Bride

They regard each other. It’s Father who finally breaks the silence by saying: “I want you to know that I would do all of it again.” His voice is too strong for my taste, almost obscenely calm. I wish I could watch him beg for mercy, see him doubt his ridiculous righteousness and the courage of his stupid convictions. I wish he could suffer even just an ounce, even just at the end of it. I wish there was some comeuppance for everything he has done.

And then I don’t have to wish. Because after nodding pensively, Owen grins. Wide.

“Fair enough. What I want you to know,” he promises, voice low and clear, “is that as I take over your place on the council, I will work hard to undo every shitty little thing you have built in the last few decades. I’m going to broker alliances with the Weres and with Humans that won’t just benefit us. I’m going to do everything I can to facilitate truces between them. And when this area is at peace and the Vampyres’ influence is reduced to near insignificance, I’m going to take your fucking ashes and scatter them where the borders and the entry points used to be, so that Weres, and Humans, and Vampyres can step over them without even realizing it. Daddy.” He smiles once more, ferocious, scary.

Wow. My brother is . . . wow.

“Misery, anything you’d like to say to this wretched piece of shit before he can no longer hear you?”

I open my mouth. Then think better of it and close it.

What could I tell him? Is there anything that would hurt him even a hundredth of how much he has hurt me and the people I love? Maybe only: “Nah.”

Owen chuckles, and Lowe’s expression is at once tender and amused. Father doesn’t give us the satisfaction of thrashing around, or yelling insults, or relinquishing control in any way. But his eyes meet mine before disappearing behind the blindfold. There is a defeated tinge to them, and I tell myself that maybe he knows: I will think of him as little as possible, for as long as I can.

“What would you like me to do with him?” Lowe asks once Father can’t hear us. The question should be directed at Owen, but he’s very much looking at me. Perhaps this is not a leader working on behalf of his people, but a Were, asking a question to his . . .

I hang my head. No. I’m not even going to think about the word. It’s been abused and dragged in the mud enough for tonight.

“What happens if he stays alive? Actually, what happens if he gets killed? Would there be repercussions?”

“There is no official body regulating Were-Vampyre relationships. Yet.” Lowe adds. “I assume that it would be up to the Vampyre council to seek retribution, or punishment—on your father, or on whoever executed him. Whoever takes his seat is going to have some say in that.”

“Owen, then.”

They share a glance. And after a split-second hesitation, Lowe says, “Or you.”

Shockingly, Owen nods. And then they both look at me expectantly.

“You guys think I want to be part of the council?”

Lowe says nothing. Owen shrugs. “I don’t know. Do you?”

A laugh explodes out of me. “What is this?”

“Father decided I’d be his successor decades ago.” Owen looks dead serious. “I think we should stop doing as he says.”

“Are you saying that if I want that seat, you’ll hand it to me?”

“I . . .” He rolls his lips over his fangs. “I wouldn’t be happy about it. And I’ll warn you—our people would not like it. But they’d have to acknowledge you’ve done far more for the Vampyres than any of them, and eventually they’d make peace with it.”

I didn’t know Owen could be this sensible. I find it so mystifying, I actually stop and allow myself to consider the idea of a world where I can truly be at home among the Vampyres, if only because I am their duty-bound leader. I wouldn’t be alone, wouldn’t be rejected, wouldn’t be constantly out of place. The appeal of it is . . .

Low to nonexistent. Honestly: fuck the Vampyres.

“What you said earlier,” I tell Owen. “About working with the Weres and the Humans. You meant it, right? You weren’t just fucking with Father?”

“Of course.” He scowls, indignant. “Lowe and I are basically best friends.”

Lowe’s puzzled frown doesn’t quite broadcast best friendship.

Owen snorts. “Thank you for the vote of confidence. It’s truly inspirational to know that the Were Alpha and his bride, who also happens to be my goddamn sister, think that I’d be a great leader. Truly the support system of champions. Assholes.”

I smile. Lowe’s lips twitch up, too. Our eyes catch, and it feels even more menacing than before, a dangerous storm coming, like a current buzzing up my spine and water after a drought.

It’s frightening, this thing between us. I need to interrupt it. “Can I . . . I have questions,” I hurry to say. “Where is Mick’s son?”

“Owen and I have several people looking for him,” Lowe says. He rubs his hand across the back of his neck, looking pained.

“And Mick? What’s going to happen to him?”

His face sets. “I’ll let you know when I decide.”

“And Ana? My father—”

“—never knew where she was. She’s safe.”

Relief floods through me. “I’m glad.”

“She’ll be back as soon as the situation is resolved. Anything else you need to know?”

I press my lips together, wishing this was the time and place for more questions. Wishing we were alone.

Am I your mate?

Is it okay if it doesn’t matter? Is it okay if I want to be?

How much of what you said, what I said, what everyone said was real?

Some of it must be, right?

“No.” I glance at Owen. He’s either unaware of how much I’d love for him to leave us alone, or doesn’t care. The latter, probably.

“You still haven’t told me what you’d like me to do with your father,” Lowe says softly.

I glance at the chair. Father’s posture is as impeccable as always, but with his pointed ears hidden by headphones and his white hair slightly mussed, he could almost pass for Human. How the mighty have fallen.

Maybe I’m truly horrible. Maybe he deserves it. Maybe it’s a little of both. Still, I say: “I don’t care. I leave it to you two.”

When I walk past Lowe, the back of my hand brushes against his, and a shiver of undistilled warmth travels up my arm.

I grip the door handle, still feeling his heat in my fingers. Without turning, I add: “Unless the need arises, feel free to never tell me what you settle on.”

I fall asleep in my childhood bedroom, which is the weird cherry on top of the weirdest fucking night.

In the month leading up to my wedding I was often at the Nest, but never in here. In fact, I haven’t been here since my brief stint back in Vampyre territory after graduating as the Collateral. The place is fairly clean, and I wonder who’s been dusting the empty shelves or changing the light bulbs, and on whose orders. I open empty drawers and unused closets. About an hour after the sun has risen, I go to sleep.

My bed is Vampyre style, which consists of a thin mattress on the floor and a wooden platform about three feet above it, ideal for protection from the light. A tipped-over coffin, basically, Serena said the first time she saw it, and I still hate her a bit for it. But it’s deliciously comfortable, and I bemoan the fact that I could never find anything like this in Human territory, let alone among the Weres. Then, before I doze off, I wonder whether that’s even relevant. What will happen to me next? With Owen ascending, will there even be a need for marriages of convenience between our people?

No. So maybe I’ll go back to my own apartment. And pen testing. But I’d walk into the sun before working with whatshisface—Pierce, yeah—before working with Pierce again. So I should probably refresh my CV and . . .