnapped and trafficked.”

            He finally looks down at me. Scans my face for several long moments, and whatever his inspection is about, I must pass muster. He nods and lets go of me. I don’t move.

            “Actually, could you help me? I’m not super good at this.” His brows furrow, and I hasten to add, “But good enough.”

            I think? I’ve only done this with Serena, who insisted I foster my single useful Vampyre trait and practice on her. She’d have me put her under and use our shared cell phone to film videos of her making out with a cabbage; reciting the Pledge of Allegiance with a German accent; confessing to an entire series of dirty dreams with Mr. Lumiere, our French tutor, as the recurring guest star.