Bride(90)

And yet, when I glance around the living room, trying to see the place from Lowe’s perspective, it only seems empty. Lifeless. Like a museum.

Picturing myself in it has my stomach in twists. It’s only been a few weeks—my tastes can’t have changed so much in so little, can they?

I turn to Lowe and find him white-knuckling the doorframe. “Are you okay?”

“It smells a lot like you,” he says. His voice is hushed, eyes glassy and unfocused. “More than your room in my house. More . . . layers.” He wets his lips. “Give me a second to get used to it.”

I don’t ask him if my scent bothers him, because it’s clear by now that it doesn’t. He used to hate it, though. Or did he? He sure didn’t deny it, and I thought he only recently changed his mind, but maybe . . .

“Are you and Gabi close?” I ask. Not what we were discussing, but Lowe appears to welcome the distraction.

“I don’t know her well.” He takes a deep breath, slowly getting himself under control. “She’s a couple of years older, and grew up in another huddle. I’ve only met her a handful of times.”

“Why was she chosen to be the Were Collateral?”

“She offered to.” He takes a few steps inside, fingers lightly tracing the empty surfaces, as though he wants to leave little snippets of his scent in this home. Braid it with my own. I see no dust, which means that Owen must have arranged for a cleaning service. He really is a better brother than I gave him credit for. “She was a second. She wanted a truce with the Vampyres. She lost relatives in the war, I believe.”

“I see. Did you ask for volunteers?”

He shakes his head. “Your father’s proposal was discussed during one of our round tables. I wasn’t going to ask anyone to put themselves in danger, and was very clear that if us providing a Collateral was nonnegotiable, I wouldn’t go through with the marriage. After the meeting, Gabi took me aside and asked to be sent in.”

“Right.” I wander into the kitchenette and idly open the fridge. Inside there’s a forgotten bag of blood. What a waste. “She asked. Lowe?”

He leans against the wall, already more relaxed. “Yeah?”

“What did I study in college?”

He gives me a puzzled look. “You?”

“Me.”

“Why?” He shrugs when I don’t reply. “You majored in software engineering and minored in forensic sciences.”

Okay, okay.

Okay.

“It was never her.”

His stare is perfectly blank.

“Gabi. She is not your mate.”

“She—no. Did you think she was?” He blinks, uncomprehendingly.

“Governor Davenport said so. Back at the ceremony.”

His eyes widen with understanding, and I watch the realization hit him. “No. The traditional contract between Vampyres and Weres requires the Collateral to be two things: in good health, and related to the Alpha of the pack.”

I knew that. But for the first time, I actually think about it. “Do you have any living relatives aside from Ana?”

He shakes his head.

“I see. And you weren’t about to let her go.”

“It was also nonnegotiable.”

“So . . . ?”

“We made the case that a mate is equivalent to a blood relative within a Were pack. It’s not quite as straightforward as that, but . . .”

“The council bought it.”

Lowe nods. “I asked your father not to publicize that she was my mate to avoid issues for Gabi once she returned home. I didn’t think . . .” I watch understanding fully sink into him. That I’d been assuming it was her. That I thought he’d brought me to meet his mate, even as we . . . “No. No, Misery.” He seems distressed on my behalf. “She isn’t. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” It’s not his fault if I assumed, and it has nothing to do with me, anyway.

But it has. We study each other across several feet, and there’s a question bubbling deep in my belly, and an answer simmering inside him, a tentative certainty that warms the air between us.

My feet drag me to Lowe of their own accord. They push me up on my toes, and I’m kissing him as intensely as I can, too much pressure too fast, my arms looped tight around his neck like a noose. He doesn’t immediately respond, but it’s confusion more than hesitation. After a beat his hands close around my waist, trapping me between him and the wall, deepening the contact. “Misery.” The words come out jumbled between our lips. His erection brushes against my stomach and we both gasp.

“We shouldn’t,” he says, pulling back.

But when I ask him “Why?” his lips find mine again. The kiss started high, but still manages to escalate. “I know. I know, I think—” My hands travel down, pulling up his shirt and exposing a strip of warm skin. “I want to—” I cannot say it out loud, because I don’t know what I need. It has to do with the truth, and him admitting it, but it’s a confused, painful thorn tangled in my head. “Can we—”

“Yeah. Yeah, we can.” He’s at once urgent and soothing. “We can.”

There is a couch right behind us, but Lowe flips me around until my front is pressed to the wall, forehead and forearm flush against it. “Slow down,” he commands, mouth sucking on my neck, a large hand splaying over the center of my back. My heart flutters. In the slipperiness of this moment, it’s exactly what I need to hear.