Bride (Bride, #1)

by Ali Hazelwood

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

Two 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.

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.”

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

Lololol.

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.

They're so cute 😭

“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.

Sobbing.

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.

😏c

“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.”

The burden has been feeling lighter, but he lies to himself about the reason, attributing it to habit, and the fact that he’s growing into his role.

“How many times have you guys been over this?” “A handful,” Lowe mutters, just as Alex says, “Sixteen.”

😂

It’s been nearly a week since the full moon, and the cumulative time I’ve spent with my husband since then wouldn’t be enough to bring a kettle to boil. But Juno came to visit one night and brought a deck of cards, and came back two nights later and brought a movie and Gemma and Flor and Arden, and both evenings felt similar: odd, but fun. I’m with Alex all the time, and Cal’s daughter Misha asked to meet me to see “a real-life leech,” and a couple other seconds stopped by because they were in the area, just to introduce themselves,

🤗🤗🤗

Technically, I’m having the first family dinner of my life. Like those human sitcoms, the ones with twenty minutes of banter about snap peas that only sounds funny because of the laugh track.

“Why is she acting like that?” she whispers theatrically from the head of the table, pointing at my ramrod straight spine, the way I lift and lower my fork like an animatronic puppet. “She’s just not very good at this. Be kind,” Lowe murmurs back from next to me.

When he’s not leading a pack against a group of violent dissidents, he smiles quite a bit. There is something soothing about his teasing humor and his innate self-confidence.

I tell her, still reeling from the mental image of middle-aged, rugged Mick perching rimmed glasses on his nose and settling in bed with a copy of The Zodiac for Dummies. “My mate used to dabble,” he whispers at me, picking up on my befuddlement.

😂

“But if we did have communal blood drinking, we’d feast on promising young computer engineers,” I add, and then smack my lips as though I’m thinking of a scrumptious meal, just to watch Alex pale.

Stopppp 😂

“I guess I’ll have to find another source of blood. Hmm, who could it be? Let’s see…” I drum my fingers against the edge of the table to create suspense. It sure works on Ana, who’s looking at me gape-mouthed. “Who smells good around—”

Lowe clicks his tongue. “Stop playing with your food, wife,” he murmurs, and it feels almost intimate, smiling at him and catching the amused gleam in his eyes while Alex crumples into himself. “She has several bags left,” he informs Alex, who’s trying to camouflage with the wallpaper.

There is something selfless about Lowe, as though when he became Alpha he left behind any trace of himself. Or, more accurately, locked it into a drawer.

Owwww wtf 😭

“You’re almost disappointingly easy,” I tell her, and she chortles harder, then sneaks around Lowe’s chair to sit on my legs and steal my goldfish. I don’t know what it is about me that says Please make yourself at home on my lap, but I’ll have to fix that.

🤗🤗🤗

I pat his arm to get his attention and he gives me a wide-eyed, disturbed look, like I tried to scorch him with a cattle iron. Does he think my smell is going to rub off? He’s way more skunk adjacent than I’ll ever be.

😂😂😂

“I’ll have someone look into bouncy castles,” he adds, and the rest of the dinner conversation is just that—Ana planning the cake she’ll buy for my “birthday,” Alex concerned that my fangs will pierce the inflatables, Lowe looking at us with an amused expression.

💜

“If you sit here”—I point to my right—“you’ll be between me and the wind. No bouillabaisse smell.”

But you are going into enemy territory alone, and have the computer skills of an octogenarian Luddite, which puts you at great risk.

😂😂😂

“Oh, I would never, Alpha,” I say with a mocking tone that I only half regret when he glares back. “But you can’t even start a computer.” “I can start a fucking computer.” “Lowe. My friend. My spouse. You’re clearly a competent Were with many talents, but I’ve seen your phone. I’ve seen you use your phone. Half of your gallery is blurry pictures of Ana with your finger blocking the camera. You type ‘Google’ in the Google bar to start a new search.”

go.” For now. “Please, don’t leave. I’m sure you came here to…What do you do here, anyway? Scratch your claws? Howl at the moon?” “Deflea myself.” “See? I wouldn’t want to be in your way. Do go on.” I wait for him to pick critters out of his hair.

