Chapter Two
Maren
“ N o, no, no. It’s all in the wrist.”
Tuck tosses a towel over his shoulder and smiles generously at me.
“Here.” He steps behind me and guides my hand. “Like this.”
“I’m going to hurt myself,” I say, but allow him to position me for another try. “Or you. Or both of us.”
“Maren.” Tuck tips his head to the side, his hair falling into his eyes, and between that and the warm press of his forearm against mine I briefly forget my own name.
“Mm?” I say.
“It’s only an omelette.”
“Right.” I bite my lip and look down at the stovetop. The eggs—inexpertly cracked and whisked by me, with Tuck’s supervision—are sizzling in a pool of butter, and our entwined hands are gripping the pan handle—Tuck’s strong, easy, confident one clasped over my jittery one.
It’s about a quarter to ten, and we’re the only ones awake—as far as I can tell. Morning light filters in through the windows, and a soft breeze is blowing in through the French doors that Tuck cracked open. After crawling into bed with Will, I passed out so hard that only my favorite scent in the world—coffee brewing—could rouse me, and when I extracted myself from Will’s arms and padded down to the kitchen I found Tuck already at work.
All so good. All so...normal.
Almost.
Tuck laughs. “You look like you’re trying to defuse a bomb.”
“It’s a lot of pressure,” I explain, defending myself.
Tuck pulls me in, gentle, but unmistakably tighter, and I take in the warm smell of him, cinnamon and musk. “Don’t you fix people’s brake cables and stuff? I’d think that’s a lot higher pressure as far as technical execution goes. More life and death.”
“Really?” I tip my face up to his. “These are the last of the eggs. You want to explain to the other guys why their breakfast is on the floor?”
Tuck winces, but smiles, and nods. “Good point.” Even though we’ve been back for a few days, everyone’s still recovering from our, let’s say, rustic accommodations out in the woods, and I am expecting raging appetites when the others get up.
Not just for food, either. At least not to judge by what I felt from Will in his bed just now.
My cheeks get hot. All in good time, I tell myself. All of us have needed a little time to...recalibrate. Catch up on sleep. Process...everything.
There’s a small pop on the stovetop, and Tuck’s hand firms over mine.
“Here.” He smiles. “Ready?”
“No.”
Gently, he glides the pan back and forth, one, two, three, times, and—
“Boom.” The omelette, with no thanks to me, lands in the pan, beautifully flipped and golden. Tuck beams. “See? You’re a natural.”
I scoff as he lets me go, pressing a kiss to my temple as he grabs some herbs and tosses them on a cutting board.
“It’s just a little browned,” he says, deftly flicking a knife blade over the bundled herbs, his hands sure and steady and his eyes intent on his work. “But for a more rustic omelette, that’s fine. If we were doing a strictly haute cuisine kind of thing, we’d want it uniformly yellow, with smaller curds—”
To be honest, I’m only half listening. I don’t really care about learning how to make an omelette—rustic or otherwise—but I do love hearing Tuck go on and on about whatever thing he’s working on, love watching the quick, skilled, instinctive movements of a man who’s good at what he does.
I love Tuck. Truly and fully.
He stops suddenly, looking at me with a puzzled expression. “What?”
His confusion startles me out of my daydream. I clutch my coffee and shake my head. “Nothing.”
“Okay. Phew.” Tuck relaxes. “I know it’s controversial to adulterate the traditional French omelette, but I just think the creme fraiche adds a—”
“Does it feel weird to be back?” I ask. “To you, I mean.” I drum my fingernails on the side of my mug. “It...I think it does for me.”
Tuck pauses, the chopped herbs scooped into his hand. He looks around the kitchen, frowning, as if the hanging pots and pans or cabinet doors have the answer he’s after.
Then he shakes his head.
“I don’t know,” he says. With another flick of the pan handle, the omelette scoots onto a waiting plate and gets a shower of green bits from his other hand. It smells fucking amazing. “Here.” Tuck hands it to me. “Eat.” I open my mouth to protest, but he waves me off. “It’s no good cold. I’ll figure something out for the others.” He points at one of the counter seats, and I’m too hungry to argue further, so I scamper into place.
As I fork up a bite, Tuck snaps off the burner and leans against the counter, arms folded and face contemplative. “It’s not not weird,” he agrees. “I mean, on the one hand, this place is home, right? More than anywhere else I’ve ever lived, really, so. But on the other...”
“...we kind of just broke back in here after murdering someone?” I don’t mean to be so blunt about it, but the words just tumble out of my mouth. Tuck flinches just a tiny bit.
“I’d argue it was self-defense,” he says, his voice a little darker than before. “But...yeah, I guess.” He chews his lip, casts a glance around the room. “I guess it’s just a matter of time before they come looking for us.”
I hack off another piece of omelette with the side of my fork. “Is it? I mean, who even is they at this point?” I’m not an idiot—I know it’s not realistic to just live happily ever after holed up in a hidden forest mansion that’s armed to the teeth, but I also...kinda wish it were.
