Bride (Ali Hazelwood) by Ali Hazelwood

            “Thank you. Are you, by any chance, the same person who tried to smash it down a few weeks ago?”

            I swallow. Lowe’s eyes drift down to my throat. Linger there. “Can’t remember.”

            “Alpha, she was running a search of our databases . . . three searches, to be precise. One for a date a little over two months ago, one for The Herald—a local human newspaper, I believe—and one for someone called Serena. Serena Paris.”

            A wave of dread sweeps over me. There is no air in the world left for my lungs.

            “And who would that be?” Lowe murmurs, licking his lips. He inhales me deeply, purposefully. “How interesting. In the past week I’ve witnessed two attempts on your life, and you’ve never smelled as scared as you do just now. Why, Vampyre?” His stark face is all sharp lines, sculpted by the glowing lights of the monitor. His lips move, full and ruthless. I cannot look away. “Who is Serena Paris, Misery?”

            He sounds sincerely curious, and I wonder if maybe he has nothing to do with her disappearance. But maybe he does. Maybe he’s pretending. Maybe he didn’t know her name but hurt her anyway.

            I push against his chest. It’s like trying to move an army of mountains. “Let me go.”

            “Misery.” His eyes bore into mine. “You know I’m not going to do that. Alex,” he says, louder this time, still looking only at me. “Bring back Cal. It looks like we’re going to have to extract Gabi and break the armistice with the Vampyres.”

            I overhear a hushed “Yes, Alpha.” Boots leave the room as I sputter:

            “What?”

            “I have to consider this as an act of aggression on behalf of your father and the rest of the Vampyre council. They sent a plant into Were territory under the guise of Collateral.” His jaw hardens. “And your scent—they tampered with it, didn’t they? They knew it would distract me—”

            “No.” I’m crowded. Breathless. “This has nothing to do with my father.”

            “Who were you planning to send this information to?”

            “No one! Ask Alex to check. I didn’t set up any transmissions.”

            He shifts closer. I can almost taste his blood on my tongue. “Alex isn’t here anymore.”

            I knew we were alone, but now I feel it, just as I feel his warmth seeping through me. The heat has a predictable effect: my stomach twists and tightens. Hunger. Cravings. “I told you, I was just messing around.”

            “This is not a game, Misery.” They vibrate through my bones, his words. “This alliance is new and frail, and—”

            “Stop it. Just stop it.” I press my hands against his chest, begging for some space, because I’m—my head is spinning, full of warm, heated, odd thoughts, thoughts that involve veins and necks and taste. “Please. Please, don’t do anything. This has nothing to do with the alliance.”

            “Okay.” He moves a step back, palms still leaning against the wall on each side of my head, and it’s a relief. His blood was starting to smell really good, and—

            Nothing like that has ever happened to me. I must have forgotten to feed.

            “Okay,” he repeats, “here are your options. First, you tell me who Serena Paris is and give me a reasonable explanation for this very poorly executed cloak-and-dagger quest. What happens to you next is my choice. Second, I proceed with the assumption you are a spy gathering intel on the Weres and use your corpse to send a clear message to your father.”

            “Serena was my friend,” I blurt out. “My sister.”

            Lowe’s entire body tenses. Like he had some guesses, but my answer was not among them. “A Vampyre, then.”

            I shake my head. “Human. But we grew up together. In my first few months as the Collateral, I was disruptive. And sad. I tried to run away, put myself in dangerous situations, once I even . . . It was just me and the Human caregivers, and they hated me. So the Humans decided that the company of another child might make me more well-behaved. They found an orphan my age and brought her in to live with me.”

            He huffs, bitter, and I’m afraid he might not believe me. But then he says, calm and yet not: “Fucking Humans.”