Bride (Bride, #1)

by Ali Hazelwood

“He is an Alpha, Miss Lark. Too busy to meet.” “Busy with . . . ?” “His pack, Miss Lark.” I pictured him in a home gym, tirelessly working on his abs, and shrugged.

“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.

“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 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.”

“Right. Will you have to . . . scent me again? Tomorrow?” His smile disappears. “No. The message came across. They think you’re important to me now.” “Okay.” I scratch my temple and do not ruminate over the fact that he said “they think” instead of “they know.”

I nod, trying not to think about whether anyone else has cared about my safety as much as he does. The answer would be too depressing.

“You can do what you want with me,” he says, and it feels like he means more than just his blood.

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.

“Do you think I would neglect to inform you if Father died? Actually, I could see myself doing that. No, Father is alive.

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.

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. Maybe you’re not meant for me the way I’m meant for you, but I’m going to choose you anyway, over and over and over again.