Chapter 8
CHAPTER 8
R oan was steaming as they traveled (on foot because he couldn’t teleport her and they couldn’t drive through the fucking woods) to the mine where the creature had last been seen.
Literally. His skin was smoking he was so pissed off.
Haven, meanwhile, just continued hacking gleefully through the brush with her machete, like she hadn’t a care in the world.
Like she hadn’t agreed to date a fucking werewolf while he was standing right there .
One of the branches she was cutting through snapped back at her. Roan caught it a millimeter before it smacked her nose. He glared at her because he was mad at her, but that didn’t mean he wanted her to get hurt.
She huffed out a sharp breath. “Thanks,” she muttered.
“My pleasure,” he snarked.
“What’s your problem? You smell like a campfire.”
Roan slapped a branch out of his way so hard it snapped. He certainly didn’t need a fucking machete. His rage alone could clear a path through these trees. “I’m fine.”
Haven snorted. “Oh, sure. Because clearly, everyone’s skin smokes when they’re fine .”
“Are you actually going to go on a date with that guy?”
“Sure. Why not?”
“Because he challenged you to a fight ? Because he’s an alpha-less, directionless, unpredictable werewolf ?”
She side-eyed him. “I spent years following you around and you’re a demon from a hell dimension. Do you honestly think anyone would be surprised to find me on a date with a werewolf?”
He sputtered. “That was different. We were friends.”
“We were ,” she said quietly.
He felt her use of the past tense like a kick to the nuts. “I’m sorry I hurt you.”
She whirled on him, and he had to jump back a foot to keep her from whacking him with her machete. “Oh, I’m so far past hurt , you asshole, it’s not even funny.”
He held up his hands in supplication. “Fine. You’re pissed. I get it. But that’s no reason to start dating a werewolf just to spite me.”
Her nose scrunched up in a way he’d seen a million times before. She made that face every time her entrée came with broccoli at restaurants, whenever she smelled hyacinths, and when discussing the ending of the Game of Thrones TV series. She’d just never directed that look of disgust at him before. He couldn’t say he cared for it.
“God, no one could ever say you’re lacking in the ego department, could they? Believe it or not, not everything I do is about you , Roan.”
He knew that. But still…the thought that she might be going out with the werewolf because she wanted to, was painful to think about. He’d much prefer her doing it to make him crazy.
Haven hacked through another branch and paused, machete midair. “I thought the mine entrance was right past this clearing.”
“No. It’s a whole day’s hike past that clearing. I thought you knew that.”
Her hands went to her hips. “Why would I have taken off on foot in this direction, at night, with nothing but a machete and a spunky attitude if I knew we’d be hiking that far?”
He scowled at her. “I guess I forgot you can’t read a map for shit.”
“OK, that’s just rude. I screwed up that one time. It was an honest mistake.”
He didn’t see the need to remind her that she’d led the team twenty miles into the middle of nowhere because she’d been trying to read the map upside down. He’d, of course, taken the blame for her because he hadn’t wanted to make her look bad in front of the team. Harper and Benny called him Wrong Way Roan for a month after that. All because Haven hadn’t wanted to admit she had no idea what she was doing.
Like now, it would seem.
“Besides,” she went on, “It’s not like I was born in Ye Olden Times when map reading was necessary. I can get directions to anywhere on my phone.”
“And how’s that working for you out here in the middle of fucking nowhere?”
Her lips pursed in consternation. “Well, maybe you could come up with a helpful suggestion if you weren’t so busy being a grumpy, smoking asshole about everything. Go ahead. Give it a try. I’ll wait.”
As she tapped her foot in an exaggerated way, giving him that pointed stare of hers, he really wanted to throttle her. He’d never wanted to throttle her more.
But he didn’t.
He’d never hurt her. Spank her like the little brat she was, sure. But hurt her? No. Never.
Aaannnddd now he was thinking about spanking her, which was taking his thoughts into an entirely untenable direction.
He cleared his throat. “Since I can’t teleport you anywhere?—”
A sound somewhere between a growl and a hiss escaped her, but he ignored it. “—we really only have two options at this point. We can go back the way we came, and head out toward the mine again at first light?—”
“I’m not going back,” she snapped. “We’ve come way too far for that.”
