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“One has to wonder if the Weres will bury your corpse or just, you know. Eat it.” “One has to.” “But if you care to live a bit longer, try tossing a stick when he starts mauling you. I hear they love to fetch—”
LMAO
“She’s a Vampyre!” “She’s my—” Lowe’s hand jerks up to clutch Max’s jaw. “Apologize to my wife
MATE???
I can relate, since I grew up fairly sure that if I misbehaved, a Were would crawl up the toilet to eat my ass.
LMAO
“Did you just eat?” “No.” I flush, mortified. “No,” I repeat, but the peanut butter sticks to the roof of my mouth, garbling the syllable. “I was told Vampyres don’t eat food.” I can’t remember the last time I felt this degree of embarrassment. “Serena made me,” I blurt out. Lowe glances around, to the zero number of Serenas in sight. “Not now
LMAOOO
“Do you need medical attention?” “Nah, it’s just more burns.” I lift my shirt and let it pool right under my bra, angling slightly to show him. “My tank top was askew, and the sun managed to get…” All of a sudden, his pupils are as large as the irises. Lowe abruptly turns his head in the opposite direction. The tendons of his neck stretch, and his Adam’s apple bobs. “You should leave,” he says. Gruff. Cutting. “Oh.” His shoulders relax. “Go take another one of your baths, Misery.” His voice is husky, but kinder.
OH?
An “I’m sorry” stumbles out of my mouth. “Sorry?” The word vibrates through my skin. “Because.” My knees are buckling, so I lock them. I still feel like I might lose my bearings, so I blindly reach up. Find Lowe’s shoulder. Grasp it for dear life. “I know you don’t like my scent.” “I fucking love your scent.”
HOW DOESN'T SHE GET IT
“Is it better?” His lips press together. As though there is a flavor he wants to hold in his mouth a moment longer. “Better?” “My smell. Do I smell like…?” “Mine.” It’s a rumble in his throat. “You smell like you’re mine, Misery.”
SCREAMING
“Does she know? That she’s your mate, I mean.” A micropause, and then he shakes his head. As though reaffirming a decision. “She doesn’t. And she won’t.”
THE WAY SHE DOESN'T EVEN REALIZE THAT SHE'S THE MATE
This time I’m the one moving closer. My head swims deliciously. “What’s happening? What is—this thing between us?” “I don’t know,” he says. And then. “That was a lie. I do know.” I know, too. My stomach is an empty, open ache. “You have a mate.”
AHHH SHE KNOWSSSS
Because it’s not a pile at all. It’s a wolf. Curled outside my room. Guarding my door. A huge white wolf. A fucking gigantic white wolf.
AWWW HE'S PROTECTING HERRRR
I think about Owen—the only person who may have been remotely upset by me being on the brink of death. I should contact him. I should ask after Lowe’s mate.
Oh so she DIDNT realize? STILL???