I’m not a quitter. But deep down, I’m tired of running. Tired of fighting.
“I don’t know,” Tuck admits. “We haven’t seen hide or hair of anyone since we’ve gotten back. Not even on Will’s trail cameras, I don’t think.” He shivers. “It’s almost eerie. Something about this place...” He trails off.
“What?” I put down my fork.
Tuck shakes his head. “The stuff that Guy told you before he...” He doesn’t finish the sentence. “About Sherwood. The power of this place.”
I nod. Like I could forget . The way it had felt like the floor dropped away from my feet in that library, Guy’s cold stare as he told me everything: about my family, about my mother , about the supposed...supernatural power of this place. The—whatever he’d called them. Ley lines.
I could make you a queen.
Now it’s my turn to shiver. “Maybe it was all bullshit.”
“Really?”
I consider, then slump a little in my seat. “No. I mean, I didn’t get the vibe that he was lying. What reason did he have to at that point?”
Tuck nods. “Yeah. And we already know he was, um, knowledgeable.” He chews his lip. “I wonder if—”
“God, I could eat a horse.”
Rob strides into the kitchen looking alive with energy and eager for whatever’s on the stove.
“Something smells fantastic,” he says, and shoves his hands in his pockets, eyebrows raised.
“Agreed,” comes Will’s voice as he follows in, “and not just Maren.”
My cheeks flame, and I make a face even though I’m kind of flattered. “Don’t be gross.”
“Yeah.” This, from LJ, who’s come in from the other side of the kitchen. “Be useful.” He shoves a stack of plates and silverware into Will’s stomach, then looks at Tuck. “Food’s up?”
Tuck, distracted and back at the stove, nods at him. “Two minutes.”
Rob sighs. “ Finally. ”
Over breakfast, we all share our reports on the status of various parts of the house. LJ says nothing’s missing from his apartment—“that’s because you don’t own anything to steal,” Will comments—and Tuck says that the stolen computer equipment is as good as useless as soon as it’s off the premises—“although they might be able to sell it for scrap.” Will and Rob each note a few more damages and missing items, including, it pains me to hear, a few of the cars.
I stab a fork into a sausage and chew on it moodily.
“What about you, pretty lady?”
I look up, at Rob, then at all of them. “What about me?”
“Any of your things appear to have stuck to the deputies’ sticky fingers?” Rob asks, swigging his coffee.
I’m confused. “What things? I literally came here with the shirt on my back, remember?” I think. “I mean, I guess I have some clothes, now, but why would anyone want to steal my dirty laundry?”
The four of them exchange a look.
“Depends,” Rob says. “How dirty are we talking?”
Oh. Oh my God.
“Ew!” I whisper.
At that, LJ snorts and Will rolls his eyes, while Tuck practically chokes on his coffee.
“He’s not wrong,” Will says mildly, leaning back in his chair. “Especially if they saw any of those little things Jack got you.”
“Bleh,” I murmur, but I make a mental note to check my hamper. I hate to admit to being an underwear snob, but it’s been hard to go back to MegaValu panties now that I’ve experienced the other side.
“ Anyway ,” I say pointedly, hoping to get us back on track and off the subject of my delicates, “no, I haven’t noticed anything else gone.”
Rob nods and sets down his mug. “Welp, then that’s that. We should obviously tackle the outer things first—windows, broken glass, any busted equipment—”
“Wait, wait, wait.” I drop my fork and wave my hands, and four pairs of eyes meet mine. “So no one’s gonna say it?”
“Say what?” LJ asks.
I can’t believe they’re being this obtuse. “Guy! He’s—he was ,” I correct myself. “a shifter. He was one of you.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Rob says, “let’s not get carried away. He was nothing like us.”
There’s an edge to his voice that has me backing down. I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “Okay, fair enough. But still, like...”
I glance around at each of them in turn, at Tuck’s patient face, LJ’s burning gaze, Will’s sidelong glance, and Rob’s intent-but-curious stare. Then Will turns to Rob, and the other two do too.
Rob sighs and hunches over the table. “What do you want me to say, Maren?”
Irritation bubbles up inside. “I don’t know—something? Anything?” I dart looks at the other three. “How can you not be worried about this? Or curious, at least?”
“ I’m curious,” Tuck says softly. LJ just grunts.
“Rob here,” Will interjects, leaning forward again, “appears to be taking his usual live-and-let-live attitude about the matter. Or live-and-let-die, as the case may be.”
Rob glowers at him. Will tips his head just slightly as if to say am I wrong?
I get the sense there’s a bigger discussion these two have been having.
“I just reckon, why look a gift horse in the mouth?” Rob says, shrugging. “We’re back here, we’re together, we’re safe. You, pretty lady, are safe. What else is there to consider for the time being?”
My head is spinning. “I mean...everything?” I start ticking off fingers. “Guy is— was— a shifter and we had no idea. He killed his own mother point-blank in front of a crowd of party guests. We killed him in dramatic fucking fashion—”
“You didn’t kill him,” LJ interrupts. “Don’t take that on yourself, Princess.”
