Bride (Ali Hazelwood) by Ali Hazelwood

            I’m glad Lowe is pinning me to the fireplace, because I’ve lost control of my limbs. My breath is stymied, and I pant into his still-open vein. I’m—

            His vein. His precious, beautiful vein.

            I’m not capable of rational thought at the moment, but I lean forward and suck at the wounds I opened, then lick at them like a kitten, rescuing every last green drop. It’s an automatism, something written in my genes, and Lowe seems to enjoy it, too. Intense satisfaction radiates from him. His big hands clutch at my hips. Soft, pleased praises are muttered against my cheekbones.

            The blood stops seeping through, his skin sealing shut. I pull back feeling supremely smug, brimming with pride for a job well done. I’m full. Satiated. Happy. I’m strong and warm all over, comfortable in a way I haven’t really experienced before, and it’s all thanks to Lowe, and his powerful blood, the way his heavy breath rolls against my skin—

            Oh, God.

            Lowe.

            “I—” I push against his shoulders, and he doesn’t immediately react. “Let go of me.”

            It’s all it takes. He gently lowers me until my feet are on the ground, then tries to take a step back, but I don’t—can’t—let him. I cling to his shirt, following his retreat.

            “Misery.”

            I’m physically unable to give him up.

            “Misery.”

            His hoarse voice jerks me out of my trancelike state. I put some air between us, which feels like a supremely bad idea, cold and invasive and all wrong. My hair is wild and the fabric of my dress caught at my waist, but I’m too busy staring at Lowe to do anything about it. His pupils have swallowed the irises. They travel down my legs, mesmerized.

            With the distance, the awareness of what just happened slowly trickles into me—then drowns me like a water flood.

            Shit. It’s not that I fed from him, even though I did, but also . . . I had no clue that . . . “I am so sorry,” I gasp out, straightening my clothes.

            He shakes his head, chest heaving rhythmically up and down. His eyes are different. Not his anymore.

            “I’d never . . . from someone. I had no idea it would be . . . Did I hurt you?”

            There’s something raptorial about the way he shakes his head. Slow, careful. I take a step back, feeling like I’m being tracked by a much stronger, faster predator.

            “Okay.” I lick the corner of my lip. This aftertaste in my mouth is his blood, and there is something deliciously erotic about it—he is alive, breathing in front of me, warm and strong. This living being, this man, this Were, produced plasma and green blood cells and chose to provide me with them.

            Life and sustenance.

            It’s so intimate. Sexual, but more than that. Not something I could imagine sharing with just anyone, except for . . .

            Lowe. Of course.

            I look down at my crumpled dress, feeling like a child who just found out that she didn’t really come from the cabbage patch.

            “Misery.” I peel my eyes from my feet. Lowe looks disheveled. A little shell-shocked. Confused. Obviously horny. He strokes his erection once over the tented fabric of his pants, staring at my face in that spellbound way. “Are you okay?”

            “I don’t know.” I lick my lips, finding more traces of him. “I don’t think so.”

            That’s when I hear the steps and remember why I was sucking on his blood a second ago. “They’re coming,” I hiss, hurrying to the computer to disconnect the hardware. In the first lucky break of the evening, the code is done. I unplug everything, making sure to leave nothing behind. Lowe is still standing still, following my every gesture like a wolf about to pounce on a rabbit. When my fingers disappear into my cleavage to hide the USB, his breath hitches.

            “Lowe? You know someone’s coming, right?”

            “Yeah,” he says simply, and for a moment I think he might be broken. Then I realize—what should we even do? Run? We’ve already been caught. Now it’s all about committing to the show.