Page 50 of Bride

“That is...”

“Gross?”

Juno might be too polite to agree. “Would you like to do that now?”

“Oh, no. A handshake is so much better.” I take her offered hand and grip it firmly.

“I don’t know if you and I can ever be friends,” she says. “But I can be better.”

I smile at her, closemouthed and fangless. “Hell, I canonlybe better.”

Turns out, I was wrong about the full moon.

It’s further ahead than I thought, three whole nights, and the day before, Mick orders me not to leave my room—ideally—or the house, under any circumstances. He still looks out for me, but I haven’t had a guard camped outside my door since my conversation with Lowe.

“How come?” I ask curiously. “I mean, I’ll do as you say. But what’s so different about the full moon?”

“It takes a really powerful Were to shift when the moon is small—and a really powerful Were tonotshift when it’s big. All Weres will be in their most dangerous form, including many youthswho have little self-control. Better not test them with unusual scents.” I laugh at his old-man-yells-at-a-cloud eye roll, but later that night the persistent howling that seems to be all over the lakeshore gets to me. When my door opens without warning, I’m much jumpier than usual.

“Ana.” I exhale and set aside my book. It’s about a nosy elderly Were lady who solves murder mysteries in the Northeast pack. I absolutely loathe her, but somehow I’m already at number seven in the series. “Why aren’t you wolfing with...” Oh.

Right.

Because shecan’tdo that.

“Can I come into the closet with you?”

She has been visiting a lot, but usually doesn’t ask for permission—just climbs next to me and plays the little games I code for her on the fly. Tonight seems different. “Fine, but no cover hogging.”

“Okay,” she says. Two minutes later, not only has she stolen my duvet, but she also appropriated my pillow. Pest. “Why don’t you sleep in a bed?”

“ ’Cause I’m a Vampyre.” She accepts the explanation. Probably because she acceptsme. Like Serena used to, and no one else ever. I turn the page, and we’re silent for three more minutes, her breath hot and humid against my cheek.

“Usually Lowe stays human and hangs out with me when they’re all gone,” she says eventually. Her voice is small, and I know why. Alex returned yesterday, but Lowe is still out of town. That’s why Ana sounds like something she rarely is: sad.

I put down the book and turn to her. “Are you saying I’m not as good company as Lowe?”

“You’re not.” I glare, but soften when she asks, “When will I be able to shift, too?”

Shit. “I don’t know.”

“Misha can do it already.”

“I’m sure there are things you can do that Misha can’t.”

She ponders the matter. “I’m really good at braids.”

“There you go.” Pretty trivial skill, but.

“Can I braid your hair?”

“Absolutely fucking no.”

A couple of hours later, half a dozen braids pull at my scalp, and Ana is snoring softly with her head in my lap. Her heartbeat is sweet, delicate, a butterfly finding a good landing flower, andfuckchildren for being little assholes who manipulate people into wanting to protect them. I hate that I curve my body around hers when I hear heavy, hurried steps through the walls. And I hate that when my bedroom door opens, I reach for the knife I stole from the kitchen and stashed under my pillow.

I’m ready to kill to defend her. This is Ana’s fault. Ana is forcing me to fuckingkill—

Lowe crouches at the entrance of my closet, his pale green eyes furious in the semidarkness.

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