“Whatever.”
He pushed through ten more reps, each one a deliberate performance now that he knew she was watching. The smugness radiating off him was almost visible.
“Stop looking at me like that,” he said, not even breathing hard as he shifted into a plank hold.
“Like what?” The words came out more breathless than intended.
“Like you want to…” He paused, dark eyes finding hers. She forgot to breathe.
“Finish that sentence.” Her voice dropped to something almost like a dare. “I dare you.”
The kitchen suddenly felt impossibly small. He held her gaze for several long seconds.
“Really?” Azrael sat in the doorway. “In the kitchen? Where we eat?”
Marcus dropped out of his plank, rolling smoothly to his feet. Hazel buried her face in her mug, grateful for the ceramic barrier between her and the world’s most judgmental familiar.
“I’ll just…” Marcus grabbed his coffee, his movements suddenly stilted. “Continue this outside.”
He fled —actually fled— to the back door. Hazel waited until it clicked shut before glaring at her familiar.
“Your timing is impeccable as always.”
Azrael jumped onto the table, settling into a loaf position. The look on his face said everything.
“Don’t,” Hazel warned.
“I didn’t say a word.”
“You were thinking it.”
“I’m a cat. I’m always thinking things.” He closed his eyes, purring softly. “Interesting morning.”
“Shut up, Azrael.”
But he was already pretending to sleep, leaving her alone with thoughts she didn’t want to examine too closely.
The afternoon sunfiltered through the trees and threw dancing shadows across the forest floor. They’d been walking for twenty minutes, far enough from the cabin that Hazel could almost pretend this was just a regular hike. If she ignored the way Marcus scanned their surroundings with predatory awareness.
“We should head back,” Marcus said, though he made no move to turn around. “The further we go…”
“The more fun we have?” She stepped over a fallen log, breathing in the sharp autumn air. “Come on, counselor. Even prisoners get yard time.”
“You’re not a prisoner.”
“Tell that to the safe house.” She paused. A scent on the wind made her nose wrinkle. “Do you smell that?”
Marcus tensed beside her, and she could practically feel him shifting into threat assessment mode. “Sulfur.”
“And brimstone.” She turned slowly, scanning the trees. “That’s either a really upset hot spring, or…”
The portal ripped open twenty feet away, bleeding red light into the afternoon shadows. The smell intensified: sulfur and brimstone with an undertone of wet dog.
“Get behind me.” Marcus stepped forward, already pulling power into his hands. Golden energy crackled between his fingers, forming geometric patterns.
“I don’t hide behind…”
The first hellhound emerged, and her protest died in her throat.
