Page 2 of Bride

There’s a tense atmosphere, and then there’sthis. One venue, three species, five centuries of conflict, and zero good faith. The black suits escorting Owen and me seem torn between protecting us and killing us themselves, just to get it over with. They wear sunglasses indoors and mutter entertainingly bad code into their sleeves.Bat is flying to the ceremony hall. I repeat, we have Bat.

The groom is, uninventively,Wolf.

“When do you think your future husband will try to kill you?” Owen asks conversationally, looking straight ahead. “Tomorrow? Next week?”

“Who’s to say.”

“Within the month, for sure.”

“For sure.”

“One has to wonder if the Weres will bury your corpse or just, you know. Eat it.”

“One has to.”

“But if you care to live a bit longer, try tossing a stick when he starts mauling you. I hear they love to fetch—”

I halt abruptly, causing a slight commotion among the agents. “Owen,” I say, turning to my brother.

“Yes, Misery?” His eyes hold mine. Suddenly, his indolent, insult-comedian mask slips off, and he’s not my father’s shallow heir anymore, but the brother who’d sneak into bed with me whenever I had nightmares, who swore he’d protect me from the cruelty of the Humans and the bloodthirstiness of the Weres.

It’s been decades.

“You know what went down the last time the Vampyres and Weres tried this,” he says, shifting to the Tongue.

I sure do. The Aster is in every textbook, albeit with vastly different interpretations. The day the purple of our blood and the green of the Weres’ flowed together, as bright and beautiful as the blooming flower the massacre was named after.“Who the hell would enter a marriage of political convenience afterthat?”

“Me, apparently.”

“You are going to live among the wolves. Alone.”

“Right. That’s how hostage exchanges work.”Around us, the suits hurriedly check their watches.“We have to go—”

“Alone to be slaughtered.”Owen’s jaw grinds. It’s so unlike his usual careless self, I frown.

“Since when do you care?”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because an alliance with the Weres is necessary to the surivival of—”

“These are Father’s words. It’s not whyyouagreed to do this.”

It’s not, but I’m not about to admit it.“Maybe you underestimate Father’s persuasiveness.”

His voice drops to a whisper.“Don’t do this. It’s a death sentence. Say you’ve changed your mind—give me six weeks.”

“What will have changed in six weeks?”

He hesitates.“A month. I—”

“Is something amiss?” We both jump at Father’s sharp tone. For a split second we’re children again, again scolded for existing. As always, Owen recovers quicker.

“Nah.” The vacuous smile is back on his lips. “I was just giving Misery a few pointers.”

Father cuts through the security guards and tucks my hand into his elbow with ease, like it hasn’t been a decade since our last physical contact. I force myself not to recoil. “Are you ready, Misery?”

I cock my head. Study his stern face. Ask, mostly out of curiosity, “Does it matter?”

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