Oh, no. Not this conversation. “Tossed a coin?”
“You were such a peculiar child, Misery. Always uninterested in what went on around you, locked in a vault inside your head, hard to reach. Withdrawn. The other children would try to become your friends, and you’d stubbornly leave them hanging—”
“The other children knew that I’d be the one sent to the Humans, and they started calling me fangless traitor as soon as they could form full sentences. Or have you forgotten when I was seven, and the sons and daughters of your fellow councilmen stole my clothes and pushed me out in the sun right before midday? And those same people spat on me and mocked me when I returned from ten years serving as their Collateral, so I’m not—” I exhale slowly, and remind myself that this is fine. I am fine. Untouchable. I’m twenty-five and I have my fake Human IDs, my apartment, my cat (fuck you, Serena), my . . . Okay, I probably don’t have a job right now, but I’ll find another soon, with 100 percent fewer Pierces. I have friends—a friend. Probably.
Above all, I’ve taught myself not to care. About anything.
“The wedding you mentioned. Whose is it?”
Father presses his lips together. Several moments tick by before he speaks again. “When a Were and a Vampyre stand in front of each other, all they see is—”
“The Aster.” I glance down at my phone, impatient. “Three minutes and forty-seven seconds—”
“They see a wedding between a Vampyre and an Alpha that was supposed to broker peace, but ended in death. The Weres are animals, and always will be, but we are on the road to extinction, and the good of the most must be considered. If we let the Humans and Weres form an alliance that excludes us, they could completely wipe us out—”
“Oh my God.” It suddenly dawns on me, the crazy, ridiculous place where he’s heading, and I cover my eyes. “You are joking, right?”
“Misery.”
“No.” I let out a laugh. “You . . . Father, we cannot marry our way out of this war.” I don’t know why I’ve switched to the Tongue, but it takes him aback. And maybe that’s good, maybe this is what he needs. A moment to think this madness through. “Who would agree to this?”
Father looks at me so pointedly, I know. I just know.
And I burst into laughter.
I only ever laughed out loud with Serena, which means that it must have been well over a month since I last did it. My brain nearly hiccups, startled at these newfangled, mysterious sounds my voice box is producing. “Did you drink rotten blood? Because you’re unhinged.”
“What I am is charged with ensuring the good of the most, and the good of the most is the furthering of our people.” He seems somewhat offended by my reaction, but I cannot help the laughter bubbling in my throat. “It would be a job, Misery. Compensated.”
This is— God, this is funny. And mental. “No amount of legal tender would convince me to— Is it ten billion dollars?”
“No.”
“Well, no lower amount of legal tender would convince me to marry a Were.”
“Financially, you will be set for life. You know the council’s pockets are deep. And there is no expectation of a real marriage. You’d be with him in name only. You’ll be in Were territory for a single year, which will send the message that Vampyres can be safe with Weres—”
“Vampyres cannot.” I shoot to my feet and begin pacing away from him, massaging my temple. “Why are you asking me? I cannot be your first choice.”
“You aren’t,” he says flatly. He has plenty of faults, but lack of honesty was never among them. “Nor our second. The council is in agreement that we must act, and several members have offered their relatives. Originally, Councilman Essen’s daughter agreed. But she had a change of heart—”
“Oh, God.” I stop pacing. “You’re treating this as a Collateral exchange.”
“Of course. And so are the Weres. The Alpha will send a Were to us. Someone important to him. She will be with us for as long as you are with him. Ensuring your reciprocal safety.”
Bonkers. This is absolutely bonkers.
I take a grounding breath. “Well, I . . .” Think everyone involved has lost their mind, and whoever shows up to that wedding is going to get slaughtered, and I cannot believe your sheer presumption in asking this of me. “. . . am honored that you eventually thought of me, but no. Thanks.”
“Misery.”
I walk to the desk to pick up my phone—one minute, thirteen seconds left—and for a brief moment, I’m so close to Father, I feel the rhythm of his blood in my bones. Slow, steady, painfully familiar.
Heartbeats are like fingerprints, one of a kind, distinctive, the easiest way to tell people apart. Father’s was pressed into my flesh on the day I was born, when he was the first person to hold me, the first person to care for me, the first person to know me.
And then he washed his hands of me.
“No,” I say. To him. To myself.
“Roscoe’s death is an opportunity.”
“Roscoe’s death was murder,” I point out evenly. “By the hand of the man you’d have me marry.”
“You know how many Vampyre children were born this year in the Southwest?”
“I don’t care.”
“Fewer than three hundred. If the Weres and the Humans join forces to take our land from us, they will wipe us out. Completely. The good of the most—”
“—is a cause I’ve already donated to, and no one is showing me much gratitude.” I meet his eyes squarely. Slide my phone into my pocket with determination. “I’ve done enough. I have a life and I’m going back to it.”
“Do you?”
I stop halfway through turning around. “Excuse me?”
“Do you have a life, Misery?” He looks at me when he says it, pointed, careful, like he’s pushing a sharp weapon a mere millimeter into my neck.
I need you to care about one single fucking thing, Misery, one thing that’s not me.
I push the memory away and swallow. “Good luck finding someone else.”
“You feel unwelcome among your people. This could rehabilitate you in their eyes.”
A frisson of anger runs through my spine. “I think I’ll hold off on that, Father. At least until they have rehabilitated themselves in mine.” I take a few steps backward, cheerfully waving my hand. “I’m leaving.”
“My ten minutes aren’t up yet.”
My phone chooses that very moment to beep. “Exquisite timing.” I flash him a smile. If my blunt fangs bother him, that’s his problem. “I can safely say that no amount of time will change the outcome of this conversation.”
“Misery.” A pleading edge is creeping into his tone, which is almost entertaining.
Too bad. So sad. “See you in . . . seven years? Or when you decide that the key to peace is a joint Were-Vampyre MLM scheme and try to sell me dietary supplements. Do have Vania fetch me at home, though. I do not look forward to reorganizing my résumé.” I turn around to find the doorknob.
“There won’t be another opportunity in seven years, Misery.”
I roll my eyes and open the door. “Goodbye, Father.”
“Moreland is the first Alpha who—”
I slam the door shut, without first walking out of the office, and turn around, back toward Father. My heart slows to a crawl and thuds in my chest. “What did you just say?”
He straightens up from the desk, full of confusion and something that could be hope. “No other Were Alpha—”
“The name. You said a name. Who . . . ?”
“Moreland?” he repeats.
“His full name—what’s his first name?”
Father’s eyes narrow suspiciously, but after a few seconds, he says, “Lowe. Lowe Moreland.”
I look down at the floor, which appears to be shaking. Then at the ceiling. I take a series of deep breaths, each one slower than the other, and then run a trembling hand through my hair, even though my arm weighs a thousand pounds.
