The clerk's mouth snaps shut. He slides two key cards across the counter, along with a pamphlet of hotel amenities. "Room 812. Eighth floor. Elevators are to your right."
"Thanks," I say, grabbing both key cards and the pamphlet while Plague signs the receipt.
We've barely made it ten feet away when I whip out my phone and text Ivy.
WHISKEY
Room 812. Take the stairs. We're heading up now.
IVY
Cool. On my way.
As we wait for the elevator, I feel Plague radiating discomfort beside me. He always stands with perfect posture, but now he's as rigid as he would be if someone literally shoved a hockey stick up his ass.
"Relax," I mutter. "People are gonna think you're being held hostage."
"I fail to see how my posture is of any concern," he replies, pressing the elevator call button again like he can make it arrive faster through sheer force of will.
"Just trying to sell our cover story,honey," I say, just to watch him squirm.
His eyes close briefly, a muscle twitching in his cheek. "Donotcall me that again."
The elevator finally arrives, empty thank fuck, and we step inside. The moment the doors close, Plague moves to the opposite corner with his arms behind his back like a goddamn butler. Like I've got some disease he might catch.
"Did you bring that fire extinguisher Ivy clobbered Valek with?" I ask, glancing behind his back like he's hiding it. "In case I get too close?"
"Stop talking."
"Hey man, we're supposed to betogether-together. What if there are cameras?"
"Then they'll assume we're fighting. And we're going to, by the way, if you don't keep your mouth shut."
There's a soft ding and the elevator doors slide open. Plague strides ahead without hesitating for even a moment, his back ramrod straight, those long legs eating up the distance. I jog to catch up.
"Slow down, Ice Prince. Ivy hasn't had time to make it upstairs yet."
He huffs but slows his pace. "We shouldn't be talking about her. What if someone hears us? You specifically. It's like you swallowed a megaphone."
"Goddamn, you're paranoid."
We reach room 812 and Plague swipes the key card. The light flashes green, and the door swings open to reveal a decent-sized room with one king bed, a desk, a chair by the window, and a small loveseat that might fit a beta or a smaller alpha. Definitely not me, and even though Plague's probably half my weight, he's just as tall.
"Shit," I mutter. "We're gonna be packed in like sardines."
Plague drops his bag by the desk and immediately begins unpacking Ivy's heat supplies, arranging them meticulously. I flop onto the bed, bouncing a little to test the springs. Not bad, other than the ominous cracking sound of cheap plywood planks under the boxspring.
"Don't get comfortable," Plague says without looking up. "You're sleeping on the loveseat."
I bark out a bewildered laugh. "You think I'm fitting on that thing? It's practically a dog bed. I'd need to chop off my arms and legs."
"Then sleep on the floor."
"Why don'tyousleep on the floor?"
"I paid for the room."
I'm about to fire back when there's a soft knock at the door. Three quick taps, pause, two more. Our signal.
