Bride

Food for thought.

“Let me go,” Max whines. Like me, he’s sitting on a couch. Unlike me, his hands are tied behind his back, and he’s being watched by several guards with the kind of icy treatment one would reserve for someone who tried to kidnap a child.

Which is exactly what Max did.

“You can stop asking,” Cal tells him mildly. “Because it ain’t going to happen.” Out of all the Weres in here, it’s clear that he and Ken Doll are the highest ranking. They also appear to have a bad cop, even worse cop thing going on. Cal is affably scary, Ken is snarkily terrifying. Whatever works for them, I guess.

“I want to see my mother,” Max re-whines.

“Do you, champ? Are you sure? Because your mother is out there, humiliated by what you just did and the company you’ve been keeping.”

“I du

Max growls, but it turns into a whimper when his Alpha comes in, Juno and Mick in tow. I mouth a bashful So sorry to Mick, worried that he’ll get in trouble for taking a piss and leaving me alone for a minute. He waves his hand at me, and the entire room drops into silence, everyone focusing on Lowe like his presence is a gravitational pull. Even I ca

“Is Ana okay?” Gemma asks.

Lowe nods. “Playing with Misha.” Hands on his hips, he surveys the room. Every pair of eyes is instantly downcast.

Except for mine.

“Who wants to tell me what the fuck just happened?” he asks, staring at me. I expect everyone to explode into rushed explanations, but Were discipline is better than that. A heavy silence stretches, broken only by Lowe coming to stand in front of me. I’m ready to say my final words, but all he does is take off his zip-up hoodie, wrap it around my shuddery shoulders, then admire the result for a beat too long.

Everyone’s eyes are still on the ground.

“Cal,” he says. It’s embarrassing, the sense of relief I feel at not being called on.

“Everything was going according to plan,” Cal starts. “As expected, Max was trying to lure Ana away. We were tailing him to see who he would rendezvous with, when . . .”

He turns to me, and suddenly I am the center of the room. My relief was premature.

“I’m sorry.” I swallow. “I had no idea this was some kind of cahooty ambushy plan. If I see a guy who’s been a total dick to me absconding with a child, it’s only natural for me to . . .” To what? Why did I intervene, again? Now that the adrenaline has dried up, I ca

Ken Doll snorts. “Were you watching us from the window?”

“I mean . . . yeah?”

“Creepy. You need a hobby.”

“You’re right. I’ve heard amazing things about paragliding, or competitive duck herding. Maybe I could—oh, wait. I forgot that I’m literally stuck in a one-hundred-and-thirty-square-foot bedroom twenty-four seven.”

“Read a book, pointy.”

“Enough.” Lowe stalks across the room to crouch in front of Max, who instantly tries to scramble away. His tone is firm but surprisingly gentle when he asks, “Where were you going to take Ana?” Max doesn’t reply, so he continues, “You are fifteen, and I’m not going to punish you like an adult. I don’t know who you got mixed up with, or how, but I can help you. I will protect you.”

Sweat trickles down Max’s temples. He’s much younger than I thought. “You’re just going to get rid of me. If I tell you, you—”

“I do not hurt my own, especially not children,” Lowe growls. “I am not Roscoe.”

“No.” Max’s eyes flick to me. “He’d never have made alliances with the Vampyres or the Humans, would never have taken one in and left her to kill the Weres—”

“You’re right. Roscoe liked to kill the Weres on his own.” Max lowers his eyes. He’s just a boy. “Is an alliance with the Vampyres really worse than more Were deaths at their hands?”

Max seems to grapple with the question, Adam’s apple bobbing. Then he remembers his rage, and spurts out, “You’re not the rightful Alpha.”

It’s clearly a big faux pas. Because every other Were in the room takes a step forward to intervene—and then stops at once at Lowe’s lifted hand.

“Who told you that?” he asks. Menacing, ruthless. “Maybe it’s a fair mistake. Maybe they simply weren’t there when Roscoe lost the challenge to me. I sent a message to the Loyals, let them know that I’d gladly accept the challenge from any of them. And yet.” Lowe stands. “Dissent and discussion are welcome. I’m not Roscoe, and I won’t dispose of those who disagree with me. But trying to take a child, sabotage important infrastructure, brutally attack huddles who support me . . . This is violent insurgence. And as long as I’m Alpha of this pack, I’m not going to accept it. Who sent you here, Max?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t know.”

“Did you forget?” Ken Doll comes to stand next to Lowe. Max recoils. “We have ways of making you remember.”

“He’s barely more than a child, though,” Cal points out.

“He chose to work with the Loyals,” Ken says, cracking his knuckles.

Cal, to my shock, shrugs. “I suppose you’re right.” He, too, cracks his knuckles.

I search Lowe’s face for a sign that he’s not going to let his minions . . . I don’t know, waterboard a boy. His expression is detached, happy to delegate. Not what I’d expect from someone who’s pla

“Wait!” I yell. Today must be a particularly nosy day for me. “Don’t hurt him. I can help you.”

All heads whip around to me, with varying degrees of a

I roll my eyes. “First of all, I grew up among the Humans, and leech, parasite, sanguisuge, bloodsponge, tick, sucker, bat bitch—they’re not the groundbreaking insults you think they are.” Vampyres do drink blood to survive, and we’re not shy about it. “I can find out who sent Max. Without nail pulling or whatever you’re pla

“I du

But Max is shaking like a leaf. And I must not be the sadist I fancied myself. “Please,” I plead to Lowe, tuning out the rest of the room. “I can help.”

“How?” He, for one, seems more curious than irritated.

“It’s easier done than said. Here.” I stand and brush past him to go to Max. He stops me with his fingers on my wrist. When I crane my neck up to him, startled, he’s looking straight ahead. “Why?” he asks, without meeting my eyes. His voice is low, meant only for me.

I’m not quite sure what he wants to know, so I go for what feels right. “Ana has been visiting,” I say, matching his tone. “She keeps me company, and even though she’s terrible at pronouncing my name and clearly doesn’t know whether she’s six or seven . . .” I swallow. “I’d rather she doesn’t get, you know. Kidnapped and trafficked.”

He finally looks down at me. Scans my face for several long moments, and whatever his inspection is about, I must pass muster. He nods and lets go of me. I don’t move.

“Actually, could you help me? I’m not super good at this.” His brows furrow, and I hasten to add, “But good enough.”

I think? I’ve only done this with Serena, who insisted I foster my single useful Vampyre trait and practice on her. She’d have me put her under and use our shared cell phone to film videos of her making out with a cabbage; reciting the Pledge of Allegiance with a German accent; confessing to an entire series of dirty dreams with Mr. Lumiere, our French tutor, as the recurring guest star.

Hopefully, I remember how to.

I kneel in front of Max, ignoring his nauseating, fear-drenched heartbeat, the way he hisses at me to get away. “Dude, I’m trying to help you avoid an iron chair, or however it is that your people extract information, so—”