Some nights, when he’s walking past her door, he has to whisper to himself: “Keep going.”

T

WO THINGS CAN BE TRUE AT ONCE.

For instance: I like Alex, because he’s an intelligent, pleasant young man.

And: spending time together and watching him be terrified of me sparks joy.

Just for fun, I’m tempted to contact a therapist and ask them to quantify how bad a person I am. But by the time Alex and I have been working side by side for five nights, I’ve accepted that reassuring him that I don’t plan to feast on his plasma is futile. Nothing will convince him that I’m not going to exsanguinate him. And I really shouldn’t enjoy it, but there’s something genuinely fun about watching him move around the room like a contortionist to avoid giving me his back, or about running my tongue over my fangs and feeling the clatter of the keyboard stammer to a halt. It’s usually followed by eyes scrunched shut, and low whimpers he thinks I cannot hear, and . . . The Were children who bike all the way to my bedroom window just to point at it are right. I am a monster.

And yet, I carry on. Even after overhearing Alex say, “Please, please, don’t let me die until I turn twenty-five or I get to visit the the Spy Museum, whatever comes first.” Yeah. He prays a lot.

He has no idea why his Alpha tasked him with helping me in a Where in the World Is Carmen Sandiego? errand, and to his credit, doesn’t question

it. Most of our work consists of reexamining Serena’s correspondence, cross-referencing the people she had contact with in the last few months for Were connections. We gather info I couldn’t have found on my own, like that one of the CEOs she interviewed last year for a story on speculative construction owns property near the Were-Human border through a shell company. Even if most stuff leads to dead ends, I still feel closer to Serena than I have since she disappeared.

Lowe checks in for updates once a day, briefly. Father’s response to our lack of progress would be a mix of opaque threats and jabs at our intelligence, but Lowe manages to never sound pushy or disappointed, even as worry lines bracket his mouth and his shoulders strain under his shirt. Impressive, really, how civil he keeps it. Maybe it’s part of that innate pull to leadership he has. Maybe they taught him patience at Alpha school.

When I wake up on the sixth evening, Mick informs me that the Alpha has been called away on urgent pack business and brought Alex along. Without unsupervised access to technology, I once again have nothing to do. I feed. Wander around the house until the sun fully sets. Then move to the porch.

The sky is prettier here, more expansive than in either Human or Vampyre land, but I can’t put my finger on why. I’ve been chin up, studying it, for a quarter hour or so, when I hear a noise coming from the thicket.

A wolf, I think, instantly ready to retreat inside the house. But no. It’s a woman—Juno. She emerges from the trees, looking beautiful, and powerful, and naked.

Newborn-just-slithered-out-of-the-birth-canal naked.

She waves, and then unhurriedly comes to sit on the chair next to mine. “Misery.” She nods once, courteously.

“Hey.” This is fucking weird. “Just checking: You know you’re naked, right?”

“I was on a run.” The moon will fill tomorrow, and the light gleams off her glossy hair. “Does it bother you?”

Does it? “No. Does it bother you?”

She looks at me like I’m one of those Humans who think premarital sex is a ticket to hell. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

“You have?” Talk to might be Were-speak for severely injure. “To apologize.”

I tilt my head.

“You helped Ana last week. With Max.”

“Sounds like you guys were on it already.”

“True. But you . . . cared. And Ana has been through enough that she could use more people who do that.” Her full lips press together. “Lowe said you’ve been using your tech skills to help her, too.”

“Kind of.” I’d hate for her to think I’m selfless when I’m obviously not. “I’m sorry I was so harsh with you when we first met. But Lowe is like a

brother to Cal and me, which makes Ana family, too, and I was . . .”

“Worried?” I shrug. “I wouldn’t be a fan of me, either. I assumed you were being protective.”

She still looks apologetic. “She had a hard time. And it will likely only get harder as she grows up. Did Lowe tell you about Maria?”

“Maria?”

“Their mother. She was attacked by Roscoe when she criticized him over pack affairs. I don’t think he wanted to kill her, but Weres can get carried away, especially in wolf form.”

“He didn’t say, no.” But I’d gathered as much.

“I cannot begin to imagine how traumatizing it must have been for Ana, seeing her only parent be hurt by the single Were whose authority she’d been raised to never question.”

My chest is heavy. “What a piece of shit.”

Juno laughs softly. “You have no idea. He had some good years, but . . .

