I could blame the cover story. That we were just playing the part of a “real” couple and got swept up in the act. But if that’s all it was, then why is my mouth still tingling like it’s starved without him? Why do I want to roll over and do it again, consequences be damned?
Because it was amazing, you idiot.My wolf hums in agreement, smug and restless. One kiss, and the ground beneath me shifted. One kiss, and suddenly I’m the kind of girl who lies in the dark, wondering how his mouth would taste if I asked for more.
I tune into the rhythm of his breathing. It’s too steady, too measured. He’s having trouble falling asleep, too.
I guess it would be wishful thinking to imagine he’s lying there, tortured by the kiss too.
20
MARCUS
“Remember, we stick together. Changelings are tricksters, fakers. You can’t trust them. And don’t forget, they can take on any form. If you spot it, isolate it before engaging.”
Solemn nods and a few half-hearted thumbs-up greet me before I turn and lead us into the forest. The trees press close, dense and suffocating, blotting out most of the moonlight. We have no choice but to rely on our wolf senses to guide us.
Crack!
The ground has been soft and mulchy, muffling most of our steps, but the sudden snap of a twig rings out like a gunshot. My pulse hammers in my ears. I fling up a hand to signal everyone to freeze. The scent of wet leaves and rot fills my nose as I hold myself utterly still.
Five agonizing minutes pass. Nothing comes. Finally, I exhale and whisper, “Move.”
Leonard grumbles. “I think I may have soiled my new shoes, and not from the mulch either.”
Min wrinkles her nose. “You are so disgusting.”
“Will you all just quit it?” Esmerelda scolds. “This is not the time.”
Everyone steps into line like they’ve just been lectured by the headmistress.
“We should be close,” Belvedere mutters. “Keep an eye out for a big oak.”
I’m grateful he knows where this lair is. I only hope the changeling is still here.
When we reach the tree, I almost laugh. It’s an ordinary, ancient oak, its bark rough and peeling with age. So obvious in its plainness that it’s almost clever. A hideout hiding in plain sight.
But as I step closer, I feel a prickle under my skin. There’s magic woven into the roots. Subtle but constricting, like a coil around my ribs. Belvedere was right; this isn’t just a tree.
“The entrance should be here somewhere,” Belvedere says.
We sweep vines aside until we find a narrow arch carved into the trunk. It’s too small for any of us to fit. Then Belvedere presses his palm against the bark, and with a creak, a hidden door swings inward, revealing a passage.
“How do you know about this?” Minerva asks.
Belvedere flashes a sheepish grin. “I slept with a changeling once. Nasty things, but kinky as fuck. Their bodies can do such… delicious things.” He shivers dramatically, rolling his eyes. “Anyway, pillow talk’s a bitch. I learned all sorts of secrets.”
Minerva shakes her head. “You are incorrigible.”
“And yet here I am, saving your asses with knowledge I paid for in sweat. Don’t judge. Just say thank you.”
She pecks his cheek. “Ew, but thank you.”
I cut in before this gets any weirder. “Focus. I’m going in first.”
The passage spirals downward, roots twisting around carved steps. My heartbeat drums louder with every step.
“Stay sharp,” I warn. “If the changeling comes at us here, there’s nowhere to run.”
Fifteen minutes later, we reach a heavy stone door with an intricate tangle of interlinked cogs serving as a lock.
