Bride

I nod, trying to stave off the surge of pleasure.

“Okay.” He presses another gentle, chaste kiss against my nape, and then draws out. The friction is delicious, and I arch back, making plaintive sounds as only the tip is left inside. When he pushes in again, a little deeper, I whimper. “Too much?”

The only answer I can manage is a squeeze around his cock. His palm slaps against the wall with a curse.

“I’ve been thinking about this,” I tell him, barely a whisper.

His “Yeah” is apologetic. “I tried not to.”

I turn my head. He’s hulking, wrapped around me. His cheek is there, stubbly and flushed olive and perfect for me to kiss. “Me, too.” Then I add, smiling, “Not too hard, though.”

I lose track of time when he starts thrusting, and so does he. We move together, sweaty and winded. He stops after a few minutes, to take off the edge, and then again a couple of minutes after that. He pulls out when he needs a break from the stimulation, and I feel empty, shaking with frustrated pleasure, so he slides his fingers inside me, keeping me full as he winds down, hot and hard against my hip. The lights from the street pour in through the windows, and our breathing grows choppy. When I can’t stop myself, when I’m sensitive and swollen and about to shatter so hard that a single thrust is okay to bring me off, I can barely remember to warn him.

“I’m about to—”

I come again, the pleasure curling tight inside me. What happens to Lowe is fuzzy, eclipsed by my own pleasure, but I make out some of it: a sharp grunt; a sudden feeling of emptiness; that part of him swelling hotter and harder against the globes of my ass; then his come, warm and wet, pooling onto the small of my back.

And then we stay like that, breathing together, wiped of thought. He presses his forehead against my shoulder, one hand splayed on my abdomen as if to contain me, and maybe it’s whatever chemicals flood Vampyre brains after sex, but I ca

“Do Weres . . .” My voice is raspy from swallowing my moans. I clear my throat and hear myself ask, “Do Weres always knot?”

He lets out a shuddering breath. “Don’t move.” He presses a kiss against my cheekbone. “I’m going to clean you up. Where do you keep—”

“Don’t leave.” I turn around to look at him, and he looks—ravaged. Vulnerable. Happy. My shirt slips down, but this is my apartment. I have nothing but changes of clothes. “Can you answer my question first?”

He shakes his head. “We don’t.” But then adds: “It’s complicated.”

I don’t think it’s complicated. In fact, I suspect it might be very simple. “Explain it to me, please.”

“It’s a sign of . . . It only happens between certain people.” My shirt is completely askew, and he trails kisses on the jutting bone of my shoulder, getting lost in the act before straightening my neckline. He inhales deeply. “On second thought, I’m not going to clean you up. I’ll just leave you like this.” His hand snakes around my waist. To my lower back, where I’m sticky and wet. “Send a clear message to anyone who smells you. Who you belong to.”

“Had it ever happened to you before?”

He’s smearing his come into my skin with his thumb, and why am I okay with this? “Before?”

“Before me. Knotting. Did it ever happen with anyone else?”

His eyes darken. “Misery—”

“I’m just starting to put things together, you know?” We’re still buzzing from the pleasure, and it’s unfair of me to press him right now, when our defenses are lowered and we’re full of the wrong kind of hormones, but . . . Just but. “I think it was there for me to see all along. But you threw me off on purpose, didn’t you? There was your reaction to my scent when we first met, and it was so extreme, I assumed that you didn’t like it. How adamant you were about not having me around.” I swallow. “I would have realized it sooner, if I hadn’t taken for granted that it had to be another Were. It made so much sense that Gabi would be the one. In the end, though, it was all about getting to know you. Because now that I understand what kind of person you are, I ca

Lowe says nothing. He stares, impenetrable. His pale, decent, kind eyes retreat into something that offers no clarity.

“It happens between mates, right? Knotting, I mean.” Biologically, it makes sense in so many ways. Honestly, nothing else does. “It’s me, isn’t it?” I attempt a wobbly smile. It’s okay. I know it. I feel it, too. “I’m your mate. That’s why . . .”

“Misery.” He’s not looking at me, but at some spot around my feet. And his tone is like I’ve never heard it before: Unreadable. Empty.

“That’s why, right?”

He’s silent for heavy seconds. “Misery.” My name, again, but this time there’s a world of hurt behind the word, like I’m torturing him.

“I’m not . . . I feel the same way you do,” I add quickly, not wanting him to think that I’m accusing him of something beyond his control. “Or maybe not—maybe I don’t have the hardware. Maybe only another Were could feel the same. But I really do like you. More than that. I haven’t quite figured it all out, because I don’t have much experience with feelings. But maybe you think that this frightens the shit out of me, and . . .” My voice weakens, because Lowe has lifted his gaze, and I can see the way he’s looking at me.

He understands, I think. He knows. He feels exactly the way I do.

But then his expression shutters. And his tone can only be described as compassionate. “I’m sorry if I’ve ever given you the wrong impression about what is happening between us.”

My assurance wobbles, when I was secure in his feelings for me till a moment ago. I shake my head. “Lowe, come on. I know Gabi isn’t your mate.”

“She isn’t.” He presses his lips together. “But I’m afraid you reached the wrong conclusions.”

“Lowe.”

He shakes his head slowly. “I’m sorry, Misery.”

“Lowe, it’s fine. You can—”

“We should stop discussing this now.”

“No.” I let out a laugh. “I’m right. I know that I’m right.”

There is something about the way he stares at me. Like he knows he’s about to hurt me, and himself in the process, and the thought is simply unacceptable. Like I’m leaving him no choice.

“You said that a mate grabs you by the stomach, and—”

“Misery.” He speaks harshly this time, like he’s scolding a child. “You should stop filling your mouth with Were words you ca

My throat falls into my stomach. “Lowe.”

“It was a mistake, telling you about the concept of mates.” His voice is detached, like he’s reading from a script and sucking every emotion out of his performance. “It’s not something any non-Were can fully comprehend, let alone a Vampyre. But I understand how appealing it might be, for someone who struggles with belonging.”

“What?”

“Misery.” He sighs again. “You have been abandoned and mistreated your entire life. By your family, by your people, by your only friend. You are fascinated with the idea of eternal love and companionship, but that just doesn’t reflect what I feel for you.”

My heart cracks. The ground beneath my feet undulates as I come to terms with this version of Lowe. Who, apparently, would take things I told him about my past and use them against me. “You . . .” I shake my head, stupefied by how much his words hurt. Even when they ca