Chapter 9 Strange Bedfellows
Wynn
I push the creaky cabin door open. The musty scent of dust hits me as Marlow and I step inside.
We made it.
Pitch blackness greets us. “Hold on a moment, don’t come in.” I rummage through my bag, searching for the flashlight buried in there somewhere.
A sudden thud reverberates through the cabin, followed by a muffled curse. "Dammit!"
Sounds like he’s corporeal again. Of course the demon stumbled around in the dark and ran smack into something. Not a good idea for someone without night vision. That’s what he gets for not listening. This old, cluttered cabin is an accident waiting to happen.
When I finally retrieve the flashlight and flick it on, the light wobbles as Marlow snatches it from my grasp a second later.
Marlow swings the flashlight around, and the beam sweeps across the cluttered room, illuminating the explosion of trinkets and keepsakes that fill the space.
Colorful ceramic bowls, intricate wooden carvings of forest creatures, and woven baskets piled high line the shelves, a mishmash of treasures that give the cramped cabin a surprisingly warm, inviting feel, despite the thick layer of dust coating everything.
The beam sweeps across a preserved deer head on the wall, a hunting trophy. The deer is decorated with oversized sunglasses and a jaunty little hat. Marlow raises an eyebrow at me. "And you said you had good taste."
"I'm not the decorator."
"Well, this is…"
"Cozy?" I venture.
"Cramped," he retorts. "Who needs so many—"
"It used to be worse," I interrupt. "There was so much more stuff."
"Impossible. All the stuff ever invented is already crammed into this room."
"There was triple the amount, easy. But then it.
.. it got destroyed when I... well, a lot of stuff was destroyed.
" Technically, I'm the one who destroyed the place.
But I had a good reason! Helping out a friend in need.
"Anyway, the cabin belonged to my grandma and grandpa.
They were the Alphas in their day and weren't overly sentimental people.
Their home had one picture and only one picture of every family member on display at a time.
I think this place was their escape until they moved away, a chance to indulge in a different side of themselves. "
"Does that mean we won't be found here?"
"Yeah. Almost no one knows about this place, and the last thing anyone will expect is you staying so close to your last known whereabouts.
" Marlow’s a fugitive trying to run from the authorities.
People will expect him to keep running, not camp out in the backyard of the very pack that apprehended him once.
"Okay, what about magic?" he asks next. "Please don’t tell me to wear that hideous cloak."
“No, we’re good there. Concordia is home to hundreds of covens, all with their own powers and energies. With so much magic concentrated in one place, magical detection becomes a nightmare. There’s too much interference.”
Getting through the interference would take serious time and effort. We have some breathing room before witches are called in. Knowing my cousin, she won’t broadcast this security breach yet.
Without magical measures, that leaves hiding from other wolves. If we don't disturb the surroundings and cover our tracks, they'll have no reason to suspect we're here. And with a little luck, I'll spot or hear anyone before they come near and we'll have enough time to hide.
Marlow takes a moment to think it over, then nods in agreement. "Alright, not a terrible plan. Have you hidden fugitives before? Am I not your first?"
"Shut up," I huff.
I set my bag on the couch because there's too much junk on the coffee table. Marlow will hate this next part. Truthfully, I'm not thrilled either.
To conceal our scents, I've brought along some clothes from my roommate, a middle-aged witch with, shall we say, eclectic taste.
As I hand Marlow an oversized t-shirt emblazoned with the words 'wine o’clock' and pajama bottoms adorned with whimsical cartoon wine bottles and glasses, I take a moment to appreciate his expression of sheer horror.
"Are we burning those eyesores to keep ourselves warm?" he asks hopefully. Unfortunately, it’s too risky to start a fire tonight or see if the old generator still works. But one battle at a time.
"You need to wear this. It will cover your scent."
"Is the cloak an option?" A note of desperation creeps into his voice.
"Come on, it's not all that bad."
He scoffs, thrusting the pajamas back at me. "Then you wear this.”
"So you want the pajamas that say 'sassy witch' then?"
"Dear god." Marlow looks more terrified than he ever did in a dungeon cell. "Your roommate is a lunatic."
"These are the clothes she wore recently and are strong enough to cover our scents. Since nobody uses the cabin, they won't know what it’s supposed to smell like; it just can’t smell like us."
The glow of the flashlight makes his face look more severe, and I can't tell whether he's only judging the outfit or me as well.
"And you're the one who thinks we're mates," he mutters.
"What does that have to do with anything?"
"How can you expect someone to see you in this and still think of you as…”
"As?" I prompt.
"Not hideous?"
"We're both going to have to deal with it."
"Oh, trust me," he says, begrudgingly grabbing the clothes and flashing a smug smirk. "I'll still look hot. Barely, but still hot."
Marlow pivots on his heel, his back now facing me.
He starts stripping without any concern for privacy, like if he can’t see me then I can’t see him.
Oh my god, was he raised by wolves? I was, and the behavior isn’t totally unheard of for us.
Shifters usually aren’t too concerned with nudity or modesty.
So why do I feel like a scandalized Puritan, desperate to cover him up with more layers?
A perfectly good bedroom waits ten feet away and offers privacy, but he didn’t even ask, and now I can’t retreat there. It will be like he wins somehow.
Marlow peels off his tight shirt, revealing the taut lines of his abs inch by inch as the fabric drags slowly across his skin.
The tease of it captivates me. Even in profile, he's fitter than I thought and…
are those tattoos that adorn his chest? The designs that dance across his skin are harder to identify from this angle, yet they draw my gaze like a moth to a flame.
The tattoos are the only reason I drink in the sight of him, not the desire pooling low in my belly. The cold cabin suddenly feels several degrees warmer.
