There are many matters to settle, and his pack needs him more than ever, but he cannot concentrate on anything but her. He understands why some Alphas take vows of celibacy and renounce love.

She distracts him. His feelings for her, they distract him.

T

HERE IS SOMETHING I’LL NEVER, EVER LET MYSELF LIVE DOWN, NOT

until the day I kick the bucket, not until the moment I vanish into the nothingness of matter: in my weeks of living with the Weres, it never occurred to me to wonder where their clothes went when they shifted to

wolf form.

It’s so, so stupid of me.

And in the aftermath of the scariest night of my life, sitting in the Nest’s stairwell, with Gabi treating the puncture wound Father’s knife cut into the flesh of my collarbone, I simply cannot let go of it.

“Did you think they’d transform with us? Sartorially?” Alex leans against the handrail. He’s sticking around for no reason other than to mock me. Or maybe he’s genuinely interested—I cannot tell. All I know is, I miss when he was terrified of me. “You thought that the end result would be a wolf in a little sweater vest and a bow tie? Just to be clear, is that what you expected?”

“I don’t know what I expected. But Serena’s top was all tattered and stuck around her neck, and I’m just saying that it was disturbing to watch a pink shirt dangle from her while her teeth sank into Vania’s throat.” I rub

my face with my palms, hoping to unsee the past two hours. When I look up again, Ludwig and Cal and another handful of seconds are walking down the hallway to Father’s office. They stop in front of us, and . . .

We all know they were interrogating Mick. I wonder if it still looks like the Aster in there: purple and green blood splattered all over the walls. The most gruesome of flowers, finger-painted by the world’s creepiest child.

“Is she still talking about the clothes?” Ludwig asks. Alex nods with a deep sigh. Gabi bites back a smile.

“I just want to know what the hell she was thinking would happen to them,” Cal mutters.

“I didn’t think,” I say. Defensively. “Obviously,” Alex mutters.

“Shouldn’t you be intimidated by me? Also, what are you doing here?” This must be the most Weres in Vampyre territory ever.

“It was determined that an IT expert might be of use, and frankly, you lost all of your intimidation points.”

“I can still drink you dry, nerd.”

Owen arrives to interrupt our bickering. “Are you done here, Misery? I need you with me for a moment.”

I follow him down the staircase with one last glare at Alex, mostly in silence. Owen got a bit beaten up during the fight: his black eye is courtesy of Vania, or maybe that auburn-haired guard who escorted him in. From the way he carries himself, I suspect his entire right side is bruised, too. When we turn into a dark hallway and are out of earshot, I ask quietly, “Are you okay?”

“I should ask you that.”

I mull it. “I’d feel better if I could speak to Serena.” “She’s with the ginger. The girl, not the guy.” “Juno. I know.”

“Apparently, she doesn’t quite have the whole turning-into-a-beast-and- then-back-into-a-person thing down, and she’s still working on controlling her . . . I don’t fucking know, wolfy impulses. Red took her for a run to—”

“I know,” I repeat. I’m still worried. “And it’s not ‘turn.’ ”

“What do you mean?”

“The Weres prefer the term ‘shift.’ ”

He gives me an appalled glance, like I’m a first-row nerd yelling Teacher, pick me! and then stops in front of a closed door. “I saw your face when I stepped into the office. You thought I was going to screw you over, didn’t you?”

I resist the temptation to avert my gaze. “You did come in holding my husband captive.”

“That was his idea. I called him about an hour after you guys drove away—we were finally able to get footage of the break-in in Serena’s apartment.”

So that’s why Lowe left after we . . . better not think about that. “Let me guess—it was Mick.”

He nods. “I showed Lowe the recordings, and he immediately recognized him. Misery, he freaked the fuck out.”

“Yeah, Mick and Lowe go way back—”

“No, he freaked out because he knew that you were with Mick. I thought your boy toy was a pretty even-tempered guy, but he’s actually bloodcurdling.”

I don’t bother to deny it. “And what did you do?”

