It’s amusing to me, the idea that someone who has skimmed a synopsis of my life would assume I’ve had any sort of romantic entanglement. With whom? A Vampyre, when they only see me as a traitor? A Human, who would consider me a monster?
The birth control shot I was given before coming here was a joke, not just because Lowe and I are as likely to have sex as we are to start a podcast together, but also because he’s a Were and I a Vampyre, and we couldn’t reproduce even if we wanted to. Interspecies relationships are unheard of—if not unseen, judging by all the Human-produced porn Serena and I would watch. We’d eat popcorn and laugh at the untalented actors in purple contacts and fake teeth engaging in acts that proudly showcased their ignorance of Vampyre anatomy. Were, too. I’m no expert, but I’m fairly sure their dicks wouldn’t get stuck in an orifice like that.
“Where did you learn how to fight?” Lowe asks. Probably to change the topic from sex with his least favorite sentient species.
“Was it not listed in your briefing memo?”
He shakes his head. “I did wonder how you could still be alive, after seven attempts on your life.”
“So did I. And there were more than that, though most were half-assed. We got tired of reporting them.”
“We?”
“My foster sister and I.” I cross my arms, and now I’m mirroring his pose. Here we are, too close once again, my elbows almost brushing his. “We took self-defense classes together.”
You know her, don’t you? She knows you. Tell me something. Anything.
He does, but not what I want to hear. “No fighting in Were territory.”
“Sure. So, next time someone attacks me, I let them help themselves? Then again, you could be the next one to attack me. Since you’re not exactly a fan.”
The pause that follows is not encouraging. “For as long as you live in Were territory, you are under my protection. And under my authority.”
I let out a silent, breathy laugh. “What are your orders for me, then?”
He takes one step closer, and the tension in the room instantly changes, shifting to something tighter, more dangerous. Fear stabs my stomach, that maybe I pushed too much. That’s why a Were is bending over me: to remind me how insignificant I am and say, “I need you to behave, Misery.”
His voice is all hard consonants and narrow eyes, and a shiver runs up my spine, cold and electric. My mind jumps back to Alex’s words: Even his scent was right. Everyone knew that he had the making of an Alpha. I’m no Were, and if I inhale, all I can smell is clean sweat and strong blood, but I think I know what he meant. Somehow I feel it, the compulsion to nod, agree. To do as Lowe wants.
I have to actively stop myself. And shiver in the process.
“At least you are clever enough to be afraid,” he murmurs.
I grit my teeth. “Just cold. You keep the temperature far too low.”
His nostrils flare. “Do as I fucking tell you, Misery.”
“But of course.” My voice is steady, but he knows how rattled I am. Just as I know I’m rattling him. “May I be excused?”
He nods brusquely, and I dart for the door. But then I remember something important I’ve been meaning to ask.
I turn back to him. “Can my cat—”
I stop, because Lowe’s eyes are closed. He’s inhaling deeply, as though gathering every possible air molecule within the room inside his lungs. And he looks . . .
Tormented. In pure, absolute agony. He straightens his expression when he notices that I’m looking, but it’s too late.
My stomach twists with something slimy and unpleasant. Guilt. “I took a bath. Did that not make it better?”
His stare is blank. “Make what better?”
“My scent.”
He swallows visibly. His tone is sharp. “The situation hasn’t improved for me.”
“But how—”
“What were you going to ask, Misery?”
Oh. Right. “I have a cat.”
He scowls like I told him I keep pet centipedes. “You have a cat.”
“Yup.” I stop at that, because Lowe hasn’t earned the right to any explanation for my life choices. Not that anything about Serena’s damn fucking cat was a choice. “He’s currently locked in my room, if your sister didn’t let him out with her pilfered key. Can I let him roam around the house, or will Max try to frame him for racketeering?”
“Your cat is welcome among us,” Lowe says. If that’s not a jab, nothing else is.
“Wonder how that feels,” I say breezily, and slip out of the room without glancing at him again.
CHAPTER 6
Being gone is a relief. And sheer agony.
All in all, it’s not the most auspicious of starts.
In the week following my arrival, I spend an unhealthy amount of time mentally slapping myself over the way I handled the kerfuffle with Max. I don’t care whether the Weres think I’m a deranged monster, but I do mind that whatever crumb of freedom they might have been inclined to give me has been swiftly vacuumed up.
I’m escorted everywhere: as I take a stroll by the lake; to grab a blood bag from the fridge; when I sit in the garden at dusk, just to experience something that’s not my en suite. I am but a cornucopia of regret. Because we’re all bad bitches—till a scowling Were stands outside the bathroom door while we’re washing our hair.
Till we lose our chance to snoop around.
So much time on my hands, and so little to spend it on. It’s the Collateral life I’m familiar with, just with significantly fewer Serenas to keep me busy. I should be bored to death, but the truth is, this is not too different from my routine in the Human world. I have no friends, no hobbies, and no real purpose aside from earning enough money to pay rent in order to . . . exist, I guess.
It’s like you’re—I don’t know, suspended. Untethered from everything around you. I just need to see you go toward something, Misery.
There might be something stunted about me. After the Collateral term was over, Serena and I were free to venture into the outside world, to be with people who weren’t our tutors or our caregivers, to fall in love and make friends. Serena jumped right into that, but I could never bring myself to. Partly because the closer I’d let someone get to me, the harder it’d be to hide who I was. Or maybe spending the first eighteen years of my life becoming acquainted with the cruelty of all species didn’t quite set me up for a bright future.
Who knows.
So I sleep during the day, and spend my nights napping. I take long baths, first for Lowe’s sake, then because I grow to truly enjoy them. I watch old Human movies. I walk around my room, marveling at how pretty it is, wondering who the hell thought of this beamed ceiling, sophisticated and cozy and stunning at once.
I do miss the internet. There is a concern that I might want to moonlight as a spy, and to prevent me from transferring classified and confidential information I could come across while in Were territory, I don’t really have access to technology—with the exception of my weekly check-in call with Vania, which is heavily monitored and lasts just long enough for her to sneer at me as she ascertains that I’m still alive. Of course, this is not my first rodeo, and I did try to smuggle in a cell phone, plus a laptop and a bunch of pen testing gadgets.
Your honor, I got caught. Whoever went through my stuff had the gall to confiscate half of it—and to pluck out all the antenna points and Wi-Fi cards from the rest. When I realized it, I lay on the floor for two hours, like a thwarted jellyfish beached in the sun.
Lowe is rarely around, and never within sight, although sometimes I’ll feel his low voice vibrate through the walls. Firm orders. Long hushed conversations. Once, memorably, right as I slid into my closet for my midday rest, a deep laugh followed by Ana’s delighted screams. I drifted asleep moments later, second-guessing what I heard.