Bride (Ali Hazelwood) by Ali Hazelwood

            My heart aches for him.

            “It started when you left,” Mick explains grimly when he picks us up. “I know, I know,” he immediately adds when he sees Lowe’s expression, “I should have told you, but it was a low fever. I assumed she’d eaten something funny. But then she started shivering and said that her bones hurt. And started to vomit.”

            Lowe, whose Alpha nature manifests through having to drive every single means of transport he boards, pulls up to the house. “Can she keep liquids down?”

            “Not much. Juno’s upstairs with her.” He looks about five years older than when we left. And so do Juno and Cal, who are pacing outside of Lowe’s room, where Ana chose to make her sickbed. I wonder if her brother’s smell is thicker in there, reassuring her that everything is going to be all right.

            I have no doubt Lowe is terrified, but he never shows it. Even earlier tonight, when we were about to be discovered, he never panicked. Maybe it’s an Alpha trait, the making of a good leader: the ability to back-burner emotions and focus on what needs to be done. I think Father would agree.

            “Is this—being sick. Is it not something that happens to full Weres?” I ask.

            Cal and Mick seem taken aback. Juno just asks Lowe, calmly, “You told her about Ana?” and seems unsurprised when he nods. “We’re not really susceptible to viruses,” she explains to me, “or bacteria, or whatever this is. There are select poisons that affect us, but not this way.”

            It occurs to me that because of Ana’s physiology, a Were doctor would be useless. And because of Ana’s physiology, a Human doctor would put her at risk of being discovered. “Is it the first time this has happened?”

            Lowe nods. “She’s had a runny nose and some sneezing in the past. We passed them off as allergies.”

            “We still have that Tyler medicine,” Cal offers. “The one we got months ago.”

            “Tylenol?” I ask.

            He gives me an admiring look. “How do you know?”

            I smile. “Just guessing. That might help with the fever and the pain, but . . .” I shrug, and while the others try to decide how to proceed, I go check on Ana directly. She looks small and fragile in the middle of Lowe’s king bed, and her forehead burns under my hand. I’m convinced she’s asleep, but her “Can you keep it there?” when I’m about to leave tells me otherwise. “You feel so cool.”

            “Who do you think I am?” For her pleasure, I produce a deep frown. “Your personal ice pack?”

            Her giggle squeezes my chest.

            “How do you feel?” I ask.

            “Like I’m about to puke on you.”

            “Could you please puke on Sparkles first?”

            She gives it a long thought before formally declaring, “As you wish.”

            Lowe joins us a few minutes later. He presses his lips to Ana’s temple and gives her what he announces to be the first of her California presents—a large pink giraffe that I cannot figure out where or when he acquired.

            “Were there giraffes in California?”

            “Not in the wild, love.”

            She purses her lips. “I’d like a more aunenthic present next time.”

            “Noted.”

            “Lowe?”

            “Yes.”

            “I miss Mama.”

            Lowe’s eyes briefly flutter shut, like he can’t bear to keep them open. “I know, love.”

            “Why does Misha get to have two parents and I get none? It’s not fair.”

            “No.” He gently smooths down her hair, and I feel it deep inside my bones that he’d burn the entire world for her. “It’s not.”

            He holds her head when, just a couple of minutes later, a new wave of nausea has her dry-retching into a bucket. We stay with her until she falls asleep, clutching both our hands with her little fingers.