Bride (Ali Hazelwood) by Ali Hazelwood

            And looks.

            And: looks.

            “Are you okay?” My voice snaps him back into his body. His grunt is vague, not quite affirmative.

            “And you don’t . . .” He clears his throat. “Use them?”

            “What? Oh, my fangs.” I run my tongue over my right one, and Lowe closes his eyes and then turns away. Either too gross, or he’s scared. Poor little Alpha. “We all feed from blood bags, with very few exceptions.”

            “What exceptions?”

            I shrug. “Feeding from a living source is kind of outdated, mostly because it’s a huge hassle. I do think that mutual blood drinking is sometimes incorporated into sex, but remember how I was cast out as a child and am universally known for being a terrible Vampyre?” I should force Owen to explain the nuances of it to me, but . . . ugh. It’s not like I plan to get that close to another Vampyre, ever. “I’m not going to bite you, Lowe. Don’t worry.”

            “I’m not worried.” He sounds hoarse.

            “Good. So now that I’ve shown you my fearsome weapons, you’ll take me to Emery’s with you? It is, after all, the honeymoon you owe your bride. Pleasure doing business with you. I’ll go pack, and—” I make to stand, but his hand snatches me back down.

            “Nice try.”

            I sigh and lean backward, wincing when the tiles press into my spine. The stars crowd the sky, drift us into a moment of silence. “Want to know a secret?” I ask, weary. “Something I thought I’d never admit to anyone.”

            One arm brushes against my thigh as he twists to look at me. “I’m surprised you’d want to tell me.”

            I am, too. But I’ve carried it so tirelessly, and the night feels so soft. “Serena and I had a huge fight a few days before she disappeared. The biggest ever.” Lowe remains quiet. Which is exactly what I need from him. “We fought plenty, mostly about trivial shit, sometimes over stuff that took us a bit to cool down. We grew up together and were at our most annoying with each other—you know, sisters? She spat into the pockets of the caretakers who were mean to me, and I read smutty books to her while she was so sick she needed IV drips. But also I hated that sometimes she just wouldn’t pick up her phone for days, and she hated that I could be a stone-hearted bitch, I guess. That last fight we had, we were both fuming, after. And then she never showed up to help me put on the duvet cover, despite knowing that it’s the single hardest thing in the universe. And now the things she said keep circling in my head. Like sharks that haven’t been fed in months.”

            I can’t see Lowe’s expression from down here. Which is ideal. “And what do the sharks say?”

            “She got a recruiter from this really cool company interested in me. It was a good job—something challenging. Something only a dozen people in the country could do. And she kept telling me how perfect I’d be for it, what an opportunity it was, and I just couldn’t see the point, you know? Yes, it was a more interesting job, with more money, but I kept wondering, why? Why would I bother? What’s the end goal? And I asked her, and she . . .” I take a deep breath. “Said that I was aimless. That I didn’t care about anything or anyone, including myself. That I was static, headed nowhere, wasting my life. And I told her that it wasn’t true, that I did care about stuff. But I just . . . I couldn’t name anything. Except for her.”

             . . . this apathetic spiral of yours, Misery. I mean, I get it, you spent the first two decades of your life expecting to die, but you didn’t. You’re here now. You can start living!

            Dude, you’re not my mother or my therapist, so I’m not sure what gives you the right to—

            I am out there, trying. I had a fucked-up life, too, but I’m dating, trying to get a better job, having interests—you’re just waiting for time to pass. You are a husk. And I need you to care about one single fucking thing, Misery, one thing that’s not me.

            The sharks gnaw at the inner walls of my skull, and I won’t be able to make them stop until I find Serena, but in the meantime, I can distract them. “Anyway.” I sit up with a smile. “Since I so selflessly opened my heart to you, will you tell me something?”

            “That’s not how—”

            “What the hell is a mate, precisely?”