Bride (Ali Hazelwood) by Ali Hazelwood

            “What happened to her?”

            “She died two years ago, during a confrontation at the eastern border. With Humans, we think.” He swallows. “So did Mick’s son. He was sixteen.”

            Not something my people would be above, but I still flinch. “That explains why he always seems so melancholic.”

            “He smells like grief. All the time.”

            “Well, he’s my favorite Were.” I hug my knees. “He’s always so nice to me.”

            “That’s because he has a weakness for beautiful women.”

            “What does that have to do with me?”

            “You know what you look like.”

            I laugh softly, surprised by the backhanded compliment.

            “Why do you always do that?” he asks.

            “Do what?”

            “When you laugh, you cover your lips with your hand. Or you do it with your mouth closed.”

            I shrug. I wasn’t aware, but I’m not surprised. “Isn’t it obvious?” It’s not, judging by his puzzled look. “Okay. I’m going to be super vulnerable with you.” I take a deep, theatrical breath. Steeple my hands. “You may not know this about me, but I’m not like you. I’m actually another species, called—”

            “Misery.” His hand comes up to snatch my wrist. My breath catches in my throat. “Why do you hide your fangs?”

            “You’re the one who told me to.”

            “I asked you not to respond to an act of aggression with another act of aggression, to avoid coming home and finding my wife torn to pieces—and someone torn in even smaller pieces next to her.” His hand is still around my wrist. Warm. A bit tighter. His touch flusters me. “This is different.”

            Is it? Would you not tear me into pieces?

            “Come on, Lowe.” I free my arm and cradle it to my chest. “You know what my teeth are like.”

            “Come on, Misery,” he mocks. “I do know, and that’s why I don’t get why you hide them.”

            We stare at each other like we’re playing a game and trying to make the other lose. “Want me to show you?” I’m trying to provoke him, but he just nods solemnly.

            “I’d like to know what we’re dealing with, yeah.”

            “Now?”

            “Unless you need specific tools, or have a previous engagement. Is it bath time?”

            “You want to see my fangs. Now.”

            His look is vaguely pitying.

            “It’s just . . .” I’m not sure what’s so concerning about the idea of him seeing them. Maybe I’m just remembering being nine, and the way my Human caregivers always stopped smiling the second I began. A driver, making the sign of the cross. A million other incidents through the years. Only Serena never minded. “Is this a trap? Are you looking for an excuse to watch my entrails fertilize the plumbago?”

            “Would be highly inefficient, since I could just push you and no one in my pack would question me.”

            “What a beautiful flex.”

            He makes a show of hiding his hands behind his back. “I’m harmless.”

            He’s as harmless as a land mine. He could destroy entire galaxies with a stern look and a growl. “Fine, but if your wolfy sensibilities are repulsed by my vampyric tusks, remember you asked for it.”

            I’m unsure how to initiate it. Snarling, pulling my upper lip back with my fingers like Human dentists do in toothbrush commercials, biting into his hand for an applied demonstration—all seem impractical. So I simply smile. When the cold air hits my canines, my lizard brain screams at me that I’m caught. I’m found out. I’m . . .

            Fine, actually.

            Lowe’s pupils splay out. He studies my canines with his usual unalloyed attention, without recoiling or trying to eat me. Little by little, my smile shifts into something sincere. Meanwhile, he looks.