A wave of dread sweeps over me. There is no air in the world left for my lungs.

“And who would that be?” Lowe murmurs, licking his lips. He inhales me deeply, purposefully. “How interesting. In the past week I’ve witnessed two attempts on your life, and you’ve never smelled as scared as you do just now. Why, Vampyre?” His stark face is all sharp lines, sculpted by the glowing lights of the monitor. His lips move, full and ruthless. I cannot look away. “Who is Serena Paris, Misery?”

He sounds sincerely curious, and I wonder if maybe he has nothing to do with her disappearance. But maybe he does. Maybe he’s pretending. Maybe he didn’t know her name but hurt her anyway.

I push against his chest. It’s like trying to move an army of mountains. “Let me go.”

“Misery.” His eyes bore into mine. “You know I’m not going to do that. Alex,” he says, louder this time, still looking only at me. “Bring back Cal. It looks like we’re going to have to extract Gabi and break the armistice with the Vampyres.”

I overhear a hushed “Yes, Alpha.” Boots leave the room as I sputter:

“What?”

“I have to consider this as an act of aggression on behalf of your father and the rest of the Vampyre council. They sent a plant into Were territory under the guise of Collateral.” His jaw hardens. “And your scent—they tampered with it, didn’t they? They knew it would distract me—”

“No.” I’m crowded. Breathless. “This has nothing to do with my father.”

“Who were you planning to send this information to?”

“No one! Ask Alex to check. I didn’t set up any transmissions.”

He shifts closer. I can almost taste his blood on my tongue. “Alex isn’t here anymore.”

I knew we were alone, but now I feel it, just as I feel his warmth seeping through me. The heat has a predictable effect: my stomach twists and tightens. Hunger. Cravings. “I told you, I was just messing around.”

“This is not a game, Misery.” They vibrate through my bones, his words. “This alliance is new and frail, and—”

“Stop it. Just stop it.” I press my hands against his chest, begging for some space, because I’m—my head is spinning, full of warm, heated, odd thoughts, thoughts that involve veins and necks and taste. “Please. Please, don’t do anything. This has nothing to do with the alliance.”

“Okay.” He moves a step back, palms still leaning against the wall on each side of my head, and it’s a relief. His blood was starting to smell really good, and—

Nothing like that has ever happened to me. I must have forgotten to feed.

“Okay,” he repeats, “here are your options. First, you tell me who Serena Paris is and give me a reasonable explanation for this very poorly executed cloak-and-dagger quest. What happens to you next is my choice. Second, I proceed with the assumption you are a spy gathering intel on the Weres and use your corpse to send a clear message to your father.”

“Serena was my friend,” I blurt out. “My sister.”

Lowe’s entire body tenses. Like he had some guesses, but my answer was not among them. “A Vampyre, then.”

I shake my head. “Human. But we grew up together. In my first few months as the Collateral, I was disruptive. And sad. I tried to run away, put myself in dangerous situations, once I even . . . It was just me and the Human caregivers, and they hated me. So the Humans decided that the company of another child might make me more well-behaved. They found an orphan my age and brought her in to live with me.”

He huffs, bitter, and I’m afraid he might not believe me. But then he says, calm and yet not: “Fucking Humans.”

I swallow. “They did their best. At least they tried.”

“Not enough.” It’s a definite kind of judgment. Which I don’t care to argue with.

“Serena is gone. She vanished a few weeks ago, and—”

“You think a Were took her?”

I nod.

“Who?”

I have no choice but to tell him the truth. And if he has anything to do with her disappearance . . . He’ll have something to do with mine, too. “You.”

He seems unsurprised. “Why me?”

“You tell me.” I lift my chin. “Your name was in her planner, on the day she disappeared. Maybe she made plans to meet you. Maybe you were part of a story she was writing. I don’t know.”

“A story? Ah, that’s why The Herald. She was a journalist.” It’s not a question, but I nod.

Finally, Lowe pulls back. He remains between me and the door, but he rubs his hands across the stubble on his jaw, frowning somewhere in the distance, instantly preoccupied. Trying to recall. If he’s faking the confusion, he’s a good actor. And I cannot begin to guess why he’d lie to me. I’m stuck here for the next year, with limited and highly supervised ways to communicate with the outside world. He could admit to running five drug cartels and hijacking Air Force One, and I’d have no way to warn anyone.

“It’s a huge gamble.” He searches my face, pensive. A little like he’s seeing me for the first time. “Giving yourself as Collateral. Marrying me. All because someone wrote my name in her planner.”

I bite my lower lip. My stomach sinks at the idea that he might really not know anything. My only trail, leading to a ravine. “My best friend, my sister, is gone. And no one will look for her if I don’t. And the only thing she left behind, the only clue I have is a name, your name, L. E. Moreland—”

“Lowe!” The door bursts open. I expect Alex, or Cal, or an entire pack of rabid wolves coming to butcher me. Not a plaintive, “Where were you?” followed by the soft shuffle of socked steps on the hardwood floor.

I’m instantly forgotten. Lowe drops to his knees to greet Ana, and when she wraps her slim arms around his neck, his large hand comes up to cradle her head. “I was talking to Misery.”

She waves up at me. “Hi, Miresy.”

My throat feels full. “My name is not that hard to pronounce,” I mumble, but she seems to revel in my glare. And to be in high spirits, despite her attempted kidnapping. I applaud her resilience, but wow, children. They’re truly unfathomable.

“Will you read me a story before bed?” she asks Lowe.

“Of course, love.” He pushes a strand of still-wet hair behind her ear. “Go brush your teeth, I’ll—”

“Ana, where did you go?” Juno’s voice drifts in from the hallway, harried, out of breath. “Ana!”

“Did you run away from Juno?” Lowe whispers.

Ana nods, mischievous.

“Then you better hurry back to her.”

She pouts. “But I want to—”

“Liliana Esther Moreland! Come here at once, it’s an order!”

Ana stamps a kiss on Lowe’s cheek, mutters something delighted about how prickly it is, and then slips out in a flurry of blue and pink fabric. My eyes stay with her, and then on the ajar door, long after she disappears.

Dizzy.

I feel dizzy.

“Misery?”

I turn to Lowe. “Ana . . . ?” I swallow. Because, no. That’s not the right question. Instead: “Liliana?”

He nods.

“Esther.” L. E. Moreland. “I didn’t . . . I had no idea.”

Lowe nods again, eyes somber. “Misery. You and I need to talk.”

CHAPTER 10

He is not reckless, or negligent, or quick to trust. But he recognizes a formidable ally when he sees one.