“The Weres were still monitoring the governor to see what his next step would be, and he made a call to Father. At that point, it became clear that they were collaborating on something, and that Mick was aiding them. Lowe told me to call Father and lie—the story was that once you and Mick disappeared, Lowe contacted me to find you because he thought I might be willing to help, and instead I took him captive. You’ve seen the rest.” He squints at me. “Again, it was his idea.”

“I didn’t say anything—”

“I’m not going to screw you over, Misery.”

I nod, feeling almost close to my twin. It’s long forgotten, but familiar. “Neither will I.”

“Very well, then.” He points at the door. “You ready?” He doesn’t say what’s inside, but I already know.

Lowe is wearing a pair of jeans he must have found somewhere, and nothing else. He turns our way when we come in, but remains leaning against the wall, patient. A few feet from him there is a chair and, cuffed to it, a Vampyre.

Father.

He’s covered in blood, mostly purple, but then again—so am I. And so is Owen, and everyone else who was in that office during the carnage. When Alex arrived on the scene, his first question to me was whether all the blood was making me hungry. Once we’re back in Were territory, I plan to smear a pancake on the inside of a toilet and ask him the same.

If I ever go back to the Weres.

My eyes meet Lowe’s, briefly and for entirely too long. What passes between us is too combustible a moment not to glance away immediately.

“You okay?” he asks.

No. “Yeah. You?”

“Yeah.” He means no, but for now it doesn’t matter.

Father is blindfolded, I assume to save some moron from wandering in and getting themselves thralled within an inch of their life. The headphones they put on him must be noise canceling, but he knows exactly who’s in the room, from heartbeats and blood scent alone. His enforcers are gone, and so is his power. For the first time in his adult life, he’s defenseless. I close my eyes and wait for feelings of any kind to hit me.

None arrive.

“May I?” Owen asks cordially, pointing at Father. Lowe nods, observing him calmly as he rips off the blindfold and the headphones. Owen crouches down, sitting on his haunches. It’s my first time witnessing an interaction like this one: my brother as the active, dynamic part, and Father restrained and unmoving. Weak. Losing.

They regard each other. It’s Father who finally breaks the silence by saying: “I want you to know that I would do all of it again.” His voice is too strong for my taste, almost obscenely calm. I wish I could watch him beg for mercy, see him doubt his ridiculous righteousness and the courage of his stupid convictions. I wish he could suffer even just an ounce, even just at

the end of it. I wish there was some comeuppance for everything he has done.

And then I don’t have to wish. Because after nodding pensively, Owen grins. Wide.

“Fair enough. What I want you to know,” he promises, voice low and clear, “is that as I take over your place on the council, I will work hard to undo every shitty little thing you have built in the last few decades. I’m going to broker alliances with the Weres and with Humans that won’t just benefit us. I’m going to do everything I can to facilitate truces between them. And when this area is at peace and the Vampyres’ influence is reduced to near insignificance, I’m going to take your fucking ashes and scatter them where the borders and the entry points used to be, so that Weres, and Humans, and Vampyres can step over them without even realizing it. Daddy.” He smiles once more, ferocious, scary.

Wow. My brother is . . . wow.

“Misery, anything you’d like to say to this wretched piece of shit before he can no longer hear you?”

I open my mouth. Then think better of it and close it.

What could I tell him? Is there anything that would hurt him even a hundredth of how much he has hurt me and the people I love? Maybe only: “Nah.”

Owen chuckles, and Lowe’s expression is at once tender and amused. Father doesn’t give us the satisfaction of thrashing around, or yelling insults, or relinquishing control in any way. But his eyes meet mine before disappearing behind the blindfold. There is a defeated tinge to them, and I tell myself that maybe he knows: I will think of him as little as possible, for as long as I can.

“What would you like me to do with him?” Lowe asks once Father can’t hear us. The question should be directed at Owen, but he’s very much looking at me. Perhaps this is not a leader working on behalf of his people, but a Were, asking a question to his . . .

I hang my head. No. I’m not even going to think about the word. It’s been abused and dragged in the mud enough for tonight.

“What happens if he stays alive? Actually, what happens if he gets killed? Would there be repercussions?”

“There is no official body regulating Were-Vampyre relationships. Yet.” Lowe adds. “I assume that it would be up to the Vampyre council to seek retribution, or punishment—on your father, or on whoever executed him. Whoever takes his seat is going to have some say in that.”

