Page 39 of Bride
Something soft rubs against my calf.
“Not now,” I murmur, distractedly swatting Serena’s damn fucking cat away. The terminal starts to populate with hits. I stroke a few keys to maximize. So far, not too promising.
The cat’s wet nose presses against my thigh. “I’m busy, Sparkles or whatever. Go play with Ana.”
He starts purring. No, growling. Frankly, it’s a level of entitlement that pisses me off. “I told you to—” I glance down and instantly scramble back, nearly falling on my ass.
In the dim light of dusk, the yellow eyes of a gray wolf stare angrily at me.
CHAPTER 9
Ana interrupts her bedtime story to communicate to him important, time-sensitive information: “Miresy is so so soooo pretty. I loooove her ears.”
He presses his lips together before resuming his reading.
Among the Vampyres, fangs are not justteeth—they are status.
Take muscles in Humans: Was there a time, a bunch of millennia ago, in which having a mate with inflated, bouncy biceps meant more protection from... the dinosaurs? I’m no history buff; I thrived in math and zero other subjects. The point is, athletic prowess provided an evolutionary advantage that’s now, in an era in which atomic bombs exist, fairly obsolete. And yet, Humans still find it attractive.
Canines are much the same for Vampyres: they’re considered a symbol of strength and power, because in the olden days we’d hunt our prey and sink our teeth into their flesh to feast on their blood. The longer, the sharper, the bigger—the better.
And this wolf’s... This wolf’s fangs could win contests. Rule civilizations. Get their owner engaged, married, and very much laid at any Vampyre party.Andthey could shred me into M&M’s.
“Are you an actual wolf?” I ask, fighting to keep my voice steady. “Or are you a Were who part-times?”
The only reply is a deep, long, panties-shittinggrowl.
“Would it make things better or worse if I growled back?”
“Wouldn’t change it either way,” a voice says from the entrance.
Lowe. Leaning against the frame, relaxed like a loungewear model during a photoshoot.
“Thank you, Cal,” he says, coming my way. “That will be all.”
And magically, with one last half-hearted snarl in my direction, the wolf shakes its beautiful gray fur and trots away. It stops by Lowe and butts its head against his thigh.
“Cal? As in...” He turns to me and I stare at his face, looking for similarities. I’d have expected consistency between Weres’ shifted and human forms, but Cal’s a redhead. I crane my neck to get a better look at the wolf, but Lowe steps in front of me, blocking my view.
“What the fuck are you doing,wife?” He sounds like a volatile mix of tired and irritated. Any thought of Were phenotypes instantly departs.
I just got caught. Doing something very bad. And I’m in real danger.
“Just looking for...” What? “Sticky notes.”
“Do Vampyres keep sticky notes inside their computers?”
Fuck. “I was trying to check my email.” I swallow. “Get in touch with friends.”
“You don’t have friends, Misery.”
I’m not sure why this hurts when it’s true.
“And I’m very much not an IT person, but that”—he points at my code, which is still crunching along—“does not look like Yahoo.”
“Yahoo? Lowe, you’rereallydating yourself here.”
“Come in,” he orders, and I cannot comprehend how I didn’t notice Alex idling by the door. Too busy contemplating my imminent demise, probably. “Can you figure out what she was doing?”
