“Not for them, for Serena.”

“Yeah? Then what’s your plan, after you find her? Run away together? Disappear? Send the alliance between the Vampyres and Weres into chaos?”

It’s not that I haven’t thought that far. I just don’t like to dwell on the answer. “This marriage is just for one year,” I punt.

“Yeah? Misery, I think you should ask yourself something.” He sounds more tired than I’ve ever heard him.

“What is that?”

“If Serena hadn’t disappeared, would you have been able to say no to your father? Or would you have ended up in this marriage anyway?”

I think about it for a long, long time, watching my fingers trace patterns in Lowe’s hair. And when I think I have an answer—a frustrating, depressing answer—I don’t say it out loud.

Because Lowe, who suffers from something that’s definitely not pneumonia, is breathing softly, and has sunk into a tranquil sleep.

CHAPTER 16

He’s been picturing her during her baths. He’s been having filthy, unspeakable thoughts. He’s too tired to keep them at bay.

The following day, Lowe disappears to do Were things. I wake up in the late afternoon with only vague memories of having crawled into the built-in closet, and find a note tucked under the doors. It’s a piece of white paper, folded once and then again.

On a run, it says.

And, on a new line: Be good.

Followed by: L. J. Moreland.

I snort. For unclear reasons, I don’t toss it in the trash bin, but slip it in the external pocket of my suitcase.

I draw a bath and lower myself into the tepid water. Holding on to garbage is dumb, but I come by it honestly: it’s what Serena used to do with wrappers of rare import candy bars. A maniac-worthy move, in my humble opinion, the way she’d pin them to the wall. A surefire method to spot a future serial murderer, together with pyromania and torturing small animals. When I look at the wrappers, I remember the taste, she told me when we were thirteen and I tried to throw them away. It led to me rolling my eyes, which led to us not talking for two days, which led to me passive-aggressively littering our shared spaces with used blood bags, which led to flies, which led to an explosive showdown in which she couldn’t decide whether to call me a leech or a bitch and blurted out “Bleetch,” which led to us cracking up and remembering that we liked each other.

“Misery?” Lowe’s voice pulls me back. I’m staring vacantly at the stained windows, a faint smile on my lips. “Where are you?”

“Bathroom!”

“Are you dressed?”

I look down and shift the foam around strategically. “Yup.” The door opens a moment later.

Lowe and I regard each other from across the room—him blinking, me staring—with similarly dumbfounded expressions. He clears his throat, twice. Then remembers that looking away is an option. “You said you were dressed.”

“I’m wearing my modesty froth. You, on the other hand.”

He frowns. “I’m wearing jeans.”

Plus a healthy layer of sweat, and nothing else. The curtains are pulled, but sheer. The incoming light is warm, and tints Lowe’s skin a pretty gold—his wide shoulders, his broad, heavily muscled chest. He’s still glowing with the flush of being outside, in nature, and he looks healthy, even with more scars than anyone his age should have—narrow, thin stripes and knotty twists. So I like looking at my husband who’s a different species and fated to be someone else’s mate. Whatever. Take me to court. Impound my nonexistent assets.

“I’ll overlook your nudity if you overlook mine,” I offer.

Lowe’s hand comes up to rub his nape. “I took off my shirt before shifting and lost it. Lemme find a clean one.”

“I don’t care. Plus, you’re sweaty and gross.”

His eyebrow cocks. “Gross?”

I shrug, which maybe misplaces the foam. I’m not sure, nor am I going to check, as the answer could be mortifying. “So, you went frolicking in the mud with Emery?”

He snorts. “With Koen. He arrived early this morning.”

“That sounds fun.” He got to hang out for a couple of hours with someone he clearly loves and trusts. Let his guard down.

“It was.”

It must be why his eyes are dancing, at once boyish and animated. Why he seems younger than last night. Why, when he walks inside and sits by my feet, on the edge of the tub, he looks like he’s been smiling.

“You know,” I muse, relaxing into the water, “I think I want to see you.”

He looks down at his body. “You want to see me.”

“No, not naked.”

His head tilts in confusion.

“As a wolf.”

His “Ah” is soft and amused.

“Can you quickly shift? Right now? But keep your distance, please. Animals tend to hate me.”

“Nope.”

“Why?” I sit upright, covering my breasts with my arms. “Oh my God, does it hurt, shifting?”

“No.” He seems offended.

“Phew. How long does it take?”

“Depends.”

“How long does it take for you, on average?”

“A few seconds.”

“Is it another Alpha thing? And your motor proteins are suuuuper dominant?”

His glare tells me I’m on the right track. “Shifting is not a party trick, Misery.”

“Clearly it’s not a supersecret deal, either, because I’ve seen Cal as a—” I gasp. “I got it.”

“Got what?”

I smile. Fangs out. “You don’t want to show me because your wolfy coat is hot pink.”

“Not wolfy coat, just coat.”

I splash him with my foot. “Is it purple?”

He flinches and screws his eyes shut.

“Is it glittery?” I splash some more. “You have to tell me if it’s glittery—”

His fingers close around my ankle, vise tight. “You done?” He wipes his eyes with the back of his free hand, and it comes away wet.

My calf is pale against Lowe’s skin, slick with water and soap suds. When his grip slips, he turns his wrist to adjust it, and it transitions into something that’s more in the realm of a caress.

Okay.

So.

We’ve been touching a lot, since yesterday.

We are touching a lot.

“About tonight,” he starts. New topic, but his hand stays firmly in place. “I talked to Koen. He’ll buy us some time. Distract Emery.”

“How?”

“We’ll see. Koen’s a creative thinker.”

“Does he know what we’re planning?”

“Not yet.” He lowers my trapped foot under the water but doesn’t let go of my ankle, as though he doesn’t trust me to behave. Or as though he doesn’t want to. “He might suspect, but he knows better than to ask. Plausible deniability.”

“Wise. Hey, why is Koen here?”

“Emery is his mother’s sister.”

“His aunt?”

“Correct. She was originally in the Northwest pack, then moved when she met Roscoe. That’s why I was sent to him.”

“Wow. And he’s still going to help you?”

“He is no fan of Roscoe. Or his own family.”

So relatable. “After dinner, then.”

“You’re going to say you need to feed.”

“And you’ll come with me because you’re my worried and possessively protective Alpha husband, and I have terrible orientation skills. All we need to do is get to the office, plant the devices, and get out.” I bite into my lower lip. “I could also do it on my own.”