Bride

maybe my name is just a word he likes to say, a word he likes to think of.

maybe my name is just a word he likes to say, a word he likes to think of.
A second later, my fangs sink into the vein at the base of h

maybe my name is just a word he likes to say, a word he likes to think of.
A second later, my fan

“That there is no world, no scenario, no reality in which I’ll gracefully allow you to leave me. That if I don’t let you go now, five years, five months, five days down the line, I won’t be able to. Every second, I want you too much, and every second, I’m on the verge of wanting you more. Every second is my last chance to do the decent thing. To let you live your life without taking up all of it—”

“Misery.” He sighs again. “You have been abandoned and mistreated your entire life. By your family, by your people, by your only friend. You are fascinated with the idea of eternal love and companionship, but that just doesn’t reflect what I feel for you.”

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

I have no friends, no hobbies, and no real purpose aside from earning enough money to pay rent in order to . . . exist, I guess.

I can’t get a good look at his face, but I know what to expect from the picture I was given weeks ago: handsome, striking, unsmiling. His hair is short, a rich brown cut to a buzz; his suit is black, well fitted across his broad shoulders.

“My smell. Do I smell like . . . ?”

“Mine.” It’s a rumble in his throat. “You smell like you’re mine, Misery.”

Something charged shimmers through my body.

“The identities of the Human-Were Bureau workers were nowhere to be found, which is odd for that kind of government employee.”