Bride (Bride, #1)

by Ali Hazelwood

This marriage, it’s going to be a problem. She is going to be a problem.

“You,” he says, voice deep, almost too low to hear. “How the fuck do you smell like this?” Less than ten minutes later he slips a ring around my finger, and we swear to love each other till the day we die.

“And betrayal is born of weakness, Misery.”

“She’s my—” Lowe’s hand jerks up to clutch Max’s jaw. “Apologize to my wife.”

“You know what makes Alphas good leaders?” he asks without looking up. “No clue.” He huffs out a laugh. “Neither do I. But at times, there are decisions that feel right, deep in the marrow of my bones.” He wets his lips. “You are one of them.”

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

This, I think, is Lowe. Not Lowe the Alpha, Lowe the brother, Lowe the friend, or the son, or the unfortunate husband of the equally unfortunate wife. Just: Lowe. Tired, I think. Lonely, I assume. Angry, I bet.

“It’s kind of your thing, isn’t it?” “What?” He turns to me. “Blaming yourself for being anything less than perfect.”

He’s as harmless as a land mine. He could destroy entire galaxies with a stern look and a growl.

“She said that it felt like discovering new colors. Like the rainbow had gained a few stripes.”

“I fucking love your scent.”

When he said tongue, I expected…Not that his lips would part at the base of my throat, and then a soft, drawn-out lick. Because this feels like a kiss. Like Lowe Moreland is kissing my neck, slowly. Grazing it with his teeth and finishing off with a light nibble. I nearly moan. But at the last moment, I manage to swallow back inside my body the whimpery, throaty sound, and… God. Why does what he’s doing feel so phenomenally good?

My blood sings. My ears roar. I’m melting.

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

She’s not like he imagined. He won’t admit to picturing how she’d be while he was growing up, but there was always something in the back of his head, a faint hope that maybe, one day. She’s not like he imagined. She’s more, in every possible way.

“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.”

“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.”

She is fearless, and the thought terrifies him.

“Could we kiss?” “What?” “We haven’t yet. It’d be nice, if we did. At some point.” “At some point,” he repeats in a haze. His hand cups the slick inside of my thigh, vibrating with restraint. “Now, if you want. Though I’m worried.” He scowls. “Worried?” “About my fangs. What if I cut you? Or bite your lips accidentally?” “You’ve bitten me before. I didn’t mind then.” He leans forward, eager. “I won’t mind now.”

“You are fucking unreal,” he says, and when a knuckle slides inside me, I feel myself clench around it.

“I think,” he says, winded, hoarse, “I’m going to lock you in this closet forever.”

I think he wants to stay. I think I want him to stay.

“It’s just, it would be different from what we’ve done before. It’s not just sex, or fun. If we get into the habit of this, in the long term, there could be…consequences.” “Misery.” His voice is soft. Faintly amused. There is a solemn shine in his eyes. “We are the consequences.”

“If I really do this,” I say against his flesh, “I should avoid your neck.” “Why?” “It might leave a trace. People would notice.” His eyes shoot open. “You think I’d mind?” “I don’t know,” I lie. I doubt Lowe cares about what others think of him. “You can do what you want with me,” he says, and it feels like he means more than just his blood.

“Of all the good things I’ve felt in my fucking life, you are the best.”

A stray notion crosses my mind, sweet and terrifying and utterly unlike me: I wish I was your mate. I know better than to say it. I know better than to think it.

“Misery.” He’s saying my name like a prayer. Like I’m the one thing standing between him and heaven on Earth.

Opening my mouth in public would probably get animal control called on me.

“We rob banks.” “You—” I stop him with a hand on his arm. “You rob banks.” “Not blood banks, don’t get too excited.”

Vampyres don’t read minds, but I know what he’s thinking: how easy it would be to live in this forever. To just never stop.

“On second thought, I’m not going to clean you up. I’ll just leave you like this.” His hand snakes around my waist. To my lower back, where I’m sticky and wet. “Send a clear message to anyone who smells you. Who you belong to.”

There is very little he wouldn’t do, very few people he wouldn’t kill, just to ensure her well-being.

“In fact, I think I might be in love with one.”

It could have been anyone who was sent to him. Any Vampyre. And yet, it was her. A roll of the dice. The luck of the draw.

“My feelings. My wishes. My desires…They’re mine, Misery. Not yours to deal with.”

“At the wedding, when you were near me for the first time, I was angry. I was furious that for some joke of fate I had found my mate, and they were someone I could never really love. I wanted you more than anything else, and yet I felt trapped by you. And then I began spending time with you. I began knowing you, and you made me happy. You made me better. You made me want to be every part of myself, even the ones I thought I’d left behind. And one day I woke up and realized that if you didn’t smell like the best thing in the world, I still wouldn’t want you any less.”

“You’re not a problem, Misery. You’re a privilege.”

“I love this,” I say. “I love you.”

“Misery. I want to live inside you.”

He and I. Together. The greatest thing of all time that never should have happened.