"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? Thedesigns 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?
