Chapter 10 The Glamorous Art of Hiding Out Isn’t so Glamorous Afterall
Wynn
Climbing trees isn't exactly natural for wolves, but my human half finds a good vantage point to hunker down in. Being up this high gives me a view of the clearing and hiking trail nearby.
Last night wasn't as bad as I thought. Not after I got up and put the time to better use.
I’m miles from the cabin when finally spotting the search party in the distance.
The wolves weave through the undergrowth, noses pressed to the ground, sniffing and snorting as their tails twitch, completely focused on the decoy scent trail I laid earlier.
The trail leads them further and further from the cabin.
Good. This is working.
Covering our tracks and leading search parties astray becomes just the start of my tasks over the first week as fugitives.
My family thinks I'm lounging on vacation, but I've never worked harder in my life.
Confined in a cabin with a pesky demon while I do everything.
It turns out Marlow's survival skills… are lacking.
Basic tasks like figuring out which direction is north or picking up his own mess baffle him completely.
How did this demon even survive this long on his own?
"I usually just... snap my fingers and things sort themselves out." Marlow demonstrates with a flourish, but nothing happens.
Even making the bed defeats him. He wrestles with the fitted sheet and soon becomes tangled in the fabric like a fish in a net, cursing creatively while Iggy and I watch in horrified fascination.
My supposed mate can't handle the most basic domestic tasks. Iggy ends up being a lot more useful. He flies through the forest and watches for threats, all while cloaked and invisible. Iggy’s been keeping tabs on the wolves searching for Marlow.
They’ve come fairly close to the cabin a couple times but are focusing more on the other side of the forest thanks to the fake trail I laid earlier.
I risked everything to help this demon escape. The least he can do is pull his weight around here. Maybe I can teach him to actually contribute.
That's how we end up chopping wood.
Marlow lines up a log on the stump to chop wood, acting for all the world like he's a master lumberjack. He swings, and the axe misses the log completely, hitting against the stump with a dull thwack.
He lets out a sheepish laugh, glancing over at me. "Just kidding. That was only a warm up." Sure it was. "Here it comes."
He concentrates this time as he takes aim. His muscles flex as he draws back the axe, his focus intense. The axe sails through the air, veering off-course and hitting nothing, several inches to the left of the stump.
I snort, trying to stifle my laughter.
"Shut up. I’ll get the hang of it eventually," he vows.
Except he doesn’t.
Marlow swings with all the finesse of a toddler hopped up on pixie sticks. Not that a toddler should be playing with an axe. Maybe the demon shouldn’t either.
The axe whips through the air with so much power on the next swing that it ends up propelling him forward as he struggles to regain control.
He whiffs and whiffs, body swinging around with the axe, and I have to raise my eyes to the treetops and pretend they're extremely interesting when he glances my way so that he doesn't see me cracking up and try using the weapon against me.
Not that he'd be able to actually land a hit.
One swing comes precariously close to his own foot.
Marlow soon wages an all-out war against his mortal enemy, the log and the stump it rests on.
With the worst form in the world, the demon charges with the axe raised and finally manages to land a blow.
A tiny sliver of wood chips off the corner of the log, and he lets out an exaggerated sigh of relief.
"There, see? Told you I'd get the hang of it. "
That small piece of wood is completely useless, but Marlow drops the axe by the stump and relaxes like it's a job well done. As amusing as this was, I have a feeling he's never going to attempt this again. That's one more chore he's absolutely no help with.
"Maybe my hand-eye coordination isn’t as stellar as video games have led me to believe," he concedes. "Why do we even need wood? Isn’t fire a dead giveaway?"
"We can give it a rest for now,” I say, hoping he doesn’t ask again.
“Wynn, why are we chopping wood right now?”
The jig is up.
"Look, I know how to hide evidence of a fire, so we may be able to light one later when there’s something to cook.” But mainly I was trying to keep him busy. “You keep destroying everything in the cabin.”
Marlow made up a game to keep himself busy. A terrible game.
"Not everything," he protests immediately. "Just the ugly things." As if that's any better. "With no TV, no internet, and a woefully boring selection of books, our entertainment options are kinda limited."
"What about being free? Isn’t being free instead of in a cell a very fun and meaningful activity?" I give him a pointed smile, making it clear he better be damn grateful for the freedom I worked so hard to provide.
"It's awesome," he agrees, "but not the answer to boredom."
He isn't exactly wrong, so I don't argue as we head inside.
I love the forest and easily spend more time here than I ever have in the communal and habitable areas for the pack.
But the wild forest around us is a lot harder to appreciate when you start focusing on all the twigs and leaves and patches of dirt and how easy it is to accidentally leave a trail behind.