Wait, no. What desire? Yuck, Marlow is so ugly… so why do I keep staring?
The pajama bottoms hang low on his hips, loose on my roommate but tighter on him.
They cling to his muscular thighs, leaving little to the imagination.
I almost step forward to get a better look before a floorboard creaks under my feet.
I stop being an idiot and snap out of my trance, spinning around to fumble with my own clothes.
The pajamas smell like my roommate's fruity body wash and the herbal teas she drinks before bed.
A poor substitute for Marlow's alluring scent, but it will have to do.
Once we're both decent and facing each other, Marlow strikes a pose in the outrageous pajamas. "See, this ensemble I'm wearing says 'hello, I never want to get laid ever,' but your eyes just can't resist me." He wears a self-assured grin on his face. "Still hot."
"No!" I deny adamantly.
"Come on, I don’t blame you."
"You're so full of it." To distract myself, I move toward the window. Only the dark night greets me. No unusual sights or sounds in the forest. Good.
"Look all you want," he drawls from behind me. "I took a peek or two at your ass myself."
I whip back around, catching him with his eyes lingering on my backside before they lazily travel up to meet my gaze. He's lounging on the couch, arms behind his head as if he doesn't have a care in the world.
"Not even ashamed," he confesses with a shrug. "It’s a nice ass. Thought you wolves were all about virile strength, but I like a little cushion for the pushing."
Suppressing a growl becomes a Herculean task. "Don't give me a complex, asshole. I'm in shape."
"I know," he agrees a little too easily for my liking. "But you didn't seem comfortable with the compliment. You're much more comfortable being angry at me. Why is that?"
I pause, caught off guard by his observation. "Hmm, let me think about that. Oh wait, I know. Because you killed someone?"
The amusement drains from his face. "I did not."
"Oh, sorry. You allegedly killed someone."
Marlow's glare could cut glass. "You know what, mate? You're sleeping on the couch tonight."
That effectively ruins the moment.
It's for the best. I need to be careful. Here I am, on the run with someone I can't stand. Someone who might be a criminal and definitely isn’t interested in being my one true love. We need to keep our distance.
I cast a wary glance at the door to the solitary bedroom, then at the worn-out couch with its sagging cushions and faded upholstery. "What are the chances I can convince you to take the couch?"
"I'll do you one better," Marlow says. "You can take the couch."
"How is that better?"
"To answer your first question, there are so many ways you could get me to sleep on the couch, but I'm guessing they all offend your delicate sensibilities since they involve sex or violence—"
"What? Oh my god." That's where his mind goes immediately? Sex or violence?
"—so you might as well save yourself the trouble of being scandalized and just crash on the couch yourself."
Just like that, he’s already back to being shameless and smug.
No point arguing. I've learned from our every interaction that neither of us backs down. And there's no way I'm resorting to the outrageous methods he insinuated… even if the thought of violence holds a certain appeal at the moment.
With a resigned sigh, I concede. "Guess we're sharing the bed?"
"Guess so," Marlow confirms.
Like we're playing a weird game of chicken, we both head to the bedroom at the same time. I take the side closest to the window. Always been a light sleeper. I should hear wolves running around in the forest if they get close.
Marlow clicks the flashlight off and sets it on the bedside table. Good, he can't see the stupid blush on my face as I sink down onto the bed.
"Wanna cuddle?" the demon asks.
I spring off the bed. "You're such an asshole."
"It's practical! It's cold in here."
"We wolves run hotter," I retort. "If anything, it's too warm."
"Should I open the window then?"
"Just shut up and go to sleep."
"Your pillow talk leaves a lot to be desired." Marlow flops back onto the bed, making a show of getting comfortable.
I grumble under my breath, eventually joining him on the mattress and sticking to the very edge. I turn on my side, away from him.
As I close my eyes, the cold seeps through the walls of the cabin.
We obviously can't light a fire tonight, so we're stuck enduring the cold.
The threadbare quilt on the bed really isn't enough.
Shifting into my wolf form isn't the best idea either.
That's why I'm wearing these stupid pajamas and camouflaging my scent.
The cold eventually wears me down. Despite my better judgment, I find myself gradually drifting closer, scooting back towards him.
I think he's drifting to the center of the bed too. This close to the mountains at night, it gets pretty damn cold. There’s no point in breaking his ass out of prison just to let him freeze to death.
Marlow may be annoying, but his warmth is too tempting to ignore. I can tell myself it’s purely practical, just because we can’t turn on the heat.
"Alright, it’s cold," I say. "So maybe we just man up and do what we need to do to keep warm."
"Alright."
Slowly, inch by torturous inch, we draw closer. Every movement screams awkward. Is this really what sharing a bed with my mate is like? It shouldn't be like this.
But despite all efforts to hide his scent, if I concentrate, I swear I can still pick up the faintest scent of spice and him. The wolf in me wants to bury my nose against his neck and just breathe him in. I find myself turning around, and he turns too.
Even in the dark, his eyes have managed to find mine, and now I can’t look anywhere else.
It’s like we’re being pulled by magnets—not just two guys trying to survive a frigid night in the mountains.
The awkwardness melts away, replaced by something that makes my chest tighten.
I wish I could pretend that I’d be as eager to cozy up to any warm body, but deep down, I’m excited to put my arms around this pesky demon.
Marlow stretches his arm toward me, fingers nearly grazing my shoulder when wings flap overhead. A tiny bundle plummets into the narrow space between us. Iggy seems completely unaware of the tension that sizzles around us. "Is there room for me too?"
The moment shatters.
You know what? The chill isn't so terrible after all. We retreat to our respective sides, backs turned, pointedly ignoring each other's existence.
It’s going to be a long night.