Chapter 11 Creative Differences Between Partners in Crime
Wynn
I drag Marlow to the stream nearby early in the morning, jugs in hand, to collect water. I'm determined to pry information from Marlow, whose reticence has become as thick as the forest itself.
"What's the plan?" I ask.
"Hide here," he replies. A very simple plan filled with a million holes. I wait, but he doesn't elaborate further.
Even while lying low, we could start planning our next move. But Marlow’s been light on the details about how he became an accused murderer.
"And then what? You say you're innocent. How are you going to prove that?" I press, dipping my jug into the stream.
"If I knew, I'd be doing it."
When we first met, Marlow claimed he was just passing through. That’s what he should be doing, putting distance between the authorities and him. Yet he hasn't complained once about hiding right here in the wolves’ den. What if this is exactly where he needs to be?
"You haven't seemed too anxious about hiding out here."
A grin tugs at the corners of his mouth. "I like to live dangerously."
"Or you really were trying to get into the pack land. You must have a reason."
"Yeah," he admits. "But it's not like I can waltz back into the inhabited part of your territory."
True. Still, we need a better plan than 'make Wynn do all the work' and 'wait in the wilderness until all the people after Marlow die of old age.'
Marlow collects his jug, the water sloshing softly, and starts walking back toward the cabin. "Can't do anything about it now," he tosses over his shoulder.
I jump in front of him, blocking his path. "I'm in this too now. Yet you won't trust me."
"Iggy’s the only one I trust. It’s a hard habit to break.” Does he sound regretful? Hard to say. His eyes are dark and unreadable. "You've already gone out on a huge limb for me. Why get more involved?"
Hell if I know. Because he’s my supposed soulmate? Because I care about him? Because I know he’s a good person?
I'm not even sure myself. Something's keeping me here despite all reason. And it's not just his irritatingly handsome face or how he gets under my skin like no one else. I feel compelled to help him, even when he's being impossible.
"Water!" A dark blur zips past my face, and I instinctively step back as Iggy swoops down to perch on a water jug.
But then he pauses, his stone head swiveling between Marlow and me as he notices the tension between us.
"I'm gonna check the perimeter," he announces, making the first excuse he thinks of. "Make sure no one's sneaking up on us." He spreads his wings and takes off into the trees before either of us can respond.
Marlow acts oblivious to the tension when we reach the cabin, thunking his jug down on the doorstep. He sits down next to it, ignoring the pissed-off wolf—something he has plenty of practice with.
“This has to stop,” I say. “You either start pulling your weight or tell me what’s going on.”
Marlow flashes me a quick grin. "What are you talking about? I do plenty. I'm in charge of morale."
"Like I said. I’m doing everything. The only thing I don't do is make the bed, and that's because Iggy does that."
He opens his mouth, but I cut him off.
"You aren't pulling your weight by providing sex. What else can you do?"
Marlow rises from the doorstep, forcing me to back up since we're too close, especially with that heated look on his face. "I assure you, if I were providing my services sexually, not only would I pull my weight, you would owe me."
He doesn’t even fluster me this time. All my frustration has been building up for days and I’m ready to explode. Days of boredom and doing everything myself, all while Marlow holds back. Why won’t he trust me?
“You’re faking it, aren’t you?” I ask. It’s the only explanation that makes sense. “Pretending to be bad at everything to get out of doing work.”
I know his aim is legitimately terrible. We're light on entertainment, and Break Things with the Other Thing is his only outlet. If he were capable of beating his score of three, he'd have done it. But how can he be so bad at everything else?
"Pretending? Right, pretending." Marlow's turned away from me, looking down.
Is he actually guilty now that he's been caught and called out?
His voice sounds strained, but I guess he figured I'd never wise up.
"That's what I'm doing. Damn, you got me, you, you wily wolf.
Didn't think you would see through my crafty plan. "
"Then how about you cut the crap and actually help?" I press, my patience worn thin. "I'm doing everything. What if I stopped? We'd die."
"You can't go through all the trouble of rescuing a guy just to let him die," he reasons.
"It's a good thing you don't believe in true mates. You're the worst mate ever."
"Oh, darling, don't say such cruel things." He places a hand over his heart, feigning hurt.
"Why am I even trying to get through to you? You don’t listen. You don’t help. You're completely useless."
He recoils, almost as if I'd physically hit him. Did I actually strike a nerve?
In an instant, that odd vulnerable look vanishes, replaced by his usual sly demeanor.
"If you wanted to see me in action, all you had to do was ask," he says.
"Really, just like that?"
"Why not? Come watch the show.” He strides into the cabin without a backward glance, leaving me to wonder what he has planned.