Speaking of leaving a trail, I make sure nothing looks disturbed when we're done, so Marlow makes it back to the cabin ahead of me. He hands me a pillow when I arrive. "Here, why don’t you play 'Break Things With the Other Thing'? It's fun."
I shove away his hand. "I'm not going to start breaking shit."
"Good, that's against the rules. You need to use a thing to break the other things."
"No."
That's the game he made up. Throwing things at other things and destroying items in the cabin.
"Don't you want to see if you can beat my high score?" he wonders, trying to bait me.
I roll my eyes. "I'm a werewolf, and your high score is two. It's not exactly a challenge."
"Rude and totally wrong. My score is not two. So there."
"Is it three?"
"…Shut up," he mutters.
"You're lucky you have terrible aim," I inform him. "Otherwise, I'd break you before you kept breaking things."
For some demented reason, that brings a smile to his face. "You think threats of violence are intimidating, but I just find them sexy."
"Then you're a sick individual."
Marlow shrugs, that infuriating grin still firmly in place. "No, you're a friendly, likable werewolf. I'm the only one who inspires such violence."
"You consider that a good thing?"
"Oh, absolutely," he replies without hesitation. "I get your blood pumping faster."
"Because I want to kill you."
His grin widens. "Oh yeah, that's the stuff. Talk homicidal to me."
He's insane. I stuck my neck out for an insane person.
~
Wynn
Marlow lies sprawled on the floor of the cabin while Iggy lounges on the top row of the bookshelf, his tail dangling down. Each twitch sends it knocking against the spines on the shelf below. I find myself more engrossed in his antics than in the book I'm supposed to be reading.
Lying on the couch above the demon, I'm trying to read. Marlow wasn't wrong about our literature selection. These books are the most tedious known to man—or werewolf, demon, gargoyle, and every other creature with a brain.
Marlow slaps a hand on my arm and tilts his head toward me. "Wanna have sex?"
The book in my hands drops, nearly smacking me in the face. "What the fuck?"
"Yeah, let's fuck." He sounds as casual as if he's suggesting a board game.
"What, you, you can't just ask for sex,” I sputter.
"I'd argue there's absolutely nothing wrong with asking for sex. Isn't it better than not asking and trying to get sex anyway?"
"You know what I mean!"
His smirk makes an appearance. "You haven't said no."
"What? I—I don't need to." I sit up and scowl at him. Is flustering me his favorite form of entertainment, even better than “Break the Things”?
"Are you sure? I'm up for anything. Well, to be truthful, I prefer topping, but I don't think that will be a problem here."
Is that an insult? Should I be offended? I’m afraid to ask how he reached this conclusion. There's no way I'm confirming or denying it either.
"It's just logical," he continues. "If we're supposed to be perfect for each other, we must click sexually. I know what I like, which means you must like the same or the opposite, depending on the thing."
“I'm not even going to touch that."
He waggles an eyebrow. "Hey, as long as you touch me."
"No! No! A thousand times no."
"One time is just fine."
"Why would you even—"
"Bored," he says. "So bored."
"There's a million things we could do besides, besides each other."
"Really? Name three."
“Here.” I offer him my book. "Play Break Things with The Thing."
"It's boring too."
I bet I know why. "You haven't beaten your high score yet, have you?"
…
Marlow grabs a coaster from the table and starts launching it in my direction.
"What are you doing?"
"Trying to break you."
Should I be offended? Should I play too and chuck my book at him? Or should I laugh because he's having trouble hitting me, even though we're right next to each other? Granted, the angle isn't the best since he's still lying on the floor and blindly grabbing for stuff on the coffee table.
“Stop it!”
“Hold still.”
My reflexes kick in, and I act quickly, grabbing the pot he hurls before it collides with my lower body and smashes into a million pieces.
“Hey, you’re cheating!”
“You’re throwing things at me,” I respond. “What did you think would happen?”
"Don't worry, I'm aiming for your foot. I don't want to damage you too badly, just some light maiming."
Now it's my turn to peer over the couch and smirk down at him. "I'm not worried."
"You know what? Now sex is off the table,” he declares.
"It was always off the table."
Not even once did I consider sleeping with him. Of course, it helps that he’s wearing a middle-aged woman's clothes to disguise his scent and not those tight-fitting pants of his.
Hypothetically, if I did think about his offer for one insane second, what would happen?
If I were to roll off the couch and land on top of him, would he be shocked?
Would he just grin like he expected it and grab my ass with both hands?
Or could I haul him up and pull him on top of me and do my best to wipe that smug look off his face?
Dammit. I nearly step on Marlow in my haste to get up and select another book. This one is way too boring. That’s the only reason I’m fantasizing about disastrous scenarios.