Bride

“I’m not Lowe’s mate. Whatever leverage you think you have, it’s not—”

“Is she not, Lowe?” Father asks, suddenly louder. He’s still holding my eyes. “Your mate?”

I stare back, waiting for Lowe’s answer, waiting to see the disappointment in my father’s eyes. Hoping it’ll make the one I experienced earlier tonight less bitter. But time ticks on by. And Lowe’s reply just temporizes, hangs back, hesitates, and never comes.

When I turn to him, he’s at once blank and profoundly, indelibly sad.

“Tell him,” I order. But he still doesn’t speak, and it feels like a
slap to my face. My lungs seize, and suddenly I cannot breathe. “Tell him the truth,” I whisper to him.

Lowe runs his tongue over the inside of his cheek, and then presses his lips together in a small, sad smile.

Something inside me trembles.

phone. Half of your gallery is blurry pictures of Ana with your finger blocking the camera. You type ‘Google’ in the Google bar to start a new search.”

can start a fucking computer.”

“Lowe. My friend. My spouse. You’re clearly a competent Were with many talents, but I’ve seen your phone. I’ve seen you use your