Fuck.
The farmer must’ve been built like a linebacker because Layden’s about to Hulk out of that fabric. His arms have gone from gaunt to carved, muscles splitting the seams.
“How the hell did you bulk up in one day?” The words come out sharper than I mean them to.
He glances over, catching me staring. A small smile plays at his mouth. “Perhaps this is simply what I’m meant to be. I only needed enough fuel to return to my true form.”
“I’m hungry,” he says, buttoning another doomed shirt. “Is there anything else while we wait for the meat?”
I nod toward the cabin. “I checked this morning and there’s four new eggs from the chickens. And some unmarked cans in the cupboard.”
“You take the eggs. I’ll handle the cans.”
“There’s four. We can split?—”
“No.” His voice drops, goes soft. Almost... wounded. “You need to eat. I should have saved some of the meat for you. It’s unforgivable.”
The guilt on his face makes my chest tight. Jesus, this man and his ridiculous chivalry. “Fine. Whatever.”
He heads to the pantry and starts downing cans—green beans, plums, corn—tipping them back like shots. No chewing. Just swallowing.
“Christ, do you even have a gag reflex?”
He wipes his mouth, burps without shame. “What’s that?”
A laugh barks out of me. “Never mind.”
I head to the brick stove in the corner. Fresh logs are already stacked—more of Layden’s morning overachieving. The stove’s one of those old village models with logs in the bottom and burners on the sides. I haven’t used one since...
My hands still on the cast iron pan.
Since I was a kid. Hidden away with Mom and Dad in cabins just like this. Little nowhere nooks where Grandfather couldn’t find us.
God, those were good days. The three of us. Safe and warm, before everything turned to shit.
“Phoenix?”
I jerk my head up. Layden’s watching me, concerned. Too fucking perceptive.
“What?”
“Where did you go just then?”
I grab the pan harder than necessary. “Nowhere that matters.”
He’s smart enough not to push.
I crack the eggs while he demolishes the pantry. When I’m plating my food, he turns back to me. “The couple who owns this cabin. You used compulsion on them.”
I shrug. Obviously.
“What did you tell them?”
“To leave immediately. Stay with relatives for two months.”
His whole face lights up. “So we have two months?”
I drop the skillet back on the stove with a clang and eat out of it, standing up. “You looked like death. I didn’t know how long you’d need. But now that you’re magically fixed, feel free to squat here till they come back.”
