Page 26 of Bride

“Sure. He’s not a brook trout, either. I’m not making any ontological claims on him, but hedidattack me.”

“You are”—she takes an angry step closer—“aliar.”

“Leave us.” Lowe’s sharp voice reminds us that we’re not alone in the room. We turn at once. And we’re equally shocked to see that he’s addressing Juno.

“She’s lying,” Juno insists. It’s getting a little ridiculous, the way she points at me like I’m a mugger who yanked her purse away. “You should punish her.”

I snort out a laugh. “Yes, Lowe. Spank me and take away my TV privileges.”

“You blade-eared leech.”

“Juno. Out.”

However the hierarchy works among the Weres, it must bestrict. Because Juno clearly wants to stay and ground me with her claws, but she dips her head once in something akin to a salute, and then murmurs a soft “Alpha,” before stalking out of the office.

It feels like respite, the door closing behind her, the blessed quiet. Until Lowe moves closer, and I suddenly mourn not having a third person in the room. The bad, as it turns out, is still better than the worse.

“Misery,” he says. There is reproach in his voice, and a bit of a rough edge, and the tone of someone who has lots of problems keeping him busy, and is used to solving most of them with a look and maybe atinythreat of violence.

We regard each other, just me and him, and yes, I feel it loud in my blood: we’re alone. For the first time—though not of many to come. I doubt Lowe was planning to spend quality time with me ever again after yesterday.

Aside from a layer of stubble, he looks like he did at the ceremony, his harsh face all structure. Clearly, as my makeup artist was painting the Sistine Chapel redux, his found nothing to improve on. I notice his eyes dip to my collarbone, where a faint shadow of the forest-green markings still lingers behind the riot of waves left over from the braids. Once again, that muscle in his jaw jumps, pupils get fat all of a sudden.

This situation is a problem. The Collateral is supposed to be a nonplayable character in a video game. For the next year, I need to be invisible, unobtrusive as I search for Serena. Not the kind of nuisance who gets caught murdering a young Were.

God, I bet they call thempups.

“You don’t believe me, do you?” I ask.

He blinks, like he forgot we were in the middle of a conversation. He clears his throat, but his voice stays gravelly. “Believe what?”

“That I didn’t attack Max.”

He presses his full lips together. “You were showing him your fangs.”

“You jealous?” I bat my eyes at him, not sure where this recklessness comes from. I don’tthinkI want to provoke him. “Wanna see them?”

His eyes rocket down to my lips and stay for a beat too long. It’s almost funny, how repulsive Weres find our teeth. “What I am is worried that my Vampyre wife will get herself killed. I’d have to bury her corpse in the raised bed under the plumbago, and the next batch will sprout ugly.”

I gasp theatrically. “Not the plumbago.”

“They are my sister’s favorite.”

“And sheisvery cute.”

He abruptly leans so close, I feel his breath on my lips. “Is this a threat?”

“No.” I frown, bewildered. “No.” I let out a choked laugh. “There was no ‘would be a shame if something happened to her’ implied. Despite the fan fiction Max and Juno have been writing about me, I donotusually plot the demise of children.” I think about my conversation with Alex. Who’s probably off somewhere biting his cuticles to little stumps. “Plus, you’re the one who decided I should be living here.”

His eyebrow lifts. “I’m sure you have some excellent advice on where else I should house the daughter of the most powerful Vampyre in the council, who’s apparently a fearsome fighter in her own right.”

“Fearsome?” I’m... flattered?

“For a non-Were,” he adds, a tad begrudgingly, like he regrets the compliment. I bet this man thrives on grudges. He has aquestionable temperament, stern and autocratic, and I’ve always thought of myself as too much of a survivor to be in any way mouthy, but here I am. Nettlesome.

“Still. It feels like committing to the bit a little too much, giving me the bedroom next to yours.”

“I’ll decide what’s too much.” He’s condescending. And inflexible. A dick, probably.

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