Bride(80)

“I guess.” I let out a single, incredulous laugh. I could kiss him. I want to kiss him. “What did you tell him?”

“That we have a gift for him. To thank him for hosting our wedding ceremony in his territory.”

“He believed that?”

“He’s an idiot, and Humans are apparently big on thank-you gifts.” He shrugs. “I read it online.”

“Wow. You were able to fire up a browser all on your ow—”

He shushes me with his thumb on my lips. “I know you can fight. I know you’ve been taking care of yourself since you were a kid. I know you’re not part of my pack, or my real wife, or my . . . But there isn’t a single part of me that wants to take you into enemy territory. Especially days after you were almost killed in mine. For my peace of mind, please be careful tomorrow.”

I nod, trying not to think about whether anyone else has cared about my safety as much as he does. The answer would be too depressing. “Lowe, thank you. This is the first lead on Serena in a long time, and—” My stomach growls, and I remember why I came downstairs.

My organism, slowly self-cannibalizing.

“Sorry.” I get to my feet and reach for the bag I left on the counter. “I know we were having a moment of gratitude and rainbows, but I really need to feed. I’ll just need a—”

Lowe is suddenly behind me. His hand closes around mine, stopping me.

“What—？”

“I don’t want you to drink that.”

I look at my bag. “It’s sealed. It cannot be contaminated. Plus, I can smell crappy blood.”

“That’s not the reason.”

I tilt my head, confused.

“Use me.”

I don’t get it. And then I do get it, and my entire body melts into lava. Stiffens into lead.

“Oh, no.” I feel hot. Hotter than after a feeding. Hotter than while gorging myself on blood. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to.” He is so earnest. And young. And the boldest I’ve ever seen him—when his baseline is pretty bold. “I want to,” he repeats, even more determined.

Jesus. “I talked with Owen. Before the poison.”

Lowe nods. His gaze is eager.

“I think I shouldn’t have fed from you.”

“Why?”

“He said that it’s not something people should do unless they are . . .”

Lowe nods as though he understands. But then he licks his lips. “And you and I aren’t?” He’s so genuinely eager to know, it’s like electricity injected straight into my nerve endings.

I think about the last few days. The escalating intimacy between us. Yes, Lowe and I are. But. “It goes beyond just sex. Long-term feedings create bonds and tangle lives together. It’s something that is strictly done by people who have deep feelings for each other, or the will to develop them.”

Lowe listens intently, eyes never wavering. When he asks, “And you and I don’t?” it’s like a knife skewering my heart.

“We . . .” My stomach is an empty, open ache. “Do we?”

He’s silent. Like he has his answer, but he’s willing to wait for me to find mine.

“It’s just, it would be different from what we’ve done before. It’s not just sex, or fun. If we get into the habit of this, in the long term, there could be . . . consequences.”

“Misery.” His voice is soft. Faintly amused. There is a solemn shine in his eyes. “We are the consequences.”

The problem is: this cannot possibly end well. I’m not sure I’m even ready to demand someone’s unconditional love and devotion, but Lowe’s heart is occupied. And it’s reckless to see what’s happening between us as something more than the forced proximity of two people thrown together by a flurry of political machinations.

I’ve come after something, after someone, my entire life—always the means, never the end—and I’ve made my peace with it. I don’t resent Father for putting my safety after the well-being of the Vampyres, Owen for being chosen as his successor, Serena for valuing her freedom more than my company. I may never have been anyone’s main preoccupation, but I know better than to spend my time on this Earth simply begrudging.

But when I’m with Lowe I feel different, because he is different. He never treats me like I’m the runner-up, even though I know I am. I could see myself becoming jealous, envious. Greedy for what he cannot give. It could quickly become unbearable, the pain of being just an afterthought to him. Not to mention that if—when, dammit, when—I find Serena, I’m going to have to make some important choices.

“Misery,” he says, patient. Always patient, but also urgent. I realize that he’s offering me his hand. It’s outstretched, waiting for me, and . . . This cannot possibly end well. And yet, I think Lowe might be right. The two of us, we’re well past avoiding what’s between us.

I smile. His warmth is tinged with intense melancholia. This won’t end well, but so few things do. Why deny ourselves?

“Yeah?” I take his hand, registering his mild surprise when my fingers slide past his knuckles, then close around his wrist. I hold his palm in both of mine, upturn it. The meat of it is fun to trace, full of calluses, scars littering the rough skin.