Leonard barks a laugh. “Nice outfit.”
“Fuck you,” Marcus growls, jaw tight. “Pickings were slim.”
Leonard smirks. “So, you robbed a yoga guru?”
Marcus doesn’t rise to it. “I’m getting changed,” he mutters, already striding toward the bedroom like he can outrun the humiliation.
“Good,” Leonard calls after him, smirk widening. “That shirt’s giving me motion sickness.”
I press my lips together to hold back a laugh, but it slips out, bubbling up through my relief. Marcus was alive, but his dignity? That’s another story.
When he returns, dressed in something that looks more like him, we all convene in the makeshift war room.
“So,” I say, placing a marker on the table, “did anyone get anything useful?”
Marcus leans forward, his gaze flipping from Leonard to Minerva, his arm brushing mine as he sits. When all they do is shrug and look disappointed, he says, “Esmerelda and I bumped into a couple of vamps.”
I find myself sliding into the seat beside him. It has to be the leftover worry, nothing else. The chair’s hard and uncomfortable, which only makes me think how much better it was sitting on his lap earlier. Yeah, I can’t be thinking stuff like this.
I raise a chin to the marker. “Okay, we should write that down.”
We reach for the Sharpie at the same time, fingers brushing. How long will it be before the spark from our touch stops affecting me this way?
“Pity our glamours faded,” Marcus mutters.
We all glance at Min.
“Don’t look at me. Mine and Leonard’s held. It was just you two.”
“Maybe the club had a dispel charm,” Leonard says.
“Maybe, but wouldn’t it have affected us too then?” Min queries.
Leonard smirks. “Then it must’ve been after you two locked lips. You know, true love’s kiss.”
Marcus and I snap our heads toward each other, identical horror painted on our faces.
Silence crashes over the room, and all I can hear is Marcus’s sharp and uneven breathing.
“Ahem.” Minerva clears her throat theatrically.
I blink hard, dragging myself out of the silence. True love’s kiss, my ass. We hate each other. We’re not star-crossed, we’re not fated. We’re two people who were forced to marry, two people who endured the unthinkable and now have the same goal, and that’s the only reason this works. That’s it. End of story.
And yet…
As we shuffle notes across the table, my focus keeps drifting. To him. To the way his hand brushes mine when we both reachfor the same pen or paper. To how he leans in at the exact angle I do, like our bodies already know the choreography of this messed-up partnership. Maybe it’s always been like this and I just refused to see it. Maybe Leonard’s stupid joke cracked something open, shoved a spotlight onto all the places our pieces line up.
It’s like when you’re thinking of buying a Jeep and suddenly every damn car you see on the road is a Jeep. Only this isn’t cars. It’s Marcus. Everywhere.
We’re debating dinner when a knock rattles the door. Too sharp. Too deliberate. The sound freezes us mid-sentence.
Marcus is on his feet instantly, a knife flashing in his hand. The air shifts, and my wolf surges, claws scraping at the inside of my skin, begging to tear into whatever threat is smart enough to find us here.
The knock comes again. Slower this time. Heavier. My pulse spikes. I hear Min’s breath catch, see Leonard’s jaw tense. For a heartbeat, it feels like the walls themselves are holding their breath with us.
Until…
“Min, I like big dicks and I cannot lie!”