Did Lowe tell you Roscoe felt so threatened, he sent him away?” “Alex mentioned something like that. Where did he go?”

“To the Northwest pack, with Koen. And maybe it was for the best— Lowe got to observe one of the best Alphas in North America, and perhaps he wouldn’t be nearly as good a leader if it weren’t for Koen. But Lowe was twelve. He was forced to leave his home without knowing if he’d ever be

allowed to come back, and he did it. He was angry and frustrated, I felt it, but he never said. And when he came of age, he still wasn’t allowed to come back, so he moved to Europe, went to school, started a career. He built a life—and then Roscoe became deranged. Many challenged him, but no one won. We asked Lowe to come back, and he let all of it go. Everything he’d worked for had to come after the pack. Lowe never had a choice on the matter.”

I think of flipping through pages. The pretty buildings in the drawer. My face.

“He hasn’t had anything for himself, Misery. Not one thing. And I’ve never heard him complain about it, not once. Not that he had to leave, not that he had to take control of the largest pack in North America, not that he had to do it all alone. His life has been duty.” She scans my face curiously, like I could right this injustice. I don’t know what to say.

“I promise I’m not trying to make his life more difficult. And I feel so shitty about the mate thing.”

Juno’s eyes widen. “He told you about that?”

“No. I’m not supposed to know, but a friend of my father’s mentioned at the wedding that she was who I swapped with. I know his mate is the Were Collateral. Gabrielle.”

“Gabrielle?” Juno’s look shifts from confused, to blank, to understanding. “Yes. Gabi. His mate.”

“I’m not trying to interfere with Lowe’s happiness. Our marriage is not real, and he’s free to . . . find his happiness wherever he can.” I bite into my lower lip. Honesty for honesty. “There is a reason I agreed to this, and I’ve come clean to him about it.”

Her dark eyes linger on me, inquisitive. And after a long time, she says, “It might be cruel of me. But I think that, deep down, I always hoped that Lowe would never find his mate.”

I’m still not wholly certain what that means. “Why?”

“Because being an Alpha means always putting your pack first.” I’m about to ask why the two things are incompatible, but she stands. I try not to

stare at her nipples as she offers her hand. “I’m sorry for the way I acted. And I’d love for you to accept my peace offering.”

Her words make me chuckle. When I notice her scowl, I hasten to add, “Sorry—it’s not about you. I just remembered that when we were around thirteen, my sister and I used to have this really weird caregiver, and whenever we had a fight he would force us to cut each other’s toenails.”

“What?”

“I think he got it from a TV show. For each nail, we had to say something nice about each other. And the habit kind of stuck, and it became the way we fixed all our fights?”

“That is . . .” “Gross?”

Juno might be too polite to agree. “Would you like to do that now?” “Oh, no. A handshake is so much better.” I take her offered hand and

grip it firmly.

“I don’t know if you and I can ever be friends,” she says. “But I can be better.”

I smile at her, closemouthed and fangless. “Hell, I can only be better.”

TURNS OUT, I WAS WRONG ABOUT THE FULL MOON.

It’s further ahead than I thought, three whole nights, and the day before, Mick orders me not to leave my room—ideally—or the house, under any circumstances. He still looks out for me, but I haven’t had a guard camped outside my door since my conversation with Lowe.

“How come?” I ask curiously. “I mean, I’ll do as you say. But what’s so different about the full moon?”

“It takes a really powerful Were to shift when the moon is small—and a really powerful Were to not shift when it’s big. All Weres will be in their most dangerous form, including many youths who have little self-control. Better not test them with unusual scents.” I laugh at his old-man-yells-at-a- cloud eye roll, but later that night the persistent howling that seems to be all

over the lakeshore gets to me. When my door opens without warning, I’m much jumpier than usual.

“Ana.” I exhale and set aside my book. It’s about a nosy elderly Were lady who solves murder mysteries in the Northeast pack. I absolutely loathe her, but somehow I’m already at number seven in the series. “Why aren’t you wolfing with . . .” Oh.

Right.

Because she can’t do that.

“Can I come into the closet with you?”

She has been visiting a lot, but usually doesn’t ask for permission—just climbs next to me and plays the little games I code for her on the fly. Tonight seems different. “Fine, but no cover hogging.”

“Okay,” she says. Two minutes later, not only has she stolen my duvet, but she also appropriated my pillow. Pest. “Why don’t you sleep in a bed?”

