My thumb clicked the little button, just like Cameo had shown me, and the blade popped open with a mechanicalclick.
Eyes, throat, dick, chestI rattled off, brandishing the knife. “Don’t come any closer! I’ll?—”
I did my best to hold it exactly how I'd been told to. Fingers wrapped around the inside, thumb over the back, and blade facing away. I did my best to keep my hand steady, but couldn't prevent the slight shake I was feeling.
“Eva?” A low, familiar voice asked in confusion before the hallway light flicked on, illuminating a very confused—and very shirtless—Marcus, a small bag of flour in his hand. “Are you okay?”
“I—uhm… yeah,” I said uncertainly, suddenly feeling very foolish. “I thought you were, I don’t know…”
Marcus chuckled, his eyes finding the knife with amusement crinkling the edges. “Going to take me out, final girl?”
I blinked, my face heating at least half from embarrassment, the other half keenly aware of the thin strip of hair brushing along his belly from his low-slung sweat pants.
"Sorry, I guess I'm still a bit jumpy,” I muttered, closing the knife and stowing it back into my pocket.
“You screamed,” he pointed out, eyes moving to the open door of Cameo’s office. “Playing a game?”
“No,” I grumbled, slamming the door a little harder than was necessary. “You know that freak has a bunch of maggots on his desk?”
The alpha’s face screwed up in disgust. “Fucking weirdo… You okay? You don’t like bugs, right?”
I shook my head, pouting as I made my way down the hall towards him. “Why,why, does Cameo have the entirety of A Bug’s Life in his room? How the fuck does he sleep?”
“I’m not sure he does,” Marcus said, catching my hip with his free hand. “Just pretends until it’s socially acceptable to be up and about again, or something.”
"Speaking of, what are you doing?" I asked, flicking off the hall light and letting the alpha lead me into the kitchen with him. “Run out of baby powder?”
“What?” Marcus asked with a light laugh.
I nodded to the bag of flour in his hand as he released me to return to what he was doing, setting the bag on the counter to quickly wash his hands.
"Oh, I’m making bread," he said. “Baby powder, funny. I’ll remember that one.”
"At two in the morning?"
He nodded. "Judith was fed yesterday, and I need to use her before she deflates."
"Judith?"
He gestured to the jar on the counter. It was a glass mason jar with white goo inside. "My sourdough starter."
"Oh," I'd seen a lot of people start those a few years ago, but it always seemed too technical for me. "I didn't know you made bread.
"Every week," he said. "I normally make it today, but there were other things going on."
There certainly were. "Sorry to disturb your bread-making day."
"It's okay, it was more Indi than anyone."
I scrunched my brow. "What do you mean?"
He shook his head. "Nothing, just had to run an errand."
"Can I watch?" I asked.
"I don't mind."
I climbed up on the kitchen island across from him as he finished gathering his ingredients. He placed a large bowl on a scale and started dumping ingredients into it and stirring them together. It was hard to keep track with him doing it so quickly, but soon he was dumping out all the contents onto the counter and kneading.
