I let his words churn around me for several minutes after he leaves, wondering whether he’s right. When they grind to a stop, I know he isn’t: I did have a home, and her name was Serena.

I change my top into one less smeared with Max’s DNA and silently slip out of my room. With everyone distracted by the commotion, breaking into Lowe’s office is almost suspiciously easy. There are plenty of ways to hack into a computer, few of which are at my disposal. Fortunately, I have enough experience with brute-force techniques to be optimistic.

The sun is setting, but I don’t turn on the lights. Lowe’s desk is given away by Ana’s grinning picture. I tiptoe there, kneel in front of the keyboard, and start messing around.

This is not my bread and butter, but it’s relatively simple and not too time-consuming. It’s clear that the Weres don’t expect intrusions from within, and the machine is mostly unprotected. It only takes me a few minutes to force my way into their database, and a handful more to set up three parallel searches: Serena Paris, the date she disappeared, and The Herald, in case my suspicions are right, and Lowe was part of some story she meant to cover. It’s just a start, but I hope that if she was mentioned on any communication device that’s automatically backed up on—

Something soft rubs against my calf.

“Not now,” I murmur, distractedly swatting Serena’s damn fucking cat away. The terminal starts to populate with hits. I stroke a few keys to maximize. So far, not too promising.

The cat’s wet nose presses against my thigh. “I’m busy, Sparkles or whatever. Go play with Ana.”

He starts purring. No, growling. Frankly, it’s a level of entitlement that pisses me off. “I told you to—” I glance down and instantly scramble back, nearly falling on my ass.

In the dim light of dusk, the yellow eyes of a gray wolf stare angrily at me.

CHAPTER 9

Ana interrupts her bedtime story to communicate to him important, time-sensitive information: “Miresy is so so soooo pretty. I loooove her ears.”

He presses his lips together before resuming his reading.

Among the Vampyres, fangs are not just teeth—they are status.

Take muscles in Humans: Was there a time, a bunch of millennia ago, in which having a mate with inflated, bouncy biceps meant more protection from . . . the dinosaurs? I’m no history buff; I thrived in math and zero other subjects. The point is, athletic prowess provided an evolutionary advantage that’s now, in an era in which atomic bombs exist, fairly obsolete. And yet, Humans still find it attractive.

Canines are much the same for Vampyres: they’re considered a symbol of strength and power, because in the olden days we’d hunt our prey and sink our teeth into their flesh to feast on their blood. The longer, the sharper, the bigger—the better.

And this wolf’s . . . This wolf’s fangs could win contests. Rule civilizations. Get their owner engaged, married, and very much laid at any Vampyre party. And they could shred me into M&M’s.

“Are you an actual wolf?” I ask, fighting to keep my voice steady. “Or are you a Were who part-times?”

The only reply is a deep, long, panties-shitting growl.

“Would it make things better or worse if I growled back?”

“Wouldn’t change it either way,” a voice says from the entrance.

Lowe. Leaning against the frame, relaxed like a loungewear model during a photoshoot.

“Thank you, Cal,” he says, coming my way. “That will be all.”

And magically, with one last half-hearted snarl in my direction, the wolf shakes its beautiful gray fur and trots away. It stops by Lowe and butts its head against his thigh.

“Cal? As in . . .” He turns to me and I stare at his face, looking for similarities. I’d have expected consistency between Weres’ shifted and human forms, but Cal’s a redhead. I crane my neck to get a better look at the wolf, but Lowe steps in front of me, blocking my view.

“What the fuck are you doing, wife?” He sounds like a volatile mix of tired and irritated. Any thought of Were phenotypes instantly departs.

I just got caught. Doing something very bad. And I’m in real danger.

“Just looking for . . .” What? “Sticky notes.”

“Do Vampyres keep sticky notes inside their computers?”

Fuck. “I was trying to check my email.” I swallow. “Get in touch with friends.”

“You don’t have friends, Misery.”

I’m not sure why this hurts when it’s true.

“And I’m very much not an IT person, but that”—he points at my code, which is still crunching along—“does not look like Yahoo.”

“Yahoo? Lowe, you’re really dating yourself here.”

“Come in,” he orders, and I cannot comprehend how I didn’t notice Alex idling by the door. Too busy contemplating my imminent demise, probably. “Can you figure out what she was doing?”

“On it.”

I scrunch my eyes shut, running possible scenarios in my head. I could knee Lowe in the groin and try to run away, but I don’t know if the crotch area is as sensitive to them as it is to us, and anyway . . . there are wolves prowling around. “You set me up,” I say. It comes out whiny, which is exactly how I feel. “You asked Mick to leave right in front of me because you knew I’d take advantage of it.”

“Misery.” He clucks his tongue, chiding, and moves closer, like he knows I’m considering darting away. His heartbeat envelops me, steady, determined. “You set yourself up, because you’re bad at this.”

“At what?”

“Snooping around.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Why did you go to my room? Why did you look through my closet and my drawers?” He leans forward. His voice drops to a half whisper, meant only for my ears. There’s something tortured to it, like he’s in physical pain. “Why did my bed smell like you slept in it?”

It hadn’t even occurred to me that I’d leave my scent behind. That Lowe would find my smell stuck to every surface of his room.

Fuck.

“Sorry,” I breathe out.

“You should be,” he says to the air between our lips. I wonder if my heart has ever beaten this loud before. This close to the surface of my skin.

“She—very astutely, I must say, and with only very primitive tools at her disposal—hacked into our servers,” Alex announces. A little admiringly, which is flattering.

“Are you the one who built the Weres’ firewall?” I ask.

“Yup. I’m the leader of our security team.” He sounds distracted as he combs through my code. Whatever fear he had when we were alone doesn’t hold if his Alpha’s present.

“Nice job.” Weird, how I’m having a conversation with Alex but staring up into Lowe’s eyes. About an inch from mine. “It’s pretty impenetrable.”

“Thank you. Are you, by any chance, the same person who tried to smash it down a few weeks ago?”

I swallow. Lowe’s eyes drift down to my throat. Linger there. “Can’t remember.”

“Alpha, she was running a search of our databases . . . three searches, to be precise. One for a date a little over two months ago, one for The Herald—a local human newspaper, I believe—and one for someone called Serena. Serena Paris.”