“— or I can teleport back to the car, grab your go bag, and we can set up camp for the night in the clearing. We’ll get some sleep, and head toward the mine whenever we wake up.”
Roan was ready for her to say no to Plan B as well. After all, there were only two things Haven hated more than camping. (Cottage cheese was one, and the fact that TV shows had moved to a model where they only put out six episodes every two or more years was the other.) Typically, she’d do anything to avoid sleeping on the ground with bugs, snakes, and other things that might crawl into her hair.
So, imagine his surprise when she gave him a sharp nod and said, “Do it.”
Fan-fucking-tastic. They were going camping.
Haven had been taught to always carry an impeccably packed go bag in her car. In fact, he probably thought she didn’t notice, but her dad checked her tire pressure, fuel levels, and the state of her go bag before she drove anywhere—even around town.
So, when Roan grabbed her comically large hiking backpack from the car, she knew there was technically enough in it to survive in the woods for a couple days—sleeping bag, flashlight, trail mix, protein bars, a water bottle that contained a filtration unit, boots, a change of clothes, extra socks, sunscreen, a camping pillow, and a down jacket.
But now, as the temperature dropped and the heat of the campfire was barely doing anything to cut the chill, she was wishing for far more than mere survival.
Why hadn’t anyone made her pack a tent? A battery-run space heater? An inflatable bed? A bug zapper? Some fried chicken with gravy, buttery biscuits, and creamy mashed potatoes?
They’d set up camp about an hour ago under the cover of a copse of spruce trees just past the clearing. Now, with her back against a tree trunk, huddled into her jacket and sleeping bag as deeply as possible, she watched through narrowed eyes as Roan stretched out on the ground on the opposite side of the fire, hands under his head, looking like one of those freaks who just lurved camping and all the fresh air that came with it.
“Cold?” he asked.
“N-no.”
It probably would’ve sounded more convincing if her teeth weren’t chattering. But she’d be damned if she was going to admit she was miserable. Especially since camping had been her choice.
A choice she was deeply, deeply regretting at the moment.
She couldn’t hold back a little squeal as a giant beetle skittered across the bottom of her sleeping bag. Argh!
With a growl, Roan stood up and marched towards her. She felt him staring down at her. Don’t look at him , she ordered herself. Be strong !
She looked up at him.
D’oh !
So many emotions. Anger. Pain. Guilt. And while she hated to see those things on his face…holy hell he looked good by firelight.
“I can keep you warm,” he grumbled.
Fuck yeah, you could .
This created a bit of a pickle for her, though. Roan was a demon whose body temperature usually ran a nice, sultry 107 degrees. Snuggling up with him would keep her warmer than any portable space heater on the market. But being that close to him, touching him, after what he’d said to her earlier? That couldn’t possibly be good for her heart.
After a long internal battle, she decided the only way her heart would live to fight another day was if she didn’t freeze to death against this spruce tree. So, she swallowed hard and gave Roan a little nod.
He bent down, unzipped her sleeping bag, and lifted her into his arms like she was weightless (she so wasn’t). Then he sat down, putting his back against the tree, and held her against his chest. Across his lap.
She immediately tucked her cold nose into the spot where his neck met his shoulder. The sharp breath he let out ruffled her hair, sending a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold down her spine.
Roan reached around her and grabbed the sleeping bag, tucking it around them like a cocoon. “Better?” he murmured.
It was the warmest she’d felt in a long, long time. The safest. And frankly, it pissed her off a little.
This is how it should always be for them. Not the cold, and not the camping. But the closeness. The sharing . He was mad at her for accepting the date with Levi, but was still unwilling to let her be uncomfortable. There was a name for that.
Love.
And even though he loved her, he was going to leave her when the case was closed. Abandon her, again, taking all his heat and love and security with him.
“Sometimes I really want to hate you,” she whispered.
One heartbeat. Two. Three .
Then: “Sometimes I really want to hate you, too, sweetheart.”