“Don’t tell anyone. I have a reputation to maintain.”
Marlow had made it sound like he was a shameless criminal disguised as a private investigator. Maybe to the authorities that’s exactly what he is. But to his clients, he’s a protector. Looking out for the supernatural folks who fall through the cracks. Just like he takes care of the little creatures he summons from the underworld.
That explains the reviews from his old-ass website, talking about him being the only one willing to help. It wasn’t because his clients needed less reputable services after all. The authorities weren’t interested in his clients’ problems, so he was their only hope.
Iggy was right. There’s more to him than I thought.
Marlow knocks his foot into mine, pulling me away from my thoughts. “Since this is apparently torture Marlow night, there’s probably one more thing I should tell you. Thanks for, you know, carrying the team.” He looks stiff as he forces the words out, though they sound sincere. "It occurs to me that teasing you might not be the most effective way to show gratitude. I get how hard you're working here and how much you've done for us."
Is his way of showing appreciation by bugging the hell out of me? Actually, that makes a twisted kind of sense coming from him.
"Is it hurting you to be this sincere?" I ask.
"Only a little," he laughs. "I mean it. Hiding from wolves isn't the easiest thing, especially when you're the wilderness survival expert and we're hiding from the people who trained you. It's a miracle they haven't already tracked us down."
"Oh…" I clear my throat and look away. "Well, look, shapeshifters have better noses than humans, so it wouldn't be too difficult for my pack to find you if we aren’t careful. But my pack does best with strong scents or anything fresh. The nuances, well, the pack's skills aren't in tracking and detection. They could learn, it's just not really where they focus."
"But you do."
"I've always liked being out here. Picked up on a thing or two," I say, trying to downplay it. Is it torture Wynn night now? Then again, I don't know why I'm self-conscious. The Clover pack includes numerous wilderness experts. They spend less time fighting and more time enjoying the forest. There's no shame in it. It's obviously good for wolves to have those skills. Just… not my pack’s focus.
"So many Iron wolves concern themselves with being the toughest," I continue. "If you're going to be the strongest werewolf in a pack of strong werewolves, it takes more than super genes. It takes training and sparring and serious commitment. And my heart's never really been in that."
"So why were you fighting the night we met?" Marlow asks.
My head whips toward him. "You were there? You saw me?"
"Big crowd of people comes in, you can't thoroughly vet them all. It was the best night to sneak in."
No reason to be embarrassed about him seeing me fight and lose spectacularly. No reason at all. I don't need to defend myskills. But... "Icanfight. I've received some training. It’s just not really my thing."
"Yet you signed up," he points out.
"Hey, winner gets prize money," I offer weakly.
Clearing my throat, I lean back on the couch, away from him. I don't like the way he's watching me, like he can read all my secrets just by looking at me. So unfair. He isn't nearly as easy to read.
"Trying to impress someone, weren't you?" he asks knowingly.
I force a scoff. "Well, that would be stupid."
"Didn't work, did it?" Another question he already knows the answer to.
"Is getting tossed around like a rag doll impressive to you?"
"Nope," he says. "You're terrible."
"Gee, thanks."
"You never should have been fighting in the first place. Play to your strengths." He throws out his arms, gesturing around us. "All you had to do was take the special guy or gal out here."
"Oh, really?" I eye all the wooden sculptures on the coffee table skeptically.
"Okay, not herespecifically.But a night camping under the stars? It's perfect. You pitch a tent—and that's not even innuendo—start a campfire, whip up a tasty dinner, and do your general Boy Scout thing. It'd work every time."
Am I blushing? I'd better not be blushing. Marlow knocks his foot against mine and I find myself twisting towards him, our eyes meeting. Suddenly I'm the prey instead of the hunter this time, and he doesn't even need a weapon to hunt me. Just that look. The one that pins me in place and makes my pulse stutter.
"Why play someone else's game when you can win just by being yourself, Wynn Blackwood?"
