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One venue, three species, five centuries of conflict, and zero good faith.
notice that the best man has unsheathed his claws. Behind me, Vania, the head of my father’s guards, is showing her fangs. And the Humans, of course, are reaching for their guns.
She stares at me with a mix of worry and hostility, like my kink is burning crickets with kerosene.
I can live without hanging out with someone whose skull hasn’t even properly closed yet.
“Then maybe he’s not your cat,” she says, with the delicate somberness of a therapist who’s letting me know that I don’t have a diagnosable disorder, I’m just a bitch.
“She’s my—” Lowe’s hand jerks up to clutch Max’s jaw. “Apologize to my wife.”
can relate, since I grew up fairly sure that if I misbehaved, a Were would crawl up the toilet to eat my ass.
“Can I braid your hair?” “Absolutely fucking no.”
“Maybe some things transcend reciprocity. Maybe not everything is about having.”
“My smell. Do I smell like . . . ?” “Mine.” It’s a rumble in his throat. “You smell like you’re mine, Misery.”
“You think, but you don’t know. You don’t know anything about what it’s like to find your other half,” he continues, voice low and sharp. “I would take anything she chose to give me—the tiniest fraction or her entire world. I would take her for a single night knowing that I’ll lose her by morning, and I would hold on to her and never let go. I would take her healthy, or sick, or tired, or angry, or strong, and it would be my fucking privilege. I would take her problems, her gifts, her moods, her passions, her jokes, her body—I would take every last thing, if she chose to give it to me.” My
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Now quit bitching.”
“You guys make a surprisingly good team.” “It was mostly me.”
And I’ve had so little throughout my life, I know better than to demand all or nothing. I’m good at making do.
“You can be whatever you are, and you’ll still be my friend.
“Text me when you’re done chasing moles, or smelling each other’s buttholes, or whatever,”
“It was easier, being honest with you, when I thought you were being honest with me.”
He shakes his head, eyes burning into mine. “You’re not a problem, Misery. You’re a privilege.”
maybe I don’t have the hardware, but the software is here, and I get to program it.
“Misery. I want to live inside you.”
“I’m going to do it, Misery. I’m going to come where I’m supposed to.”
I’m a being made of heat and sensation.