“ ’Cause I’m a Vampyre.” She accepts the explanation. Probably because she accepts me. Like Serena used to, and no one else ever. I turn the page, and we’re silent for three more minutes, her breath hot and humid against my cheek.

“Usually Lowe stays human and hangs out with me when they’re all gone,” she says eventually. Her voice is small, and I know why. Alex returned yesterday, but Lowe is still out of town. That’s why Ana sounds like something she rarely is: sad.

I put down the book and turn to her. “Are you saying I’m not as good company as Lowe?”

“You’re not.” I glare, but soften when she asks, “When will I be able to shift, too?”

Shit. “I don’t know.”

“Misha can do it already.”

“I’m sure there are things you can do that Misha can’t.” She ponders the matter. “I’m really good at braids.”

“There you go.” Pretty trivial skill, but. “Can I braid your hair?”

“Absolutely fucking no.”

A couple of hours later, half a dozen braids pull at my scalp, and Ana is snoring softly with her head in my lap. Her heartbeat is sweet, delicate, a butterfly finding a good landing flower, and fuck children for being little assholes who manipulate people into wanting to protect them. I hate that I curve my body around hers when I hear heavy, hurried steps through the walls. And I hate that when my bedroom door opens, I reach for the knife I stole from the kitchen and stashed under my pillow.

I’m ready to kill to defend her. This is Ana’s fault. Ana is forcing me to fucking kill—

Lowe crouches at the entrance of my closet, his pale green eyes furious in the semidarkness.

“Did you know, my dear wife, that when I came home during a full moon and could not locate my sister, I was ready to destroy my entire pack and torture all the Weres guarding this house for their negligence?” His whisper is pure, ominous threat.

I shrug. “No.”

“I have been looking for her.”

“And this is my fault, why?” I make a show of blinking at him, and he closes his eyes, clearly gathering the strength to not butcher me, and clearly only because his sister is currently on me.

“Is she okay?” he asks.

“Yes. I am the victim here,” I hiss, pointing at the mess on my head.

His eyes travel over the braids, abruptly stopping on the visible tips of my ears. I usually hide them, just to avoid upsetting people with my otherness, and the way Lowe stares at them—first with hypnosis-like intensity, then abruptly glancing away—only reinforces that resolution.

“I think Ana might want to become a hairdresser. You should encourage that.”

“A better job than mine, for sure.”

No arguing that. Especially when I notice the wound on his forearm— four parallel claw marks. It doesn’t seem fresh, but there’s still some green blood encrusted on it, and it smells . . .

Whatever.

“Was it the Loyals? You were gone for a while.” I don’t even mind admitting that I noticed. I’m sure he’s aware I don’t have a particularly fulfilling routine.

“Regular internal pack business. Then a meeting with Maddie, the Human governor-elect. And several Vampyre councilmembers—your father included.”

“Yikes.”

His lips nearly curl into a smile, but his expression remains grim. Maybe he went to Vampyre territory and managed to see his mate. Maybe he’s angry that I’m what he comes home to these days. Can’t blame him.

“Do you think . . .” After having been an instrument of politics for a decade, I’ve done my best to pretend it doesn’t exist. But I find myself wanting to know. “Will they stick? These alliances?”

He doesn’t reply, not even to say that he doesn’t, cannot know. Instead he looks at me for many, many moments, as though the answer might be written on my face, as though I am the key to unlock this.

“If Humans knew of Ana’s existence,” I say, thinking out loud. “That Humans and Weres can . . .” I let the thought dangle. She could be a powerful symbol of unity after centuries of strife. Or, people could decide she’s an abomination.

“Too unpredictable,” he says, reading my mind and bending to take his sleeping sister from my lap. Lowe’s hands brush mine in the exchange. When he stands, Ana instantly snuggles in his arms, recognizing him by scent even in her slumber. Babbling something that sounds too heartbreakingly close to Mama for comfort.

I want to ask him why I found a jar of creamy peanut butter in my fridge. If he’s the reason the house is now three degrees warmer than when I arrived. But I somehow can’t bring myself to, and then he’s the one to speak.

“By the way, Misery.”

I look up at him. “Yeah?”

“We have sharper knives.” He points at mine with his chin. “That one isn’t going to do shit to someone like me.”

“It’s not?”

“Third drawer from the fridge.” I listen to his heavy steps, and once the door to my room clicks closed, I pick up my book and start reading again.

Thanks for the tip, I guess.