Bride (Ali Hazelwood) by Ali Hazelwood

            “Or of a chicken coop, if you ask me.” I bite my lower lip, mulling it over. “Who is Ana’s father?”

            “My mother never told me. My impression is that he already had a family, and that when she attempted to mention Ana to him, he . . .”

            “Didn’t believe her?”

            “Yeah.”

            “Can’t blame him. So, going back to Serena. Aside from you, only Juno, Cal, and Mick know about Ana. Could any of them . . . ?” I give him a long, pregnant look that will hopefully tell him what I’m not planning to voice.

            He shakes his head and starts cutting the sandwich out of its crusts. I follow the rhythm, mesmerized by his graceful hands, and recall that this is something Serena used to prefer for her food when we were . . . younger than Lowe, for sure. I would not have thought a big bad wolf would be this picky.

            “Not to be a discord sower, and I promise this is only marginally related to Juno’s hankering for carving my organs out, but maybe you should investigate the possibility that one of them tattled you out.”

            “I did. Despite them having risked their lives for me a dozen times over.” He says it angrily, like it was sour and painful, something he’s ashamed of, and a thought hits me: that maybe Lowe is the kind of leader who measures his strength not by the battles he wins, but by the trust he is able to accord to others. There is something about him, about the way he commands, that manages to be at once pragmatic and idealistic.

            He sets the crusts aside and leans his palms on the table once more, leveling with me. “I asked. They’re not involved, and they haven’t told anyone.”

            “Okay, yes, but. There is this thing people sometimes do, which you guys may not have a term for. The Vampyres call it lying.”

            His look is withering. “I’d be able to tell if they were betraying me.”

            “Is this the smell-a-lie thing? Does it really work?”

            This time he’s less impressed by my knowledge of Were secrets. Perhaps because they aren’t secrets at all. “Not always. But scent changes with feelings. And feelings change with behavior.”

            I scowl. “I still can’t believe you knew Max was lying all along and still put a guard on me.”

            “I put a guard on you for your safety.”

            “Oh.” He did? I had not considered that. It takes a long second for my assessment of the last five days to adjust, and . . . Oh, indeed. “I can take care of myself.”

            “Against a young Were with no combat training, yes. Against someone like me, doubtful.”

            I could scoff and be offended, but I like to think that I know my limits. “Does it build up?”

            “What?”

            “The odor. Just wondering if that’s why I smell like fish soup to you. Have I lied too much in my life?”

            It’s a genuine question, but Lowe sighs deeply and leaves me hanging. He puts the food back in the fridge, with one glaring exception: the peanut butter. My gluttonous brain must be strained by the biological possibility of Were-Humans, because it dispatches my hand to scoop up a little glob from the rim, right to my lips, and it’s been so long, it’s so fucking good—

            “What the hell?”

            I open my eyes. Lowe stares curiously at the way I’m suckling on my index finger.

            “Did you just eat?”

            “No.” I flush, mortified. “No,” I repeat, but the peanut butter sticks to the roof of my mouth, garbling the syllable.

            “I was told Vampyres don’t eat food.”

            I can’t remember the last time I felt this degree of embarrassment. “Serena made me,” I blurt out.

            Lowe glances around, to the zero number of Serenas in sight.

            “Not now. But she made me try it for the first time.” I wipe my finger off on my shirt. Humiliating. “The ensuing addiction was all mine,” I concede with a mumble.