Page 7 of Bride

“In here,” Vania says with a soft knock to the door. “The councilman is waiting for you.”

I scan her face. Vampyres are not immortal; we grow old the same as every other species, but... damn. She looks like she hasn’t aged a day since she escorted me to the Collateral exchange ceremony. Seventeen years ago.

“Is there something you need?”

“No.” I turn and reach for the doorknob. Hesitate. “Is he sick?”

Vania seems amused. “You think he’d callyouhere for that?”

I shrug. I can’t think of a single other reason he’d want to see me.

“For what? To commiserate? Or find solace in your filial affection? You have been among the Humans far too long.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of him needing a kidney.”

“We are Vampyres, Misery. We act for the good of the most, or not at all.”

She’s gone before I can roll my eyes, or serve her that “fuck off” I’ve been meaning to. I sigh, glance at the stone-faced guards she left behind, and then walk into my father’s office.

The first things I notice are the two walls of windows, which is exactly what Father wants. Every Human I’ve talked with assumes that Vampyres hate light and relish darkness, but they couldn’t be more wrong. The sun may be forbidden to us, toxic always anddeathly in large quantities, but that’s precisely why we covet it with such intensity. Windows are a luxury, because they need to be treated with absurdly expensive materials that filter everything that might harm us. And windows this large are the most bombastic of status symbols, in a full display of dynastic power and obscene wealth. And beyond them...

The river that slices The City into North and South—us, andthem. Only a few hundred feet separate the Nest from Were territory, but the riverbank is littered with outlook towers, checkpoints, and guard posts, heavily monitored twenty-four seven. A single bridge exists, but access to it is closely surveilled in both directions, and as far as I know, no vehicle has traveled across it since well before I was born. Past that, there are a few Were security areas, and the deep green of an oak forest that stretches south for miles.

I always thought it smart of them not to build civilian settlements next to one of the most sanguinary borders in the Southwest. When Owen and I were children, before I was sent away, Father walked in on us wondering why the Vampyre headquarters had been placed so close to our most lethal enemies. “To remember,” he explained. “And to remind.”

I don’t know. Twenty years later, it still seems pretty fucked up to me.

“Misery.” Father finishes tapping at the touch screen monitor and stands from his luxury mahogany desk, unsmiling but not cold. “It’s good to see you here again.”

“It sure is something.” The past few years have been kind to Henry Lark. I examine his tall frame, triangular face, and wide-set eyes, and I’m reminded of how much I take after him. His blond hair is a little grayer, but still perfectly slicked back. I’ve never seen it anything but—never seen Father less than impeccably puttogether. Tonight the sleeves of his white button-down may be rolled back, but meticulously so. If they’re meant to trick me into thinking that this is a casual meeting, they’ve failed.

And that’s why, when he points at the leather chair in front of his desk and says, “Sit,” I decide to lean back against the door.

“Vania says you’re not dying.” I’m aiming for rude. Unfortunately, I think I just sound curious.

“I trust that you’re healthy, too.” He smiles faintly. “How have the last seven years treated you?”

There is a beautiful vintage clock behind his head. I watch it tick eight seconds before saying, “Just peachy.”

“Yes?” He gives me a once-over. “You’d better remove them, Misery. Someone might mistake you for a Human.”

He’s referring to my brown contacts. Which I considered taking out in the car, before deciding not to bother. The problem is, there are many other signs that I’ve been living among the Humans, most not so quickly reversible. The fangs I shave to dull points every week, for instance, are unlikely to escape his notice. “I was at work.”

“Ah, yes. Vania mentioned you have a job. Something with computers, knowing you?”

“Something like that.”

He nods. “And how is your little friend? Once again safe and sound, I trust.”

I stiffen. “How do you know she—”

“Oh, Misery. You didn’t really think that your communications with Owen went unmonitored, did you?”

I clench my fists behind my back and seriously debate slamming the door behind me and returning home. But there must be a reason he brought me here, and I need to know it. So I take myphone out of my pocket, and once I’m sitting across from Father, I lay it face up on his desk.

I tap on the timer app, set it for exactly ten minutes, and turn it toward him. Then I lean back in the chair. “Why am I here?”

“It’s been years since I last saw my only daughter.” He presses his lips together. “Is that not enough reason?”

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