Bride (Ali Hazelwood) by Ali Hazelwood

            “Are you okay?” I ask. Because I didn’t think to, before.

            He murmurs, “Come back,” a hand outstretched in my direction. I don’t think he’s okay, but neither am I, so I cross the room.

            He hugs me, both arms enveloping my shoulders, my head nestled under his chin. It’s not like before—not in that sexual, feverish way that’s all about heat and shared skin and contact. This hug is all about closeness, and Lowe burying his nose in my hair, and my heartbeat seeking his. We should probably discuss what to do when the next person barges in, come up with an action plan, but all I want is to be here. Cling to him.

            “I could fuck you very nicely right now,” he says into my ear. He sounds honest, and a bit resigned. “I almost did.”

            “I’m sorry. I never imagined it would lead to . . .”

            “I know. I’m just really . . .” His lips move against my forehead, soft and warm. “I’ve never felt like this.”

            “Like what?”

            “Turned on. Smitten. And . . . and other things.”

            I feel the exact same. “I’m sorry,” I repeat. “It must be—I’m going to talk to my brother. It might be something I’ve done.” It’s not. It’s just right.

            Lowe’s stubble drags against my temple. “Have you had enough?”

            “Enough?”

            “Blood.”

            “Oh. Yes.”

            But, I’d like more.

            But, May I have more?

            I want it. So bad. I’m about to say fuck it and ask for it assertively, like a big girl, when the door opens again. This time, Lowe and I manage to break apart. He steps protectively in front of me, the tenderness between us dissolving.

            “I thought my guards were having hallucinations,” Emery says, eyeing us suspiciously. “I must have forgotten to lock this room.” Her gaze lingers on Lowe’s neck—woundless, but faintly bluish-green. As if someone latched on to it and didn’t let go for a long while. “When you mentioned feeding, Lowe, I assumed . . .” Her lips twist into something that resembles disgust.

            “You should never. Assume, that is.” Lowe’s voice is cutting.

            And then Koen appears behind Emery, leaning against the doorjamb with a shit-eating grin. “I, for one, am glad the kids are having fun.”

            “Yeah, well. When you’re done, please come back to the table. We’re waiting for you for dessert.”

            “Aunt Emery, they already had dessert.”

            Emery makes a revulsed face and brushes past Koen. Lowe doesn’t relax even when she’s gone: his broad shoulders remain tense, gaze fixed on Koen as if he were a threat, someone I should be shielded from, instead of Lowe’s most trusted and valuable ally.

            Which, going by his amused smile, Koen knows. “And to think that you’re the most sensible Were I’ve ever met. Look how finding her made you,” he says cryptically. He gives Lowe a fond glance, and then his expression shifts. “I got a phone call. Cal tried to reach you with something important but wasn’t able to. It’s urgent.”

            “I left my phone back in my room.”

            Koen’s eyebrow lifts. “Yeah. Not sure it would have made a difference if it had been in your pocket.”

            Lowe rolls his eyes but eases up a fraction. “What’s going on?”

            “He mentioned the possibility of you heading home tonight instead of tomorrow morning. Something about Ana, I think.”





CHAPTER 18




                             Her presence soothes him more than a full-moon run.





Itry to use the time on the plane to make sure that the tracker is in place and working remotely, but the Wi-Fi signal is too spotty, and I end up tossing my Raspberry Pi to the side with an angry grunt. Lowe and I don’t exchange more than a couple of perfunctory words on the flight. He pilots in a focused, self-assured way, his thoughts clearly full of concern for Ana.