She was browsing. Shopping. While he’d been tearing through the forest like a madman.
“Hazel.”
She turned, surprise flickering across her face before defiance hardened her features. “Marcus? What are you doing here?”
“What am I—” He crossed the market in three strides, not caring who stared. “You could have been killed!”
“I needed ingredients.” She lifted her chin. “I’m not a prisoner.”
“You’re under my protection!”
“I’m a grown witch who needed supplies!”
They stood toe to toe now, both breathing hard. The entire market had gone quiet, vendors and customers watching with undisguised interest.
“Everything alright here?” A selkie vendor approached, concern creasing her weathered face.
“Fine,” Hazel said.
“Perfect,” Marcus added, though his tone suggested otherwise.
The selkie looked between them, then at Marcus’s mud-splattered Armani and the leaves in his hair. Amusement flickered across her face, but she had the grace not to comment.
“I’ll just finish ringing these up, then,” she said, and retreated behind her stall.
“We’re leaving,” he said through gritted teeth.
“I haven’t finished shopping.”
“Now, Hazel.”
She opened her mouth to argue, then seemed to register the tension in his jaw, his clenched fists. Her defiance faded. “Fine. Let me pay for these.”
He stood rigid while she completed her transaction, ignoring the vendor’s winks and the way other shoppers whispered behind their hands. The walk back to the cabin took forever, neither speaking, the forest path barely wide enough for single file.
Neither spoke. Hazel walked ahead, arms crossed, studiously avoiding looking back at him. Marcus followed, his shoes squelching through mud.
“Was that really necessary?” she finally muttered.
“You mean tracking down my missing witness who left without protection in active danger? Yes.”
“I meant the scene.”
“You created the scene by running off!”
“I didn’t run. I walked. To buy the ingredients I need. Because, unlike some people, I have a business to maintain.”
“Your business won’t matter if you’re dead.”
The path widened slightly, and she slowed enough that they were walking side by side. Close enough that her shoulder brushed his arm, that he could smell the lavender in her hair.
“You know,” she said after a moment, “in all those breakup songs, the guy is always the villain.”
Despite himself, Marcus’s lips quirked. “You can’t hex a radio we don’t have with us.”
“Watch me hex your shoes when we get back.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
