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CHAPTERFIVE
Cam
Micah wasn’twrong when he said I’d need to bundle up. It’sfreezingoutside. Also, there’s more snow than I expected. The road has at least a few inches, and the front yards of most of the houses are drifted high. Is that what the road looks like when nobody’s cleared it? It’s possible I wasn’t prepared for this. Sure, Swiss Alps means snow, but the picture I had in my head doesn’t match up with snowbanks four feet deep. Or this bone-aching cold. I’m going to need to layer up a bit more if I ever want to leave my house. And get boots, because the cold is seeping through my running shoes.
Micah glances back at me, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, and grins. “We’ll get you a warmer coat,” he promises. I don’t know if he can read my mind or what, but I’ll happily go along with that plan. He’s not wearing a coat at all, just the jeans and sweater he had on before, and I wonder how he’s not frozen solid.
He turns into the front yard of a two-story house. Unlike most of the others on this street, the front path is neatly shoveled, allowing easy access to the front door. I guess that makes sense, if Alistair’s cousin lives here. A hellhound wouldn’t be able to teleport in and out like the demons can.
I eagerly follow him inside, shuddering in the amazing warmth. “That wasbrutal,” I gasp. “I thought I liked snow, but I was wrong.”
“Thank you!” a voice exclaims, and I turn to see a shifter in the doorway to what seems to be the living room. This must be Garrett. He’s got a less intense vibe than most hellhounds, who tend to vibrate with leashed energy. I get a more laid-back, professorish signal from him. “I keep telling everyone this is not the nice kind of snow, but they just laugh at me.” He smiles and comes forward with his hand outstretched. “I’m Garrett Smythe.”
“Alistair’s cousin.” I take a step, trip, and end up diving at him. Luckily, Micah moves fast and catches me before I can knock his cousin’s husband to the ground. That’s not the kind of first impression I want to make. “Whoops. Sorry.”
Garrett’s still smiling as Micah stands me upright. “Are you okay? Did you trip over…” His words drift away as his gaze drops to my feet. “Oh no, your feet must be soaked! Get out of those shoes and I’ll get you some socks to wear. Frostbite is a real concern up here, you know.”
“He doesn’t have frostbite,” Micah scoffs. “He was barely out there long enough to get wet feet. He just needs to dry off… and let me buy him some boots.”
I sniff, because Icouldhave frostbite for all he knows. My feet certainly feel cold enough. Although isn’t lack of feeling one of the first signs of frostbite? Okay, I probably don’t have it, but he can’t just go around assuming he knows things, even when he does.
Garrett gives Micah a look that makes me like him a lot, then goes to find the promised socks. Focusing on my feet, I see what concerned him so much—my running shoes are clearly soaked through. I toe them off—the undone shoelaces were what I tripped on, though I could have sworn I tied them before leaving the house—then bend to peel off my socks. A hand lands on my shoulder, steadying me.
“Thanks,” I say—a little grudgingly, because he didn’tknowI was going to fall over. Just because it might have happened doesn’t mean it was going to.
“You’re welcome. What size shoe do you wear?”
I blink as I straighten. “How should I know?”
“They’re your shoes,” he points out. “When you buy them, what size do you get?”
“Whichever one fits.” He can’t be that dense, right? I mean, why would I buy shoes that don’t fit?
Sighing, he bends over and snags one of my running shoes, then looks at the inside of the tongue. “Ten,” he mutters. “Are these comfortable for you?”
“I wouldn’t wear them if they weren’t,” I assure him. He seems to have a weird relationship with shoes.
Garrett comes back then, followed by another tall demon who looks enough like Micah that I assume it’s one of his cousins. “Here you go.” Garrett passes me a pair of thick wool socks. “Put those on and warm up. I’ll stick your socks in the dryer and put your shoes on the radiator.” He stops short and frowns at Micah. “Why are you holding Cam’s shoe?”
“I’m checking the size.” Micah holds the shoe out to Garrett. “But I’m done.”
Garrett looks like he wants to say something but decides against it. Instead, he sweeps up my other shoe. “This is my husband, Asher, by the way,” he says instead. “Ash, meet Cam Torrence.”
Oops. I never ended up introducing myself properly to Garrett. Lucky he already knows who I am, but I need to do better. People are always saying I get distracted too easily. “Hi,” I chirp with a little wave.
Asher’s stern face softens a little and he shoots a glance at his cousin. He’s not quite as handsome as Micah, but there’s something very dependable about him, and when he transfers his gaze to his husband, it’s so full of love, I almost “aww” out loud.
And then that love changes to something else, and my energy levels get a little ping. Note to self: If I’m not getting enough sexual energy, spend some time with Garrett and Asher. If a single glance boosted me, a kiss could probably feed me for a week.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Asher says. “We’re very grateful you were able to make time for us.”
I laugh, then realize laughing in his face isn’t polite. “I’m grateful toyou,” I explain quickly. “That puzzle isstupendous.” I wave my hands for emphasis, notice that I’m still holding the socks, and sit down on the floor to put them on. When I scramble to my feet again—this time with them encased in lovely warm wool—Garrett and Asher are both smiling at me. Asher’s smile is barely there, but I can still see it.
“I really hope you like it here,” he tells me. “Come and meet Zac.”
I trail after Garrett, through a living room and into an eat-in kitchen, with Micah and Asher following, murmuring to each other. My hearing is good, but not quite good enough to catch what they’re saying. Garrett must, though, because at one point he looks back at them and clears his throat loudly.
In the kitchen, another demon is stirring a pot on the stove while grilled cheese sizzles in a pan. It smells wonderful in here, and my stomach growls loudly. “Oops,” I say sheepishly as all eyes turn to me. “I skipped breakfast.”
