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She tugged her tee free of his hand. “I will see you later. Try not to cause any trouble while you’re unsupervised.”
“You talk like I’m five.”
“You act like you’re five.” She poked his chest. “Later.”
His mouth kicking up, Teague waited until she’d driven off before he crossed to his bike and mounted it. Before long, he was driving into his camp.
The entire clan was outside. Gideon was removing laundry from the hanging line. Slade was battling with Dutch for possession of a branch. Leo was using a hammer to refix a bird box to a tree while Archer held the box still for him. Tucker and Saxon were bickering about something or other. Well, it was more like Tucker was posturing and snarking at Saxon, who remained completely calm in that way that drove the other hellhorse crazy.
Teague unmounted his bike and petted the dogs that came to greet him. Removing his helmet, he nodded at Gideon as the male clambered up the stairs of his wagon with a pile of laundered clothes. After shoving his protective gear into his saddlebag, Teague then crossed to Saxon and Tucker, who were still bickering.
Sitting on a log, Saxon paused in carving a stick and looked up at Tucker. “I don’t know why you persist in getting yourself all worked up,” he said, his voice calm.
Standing over him with his hands set on his hips, Tucker scrunched up his face. “How could I not?”
“No one else here is,” Saxon pointed out, gesturing at the others. “Just you. It’s only ever a case of just you.”
Teague looked from one male to the other. “What’s the problem?”
Tucker turned to him, his mouth tight. “This fucking sicko here is carving sticks with a knife that’s crusted with the blood of his last kill. Sticks he thinks we should be totally okay with using to roast marshmallows later.” He rounded on Saxon. “I mean, what in the love of hell goes through your damn, hairless head? Because it can’t be anything good.”
Exhaling a bored sigh, Saxon looked at Teague. “Basically, the little man syndrome is at work again.”
“Little ma—” Tucker cut himself off, pressing his joined hands against his mouth. He took in a long breath. “I cannot keep doing this with you.”
“So stop,” Saxon suggested with an airy shrug before going back to carving the stick.
“I would if you’d stop calling me short, Van Diesel.”
“It’s Vin,” Slade piped up.
Tucker snarled at him. “I don’t care!”
“You know,” began Leo, strolling over to the table with Archer, “ancient warriors liked painting their face with the blood of their prey.”
Tucker’s brows snapped together. “They didn’t want their goddamn marshmallows covered in it, though.” He refocused on Teague. “Where’s Larkin? She’d back me up.”
His back feeling a little stiff, Teague did a long stretch. “She’s meeting us at the pit later.”
Leo set his hammer down on the table and slid Teague a look. “You know she’s collected you, right?”
Teague frowned. “What?”
“The harpy. She’s collected you.” Leo airily waved a hand. “It’s what her kind do.”
Choosing to ignore that he might like being collected by this particular harpy—another thing he’d maybe address later—Teague forced a nonchalant shrug. “She’s possessive, that’s all.”
“It ain’t as simple as that,” Slade insisted, relinquishing the branch to Dutch. “You matter to her. She openly told you that right in front of us all.”
“Who told who what?” asked Gideon as he stepped out of his wagon and onto his porch.
“Larkin told Teague that he matters to her,” Archer elaborated, taking a seat on a log.
Gideon smiled, clambering down the steps. “Yeah, that was sweet.”
Teague only grunted.
Tucker tilted his head. “You don’t believe her, T?”
“I believe her,” replied Teague, rubbing at the side of his neck. “She’s given me every reason to think I should. But various people matter to her. That hasn’t been enough to make her collect them, so there’s no reason for us to assume that she’s collected me.” His demon snorted at that, feeling quite positive that he was very much mistaken.
“And if you’re wrong?” asked Gideon, perching himself on the log beside Archer. “What, then?”
“Yeah, what will you do?” Leo folded his arms, his expression expectant . . . like Teague owed them answers, which he did not.
Teague frowned as he swept his gaze over his clan. “How is this your business?” he snarked.
His mouth curling, Gideon leaned into Archer. “Ooh, he’s getting defensive. Interesting.”
“Very,” agreed Archer.
Saxon idly traced the blade of his knife. “I saw the brand-new spanking mark that your demon put on her face. I’d have had to be on the moon not to have seen it. Entities aren’t usually so bold with branding unless they’re playing for keeps.”
Teague felt his frown deepen. “How would you know? Has your demon ever marked anyone?”
Saxon pursed his lips. “Well, no—”
“Then you’re only going on what you’ve heard,” said Teague.
