Bride (Ali Hazelwood) by Ali Hazelwood

            “If you think that’s what it was, you need better ones.”

            “Better what?”

            “Compliments.”

            I look up once more. He’s staring, his eyes halfway between unreadable and indecipherable. “What do you mean?”

            “You need to be told the right things.” He shrugs casually, but the movement feels the opposite of casual. “That you’re intelligent, and incredibly skilled at what you do, and brave. That despite your weird belief that you’re heartless, you’re more genuinely caring than anyone I’ve ever met. That you’re so resilient, I can’t quite wrap my head around it. That you’re very . . .” He pauses. Wets his lips. My heartbeat skips. “Very beautiful to look at. Always so beautiful. And that—”

            He pauses abruptly, lifting his palm. His shoulders tense, shifting to acute vigilance.

            “Someone is coming,” he whispers.

            “Emery?” I mouth. I can’t make out any noises, but Were hearing is better than mine.

            Lowe shakes his head, and two seconds later I hear them, too. Voices. Two voices. Two men, coming down the stairs.

            “Emery’s guards,” he says, barely audible.

            The possibility of being caught freezes me. Then the image of Ana pops into my head—the way Emery tried to take her, how terribly she might have hurt her, and fear, real fear drives through me like a spear. We can’t go back home empty-handed.

            “Don’t,” I whisper when Lowe is about to turn off the computer. The steps sound terrifyingly closer. “It just needs a couple more minutes.”

            “If they come in and find us—”

            “They won’t.” I turn off the monitor. “And we’ll—”

            I have an idea, but it’s easier shown than explained, so I grasp Lowe’s hand and tug him closer, walking backward until I hit one of the square columns on the sides of the fireplace. The cliché almost makes my teeth hurt, and if Emery’s guards are media literate even just at a third-grade level, they’re not going to fall for it. But it might buy us a couple of minutes, and that’s all that matters.

            “Kiss me,” I order, pulling him farther into me. He needs to be inside my space, towering over me.

            “What?” Lowe’s brow is one deep furrow.

            “Let’s just pretend we got—we’re newly married and got, I don’t know, horny, and—” And ended up in a random office. Maybe we’re kinky. Maybe we’re idiots. Maybe we’re pathetic.

            Shit, the guards are never gonna fall for it. And they’re coming.

            “They think you’re feeding,” Lowe hisses from above me. If I could devote any brain cells to not panicking, I would roll my eyes.

            “I know, but since we’re here, and they are basically here—”

            “Feed. From me.” He looks dead serious.

            “What?”

            “Pretend that’s what we came here for.”

            “No! It’s—”

            Actually, a pretty good idea. A really good idea, even. Still doesn’t explain why we’re in here. We could say we got lost and it was the first unlocked door we found.

            “Okay.” I nod. The steps are getting closer. “Tilt your neck, I’ll pretend I’m drinking from your vein.”

            “Misery.” His eyes drill into mine. “You have to bite me.”

            “Why?”

            “They’re Weres. They’re going to be able to smell it if you’re not really drinking.”

            “What? What? I’ve never—”

            “Misery,” Lowe orders, or maybe it’s a plea, or maybe my name is just a word he likes to say, a word he likes to think of.