“Owen, then.”

They share a glance. And after a split-second hesitation, Lowe says, “Or you.”

Shockingly, Owen nods. And then they both look at me expectantly. “You guys think I want to be part of the council?”

Lowe says nothing. Owen shrugs. “I don’t know. Do you?” A laugh explodes out of me. “What is this?”

“Father decided I’d be his successor decades ago.” Owen looks dead serious. “I think we should stop doing as he says.”

“Are you saying that if I want that seat, you’ll hand it to me?”

“I . . .” He rolls his lips over his fangs. “I wouldn’t be happy about it. And I’ll warn you—our people would not like it. But they’d have to acknowledge you’ve done far more for the Vampyres than any of them, and eventually they’d make peace with it.”

I didn’t know Owen could be this sensible. I find it so mystifying, I actually stop and allow myself to consider the idea of a world where I can truly be at home among the Vampyres, if only because I am their duty- bound leader. I wouldn’t be alone, wouldn’t be rejected, wouldn’t be constantly out of place. The appeal of it is . . .

Low to nonexistent. Honestly: fuck the Vampyres.

“What you said earlier,” I tell Owen. “About working with the Weres and the Humans. You meant it, right? You weren’t just fucking with Father?”

“Of course.” He scowls, indignant. “Lowe and I are basically best friends.”

Lowe’s puzzled frown doesn’t quite broadcast best friendship.

Owen snorts. “Thank you for the vote of confidence. It’s truly inspirational to know that the Were Alpha and his bride, who also happens to be my goddamn sister, think that I’d be a great leader. Truly the support system of champions. Assholes.”

I smile. Lowe’s lips twitch up, too. Our eyes catch, and it feels even more menacing than before, a dangerous storm coming, like a current buzzing up my spine and water after a drought.

It’s frightening, this thing between us. I need to interrupt it. “Can I . . . I have questions,” I hurry to say. “Where is Mick’s son?”

“Owen and I have several people looking for him,” Lowe says. He rubs his hand across the back of his neck, looking pained.

“And Mick? What’s going to happen to him?” His face sets. “I’ll let you know when I decide.” “And Ana? My father—”

“—never knew where she was. She’s safe.” Relief floods through me. “I’m glad.”

“She’ll be back as soon as the situation is resolved. Anything else you need to know?”

I press my lips together, wishing this was the time and place for more questions. Wishing we were alone.

Am I your mate?

Is it okay if it doesn’t matter? Is it okay if I want to be?

How much of what you said, what I said, what everyone said was real? Some of it must be, right?

“No.” I glance at Owen. He’s either unaware of how much I’d love for him to leave us alone, or doesn’t care. The latter, probably.

“You still haven’t told me what you’d like me to do with your father,” Lowe says softly.

I glance at the chair. Father’s posture is as impeccable as always, but with his pointed ears hidden by headphones and his white hair slightly mussed, he could almost pass for Human. How the mighty have fallen.

Maybe I’m truly horrible. Maybe he deserves it. Maybe it’s a little of both. Still, I say: “I don’t care. I leave it to you two.”

When I walk past Lowe, the back of my hand brushes against his, and a shiver of undistilled warmth travels up my arm.

I grip the door handle, still feeling his heat in my fingers. Without turning, I add: “Unless the need arises, feel free to never tell me what you settle on.”

I FALL ASLEEP IN MY CHILDHOOD BEDROOM, WHICH IS THE WEIRD CHERRY

on top of the weirdest fucking night.

In the month leading up to my wedding I was often at the Nest, but never in here. In fact, I haven’t been here since my brief stint back in Vampyre territory after graduating as the Collateral. The place is fairly clean, and I wonder who’s been dusting the empty shelves or changing the light bulbs, and on whose orders. I open empty drawers and unused closets. About an hour after the sun has risen, I go to sleep.

My bed is Vampyre style, which consists of a thin mattress on the floor and a wooden platform about three feet above it, ideal for protection from the light. A tipped-over coffin, basically, Serena said the first time she saw it, and I still hate her a bit for it. But it’s deliciously comfortable, and I bemoan the fact that I could never find anything like this in Human territory, let alone among the Weres. Then, before I doze off, I wonder whether that’s even relevant. What will happen to me next? With Owen ascending, will there even be a need for marriages of convenience between our people?

