Bride(65)

He shakes his head, chest heaving rhythmically up and down. His eyes are different. Not his anymore.

“I’d never . . . from someone. I had no idea it would be . . . Did I hurt you?”

There’s something raptorial about the way he shakes his head. Slow, careful. I take a step back, feeling like I’m being tracked by a much stronger, faster predator.

“Okay.” I lick the corner of my lip. This aftertaste in my mouth is his blood, and there is something deliciously erotic about it—he is alive, breathing in front of me, warm and strong. This living being, this man, this Were, produced plasma and green blood cells and chose to provide me with them.

Life and sustenance.

It’s so intimate. Sexual, but more than that. Not something I could imagine sharing with just anyone, except for . . .

Lowe. Of course.

I look down at my crumpled dress, feeling like a child who just found out that she didn’t really come from the cabbage patch.

“Misery.” I peel my eyes from my feet. Lowe looks disheveled. A little shell-shocked. Confused. Obviously horny. He strokes his erection once over the tented fabric of his pants, staring at my face in that spellbound way. “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know.” I lick my lips, finding more traces of him. “I don’t think so.”

That’s when I hear the steps and remember why I was sucking on his blood a second ago. “They’re coming,” I hiss, hurrying to the computer to disconnect the hardware. In the first lucky break of the evening, the code is done. I unplug everything, making sure to leave nothing behind. Lowe is still standing still, following my every gesture like a wolf about to pounce on a rabbit. When my fingers disappear into my cleavage to hide the USB, his breath hitches.

“Lowe? You know someone’s coming, right?”

“Yeah,” he says simply, and for a moment I think he might be broken. Then I realize—what should we even do? Run? We’ve already been caught. Now it’s all about committing to the show.

“Are you okay?” I ask. Because I didn’t think to, before.

He murmurs, “Come back,” a hand outstretched in my direction. I don’t think he’s okay, but neither am I, so I cross the room.

He hugs me, both arms enveloping my shoulders, my head nestled under his chin. It’s not like before—not in that sexual, feverish way that’s all about heat and shared skin and contact. This hug is all about closeness, and Lowe burying his nose in my hair, and my heartbeat seeking his. We should probably discuss what to do when the next person barges in, come up with an action plan, but all I want is to be here. Cling to him.

“I could fuck you very nicely right now,” he says into my ear. He sounds honest, and a bit resigned. “I almost did.”

“I’m sorry. I never imagined it would lead to . . .”

“I know. I’m just really . . .” His lips move against my forehead, soft and warm. “I’ve never felt like this.”

“Like what?”

“Turned on. Smitten. And . . . and other things.”

I feel the exact same. “I’m sorry,” I repeat. “It must be—I’m going to talk to my brother. It might be something I’ve done.” It’s not. It’s just right.

Lowe’s stubble drags against my temple. “Have you had enough?”

“Enough?”

“Blood.”

“Oh. Yes.”

But, I’d like more.

But, May I have more?

I want it. So bad. I’m about to say fuck it and ask for it assertively, like a big girl, when the door opens again. This time, Lowe and I manage to break apart. He steps protectively in front of me, the tenderness between us dissolving.

“I thought my guards were having hallucinations,” Emery says, eyeing us suspiciously. “I must have forgotten to lock this room.” Her gaze lingers on Lowe’s neck—woundless, but faintly bluish-green. As if someone latched on to it and didn’t let go for a long while. “When you mentioned feeding, Lowe, I assumed . . .” Her lips twist into something that resembles disgust.

“You should never. Assume, that is.” Lowe’s voice is cutting.

And then Koen appears behind Emery, leaning against the doorjamb with a shit-eating grin. “I, for one, am glad the kids are having fun.”

“Yeah, well. When you’re done, please come back to the table. We’re waiting for you for dessert.”

“Aunt Emery, they already had dessert.”

Emery makes a revulsed face and brushes past Koen. Lowe doesn’t relax even when she’s gone: his broad shoulders remain tense, gaze fixed on Koen as if he were a threat, someone I should be shielded from, instead of Lowe’s most trusted and valuable ally.

Which, going by his amused smile, Koen knows. “And to think that you’re the most sensible Were I’ve ever met. Look how finding her made you,” he says cryptically. He gives Lowe a fond glance, and then his expression shifts. “I got a phone call. Cal tried to reach you with something important but wasn’t able to. It’s urgent.”

“I left my phone back in my room.”

Koen’s eyebrow lifts. “Yeah. Not sure it would have made a difference if it had been in your pocket.”

Lowe rolls his eyes but eases up a fraction. “What’s going on?”