"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 breakyoubefore 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 tokill 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 booksare 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."