I rest my temple on my knees, studying the way he stares into the distance, wondering how many nights he’s come up here in the witching hour. To make decisions for thousands. To beat himself up for not being perfect. Despite how competent, self-denying, and assured he appears to be, Lowe might not like himself very much.

💔

“I don’t get how one can type stuff into a machine all day and not be terrified of a robot uprising. I’m grateful for Mario Kart, though.”

“Did he also have to challenge someone to become a second? Maybe Ken Doll?” “It’s fucked up that I know who you’re referring to.”

“Well, he’s my favorite Were.” I hug my knees. “He’s always so nice to me.” “That’s because he has a weakness for beautiful women.”

“Is this a trap? Are you looking for an excuse to watch my entrails fertilize the plumbago?” “Would be highly inefficient, since I could just push you and no one in my pack would question me.” “What a beautiful flex.”

“That’s how you felt? With your mate?” This time he turns to look at me. I don’t know why it takes him so long to produce that simple: “Yeah.”

😭😭😭😭😭😭

He studies me in the moonlit air for far too long. “That was a badass speech, Misery.” “Badass is my middle name.” “Your middle name is Lyn.” Shit. “Stop reading my file.” “Never.”

“If you come with me, Misery, you’ll have to be marked.”

Ayyyye

She tastes the way she smells.

😭😭😭

“Honey,” I ask, lowering my sunglasses to the tip of my nose, “are we rich?” His glance is only mildly blistering. “We’re just banned from most Human-owned airlines, darling.”

Mick repeatedly shakes his head while holding Sparkles like a burping child—because, yes: Sparkles is, according to someone who’s been scolded multiple times in the past two hours for stuffing Play-Doh into outlets, “a valued family member” who “really loves to watch planes go whooosh.”

“Is the pilot Were?” I ask, following Lowe to the front of the plane. It’s not a particularly cramped space, but we’re both tall, and it’s a tight fit. “Yup.” He opens the door to the cockpit. “Who—” I shut up when he lowers himself into the pilot seat. He presses buttons with quick, practiced movements, puts on a large pair of headphones, and talks to air traffic control in hushed tones.

Of course 😂

He doesn’t seem to react to my scent anymore. Maybe it’s all the baths. Maybe he’s getting used to me, like Serena when she lived by the fish market. By the time her lease was ending, she found the eggyness almost comforting.

“Seriously?” He nods, as serious as quicksand. “Like a wet willy?”

please omg 💀😂

“I know you don’t like my scent.” “I fucking love your scent.”

😏😏😏🤗🤗🤗

“My smell. Do I smell like…?” “Mine.” It’s a rumble in his throat. “You smell like you’re mine, Misery.”

“I’m not going to piss off the lady who tried to kidnap Ana,” I say, outraged. Then clarify, “I might stab her. But I’m not going to sass her.” His mouth twitches. “There you are.”

For an Alpha, he’s surprisingly good at doing as I say.

Cause he's in lerve 😛

“But you have a mate. You said so.” He moves to the other shoe. Without looking up. “I also said it’s not always reciprocated.”

😭😭😭

“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.” “Why won’t you tell her?” “I won’t burden her with the knowledge.”

😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

I wonder why I’m being so proactive about this. I’m not the kind to want to meddle with other people’s love lives, but…maybe it has to do with this heavy feeling deep in my stomach. Maybe I’m just overcompensating my irrational disappointment with enthusiasm.

Obviously...

“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.”

“Above all, I won’t take her freedom. Not when so many others have already done so.”

😭😭😭

It’s that tone again. The Alpha one. The one that makes me want to say yes to him, over and over again.

😛