No. So maybe I’ll go back to my own apartment. And pen testing. But I’d walk into the sun before working with whatshisface—Pierce, yeah— before working with Pierce again. So I should probably refresh my CV and . . .

I wake up forty minutes before sundown, with a body next to mine. It’s warm, very soft, and everything about it screams familiarity.

“Get your own bed, bitch,” I say groggily, turning to Serena.

“Never.” She yawns, huge, with no consideration for her stinky breath or my poor nose. “So.”

“So.” I reach up to clean my eyes, and can still smell the Vampyre blood under my fingernails. I should take a shower.

“Let’s just get this over with,” she starts. “I know you’re mad, but—” “Hang on. I’m not mad.”

She blinks at me. “Oh.”

“I’m not going to . . . I’m not mad, I promise.” She searches my face. “But?”

“No buts.”

“But?”

“Nothing.” “But?”

“For fuck’s sake, I told you—” “Misery. But?”

I press my fingers into my eyes until golden spots appear. God, I hate it when people know me. “Just . . . why?”

“Why, what?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

She bites the inside of her cheek. “Right. So. I kind of kept an unhinged number of secrets from you in the past year or so, and I’m not sure which one you’re referring to, so—”

“The big one.” My tone is flat. “That you’re actually, you know. Another fucking species?”

“Oh.” She scrunches her nose. “Right. Well.”

“I thought you trusted me. I assumed you felt you could tell me everything and our friendship was unconditional, but maybe—”

“I do. I do trust you. It’s . . .” She flinches. Then massages her forehead with the palm of her hand. “I wasn’t sure, you know? At the beginning, especially, my body was being so weird, and there were these odd sensations, and it seemed bonkers. I wasn’t sure whether I was having delusions, and it felt like the precise type of thing that I should avoid

thinking about and just pray would go away. And then, when I really started suspecting . . . Well, for one, you guys hate Weres.”

I gasp, mortally offended. “I don’t.”

“You make jokes about them all the time.” “What jokes?”

“Come on. They run after mail carriers, are obsessed with squirrels.

There was that night we met that wet dog that stank so bad—” “It was a joke. I had never even smelled a Were at the time!”

“Yeah, well.” She takes a deep breath. “My blood is red. And when your father took me, I still wasn’t able to shift. I wasn’t sure. At that point, all I knew was that something weird and terrible and amazing was happening, and I swear, Misery, all I kept thinking about in the past six months was— what if I die? What if this thing inside me kills me? What is Misery going to do then? Am I going to drag her with me, am I going to be the reason my sister, the person I care about the most—the only person I fucking care about—will die, because of this weird codependency of ours, and—”

I reach out, closing my hand around hers, like we used to when we were kids.

Serena slows down. Stops. Then, after a few moments, she continues, and her voice is much quieter. “In the last three months I had lots of time. Obviously. And there was a surveillance camera in the attic, but it had several blind spots. Before, I had felt like I needed information. I had researched the possibility that I might be a Were, or something else altogether, like I would normally research an article. But once I was alone, all I could do was research myself. Try to feel it. And I practiced. Shifting is like flexing a muscle, except that the muscle is also in the brain. And I still don’t really understand what’s up with me, and what about me is Were or Human, but . . .”

She takes a deep breath. Another.

Another, and I squeeze her hand.

“So.” She’s not crying, but I can hear the tears in her voice. “Can you . . . Can you once again be my only good friend in the whole fucking

world, Bleetch?” I smile.

Then laugh.

Then she laughs.

“You talk like we ever stopped.”

She is crying now, and I’d be, too, but I can’t. Instead I scoot forward, bumping into a million different elbows, and hug her.

She hugs me back, tighter.

“You can be whatever you are, and you’ll still be my friend. And I won’t ever have any issues with you being a Were,” I say into her hair, which is matted with soil and God, this baby wolf needs a bath just as bad as I do. “In fact, I think I might be in love with one.”