I blow out a breath. “ Fine. You all killed him. So—”
“So problem solved,” Rob finishes for me. “Right, fellas? We wait for the dust to settle and then we get back to business.”
This time, the other three don’t quite meet Rob’s eyes. The lazy morning air, scented with coffee and bacon fat and melted butter, turns charged around us.
Tuck’s the first to speak. “Maren’s right,” he says. “At the very least, we’ve seen the tip of an iceberg now, haven’t we? All the things Guy knew, and we just found out—we don’t even really know what we don’t know.”
Will nods, folding his arms. “We can’t even say the threat is neutralized, either,” he says, with a pointed look at Rob, “given that the threat turned out to be much different than we thought.”
“Aw, c’mon,” Rob says, looking slightly deflated. “That’s no fun.”
“It’s not about fun,” LJ growls, and Rob straightens up slightly.
“Besides,” Tuck adds, gentler, “I think if Maren wants to find out more, then we should find out more.” He throws me a small, sweet smile—one that also stirs a flicker of heat in my belly.
The other three pause, then nod. Even Rob.
And they all look at me.
I clutch my coffee mug for strength. “Look, I’m not saying we mastermind a plan or anything,” I say. “I’m just saying...well, at the very least, that was some crazy shit that went down at Guy’s fundraiser. Surely people are talking about it, right?” I think of all the old biddies who shop at Jack’s boutique. “Nottingham can’t resist some gossip.”
“Intel would be useful,” Will says, rubbing his jaw. “Do you think if we asked—”
But he stops short, and I instantly know why.
Zayn. Our only ally on the other side, who’d finally told us he’d had enough.
Or told them he’d had enough. He had saved my life, after all.
But he’s gone. Or close enough to.
“Not now,” Rob says, answering the unfinished question, though his tone suggests not ever. “Better just to catch whatever scuttlebutt we can.”
“ Scuttlebutt ?” Will says, incredulous.
LJ chuckles. “What is this, a damn pirate ship?”
“Y’all know what I mean,” Rob says, nodding at me. “Like Maren was saying. Gossip. Word on the street. Just gotta figure out what the party line is about...all that went down.”
Sipping my coffee, I rack my brain for what story even approaching plausible you could tell about four shapeshifters smashing and burning down a greenhouse to kill another one.
I can’t think of anything.
And that puts me on edge.
There were witnesses, after all. The sheriff, at the very least, and the other party guests—maybe even Uncle John, if he hadn’t left.
What were they saying?
What did people know?
Suddenly, the possibility of staying holed up here and waiting it out seems downright laughable.
“I could check the internet,” Tuck says. “Run some keywords through all the various social APIs to pull trends and—”
“No,” I say. “Sorry to interrupt, Tuck. But no. We’ve gotta hear it from people.”
“What, just go out there and start interviewing people?” Will says. “ That wouldn’t seem suspicious.”
“I thought you wanted us to get out of our hidey-hole,” Rob says, eyes gleaming and a smile playing at his lips. “Maybe now my idea doesn’t look so bad, does it?”
“Not interviews, ” I say. “Just...I don’t know. Walk around a bit, take in the vibes. See what’s going on on the ground.”
“It’d have to be somewhere safe,” Tuck says, then frowns. “Well, relatively speaking, anyway.”
“The kind of place they don’t call law enforcement for every little thing,” Rob agrees. “Kind of place with plenty of shady corners and shady characters.” His smile starts to grow.
Will scowls at him. “I don’t like where you’re going with this.”
“You never do,” Rob says, and slaps his knees. “You know what? I’ve come around on this plan. I say we go into town.”
“You do?” Will gapes.
“Sure,” Rob says. “Why the hell not? We’ve never really taken Maren out on a proper date, anyway.”
I blink at him. “A date?”
“Yeah, you know—drinking, dancing, getting your ass kicked at pool?” Rob winks at me. “Surely you’re familiar with the concept.”
Now it’s my turn to scowl. “I am,” I say hotly. “In theory, anyway.”
Tuck’s mouth falls open. “You’ve never been on a date?”
I fold my arms. “I don’t see what that has to do with anything!”
“Well, that settles it,” Rob cuts in. “Pretty lady, we’re taking you out tonight.” He raps on the table like a judge giving an order. “Though, to be clear, I don’t think we’re gonna hear shit-all. I think y’all are worried over nothing and we’ll be back to the usual routine by this time Sunday. But I’ll humor you with a little excursion to prove myself.”
Will’s sour look doesn’t budge, but he looks at me, not at Rob. “If Maren’s okay with it,” he says.
“I...” I consider for a moment or two. “Yeah.” I nod. “Let’s.”
“Great.” Rob smacks his hands together. “I know just the place. Cozy little joint, where everybody knows your name—”
He looks, for whatever reason at LJ. LJ’s good eye narrows.
“No.”
“Aw, let bygones be bygones, my Cajun friend,” Rob says, smacking his shoulder. “The Crossbridge Inn will be thrilled to see you darken their door again.”