Chapter Nineteen

CHAPTER NINETEEN

“I don’t know why you keep glaring at me,” said Teague the following day, sitting across from her at a table in one of the Underground’s ice-cream parlors.

Larkin didn’t credit that ridiculous, bullshit statement with a response. She did, however, pause in devouring her waffle cone to shoot him a sneer of disgust.

He responded with a mocking oh-so-innocent look. She’d slap it right off his face if he wasn’t careful. Which he likely wouldn’t be. Because this was Mr. Who Cares About Self-preservation?

Larkin went on to irritably lick at her honeycomb ice-cream, scooping up some caramel syrup and chocolate chips with her tongue. A sucker for such treats, she’d ordinarily be enjoying the moment. But at present, she was feeling too antsy to properly relish its icy smoothness and the slight fizz of the honeycomb chunks.

In no way edgy, her demon wanted Larkin to playfully tease him with some sexually suggestive licks of her ice-cream. The entity wasn’t a little bit bothered by the current situation, unlike her.

“It’s not my fault people are staring,” he added, his eyes still wide-eyed with faux innocence.

No, it was his demon’s fault. But Teague was fully responsible for the fact that he kept smirking. There was nothing funny about this matter. “Keep pushing me and I will hurt you.”

“What? Why? My beast is the one in the wrong, not me.”

She scowled. “Don’t act like you think your demon did anything bad. You’re not one little bit bothered by any of this. It’s all one big source of amusement for you.”

“At no point have I laughed.”

“You did it this morning. Twice.”

“I wasn’t laughing at you, I was laughing at . . . I can’t actually remember, but it definitely wasn’t you.” His eyes dancing, he dipped his plastic spoon into his bowl and scooped up a dollop of chocolate ice-cream mixed with cookie dough, chopped nuts, and toffee syrup. “I swear it on my mom’s grave.”

“Is she dead?”

“Uh . . . well, no.”

Larkin ground her teeth. If she could reach one of the metal scoopers behind the glass case, she’d honestly hit him with it. Hard. Probably more than once.

He scoffed down his spoonful of dessert. “I’d like to point out that we’re in the same boat. Your demon branded me again as well. You don’t hear me complaining about it.”

The same boat? Seriously? “Mine didn’t leave a barcode on your ass or a tribal horse-head on your goddamn face.”

Though she was not whatsoever impressed by the barcode, she was more annoyed by the facial tattoo. There might as well be a note on her cheek that read, ‘Chattel of Teague Sullivan’s Demon’.

Not that the latter brand wasn’t pretty. Feminine and loosely detailed, it almost looked like someone had stylishly doodled it on her skin. It would definitely work as a logo. Yeah, she liked it. But it was on her face.

On. Her. Face.

It bore repeating.

He gazed at the brand, clearly stifling a smile. “It’s really not that noticeable.”

Larkin managed to hold back a hiss. Reminding herself that he wouldn’t look so pretty with a broken nose, she resisted slamming her palm into his face—barely. It was a close call.

She took in a steadying breath, inhaling the scents of caramel, vanilla, chocolate, ozone, and fresh fruit.

It didn’t help.

Pinning him with yet another glare, she delved back into her ice-cream. As it was her day off work, they’d last night planned to hit the Underground together for a few hours today. But that was before his demon had pulled its asshole move.

Knowing the facial brand would earn her plenty of startled looks, Larkin had pushed to cancel their day out. Call her odd, but she wasn’t fond of being stared at. Teague, though, had been determined that they go out as planned. He’d teased her and poked at her when she’d resisted, calling her a chicken—which her demon happened to agree with.

Larkin’s response had been to twist his balls, but the weirdo had laughed even as he groaned in pain. She’d eventually relented, as he’d been right in something he said—people would see the brand sooner or later, so canceling their plans wouldn’t achieve anything. Not a procrastinator by nature, she’d chosen not to delay exposing the brand to one and all.

However, as they’d walked around the Underground for the past few hours—browsing the market stalls, eating lunch at the man-made park, betting on hellhound races—she’d found herself wishing she’d stayed at his wagon. She’d been on the receiving end of so much staring that her skin actually crawled and itched with discomfort.

Something like that would normally irritate her demon, but the entity was smug that his beast was feeling so possessive.

It wasn’t often that an entity would brand a person’s face. Only extremely territorial demons tended to do so, and they generally only did it when intent on making a very clear ‘mine’ statement that no one would fail to notice. So yes, his beast branding her was indeed a good sign. After all, Larkin couldn’t keep Teague unless she also managed to win over his demon. That appeared to be working. But she’d still much rather it had branded her neck or something.

Then again, the mark would have gained people’s attention in any case. Because Larkin had never been so visibly branded before, and Teague wasn’t known for being at all possessive. Which was why the chatter had stopped when she’d first walked into the ice-cream parlor. The guy chopping strawberries behind the counter had almost dropped the knife in surprise. One of the women who’d been scanning the various tubs of ice-cream behind the glass-covered case had spat out a “Holy hell” that had made Larkin’s demon smirk.

Well, at least someone was finding it funny.

Larkin had arched a haughty brow, and people had looked away fast. They’d also started muttering about the mark. Still were. She could hear them even over the music playing low, the hum of the air conditioning, and the whir of the blender.

Larkin didn’t like being the focus of so much attention. She preferred to fade into the background; to be the one doing the watching. And she especially didn’t like being the subject of gossip, but it was plain unavoidable now.

She’d bet that by the time she arrived at Devon’s apartment for the upcoming movie evening in a few hours’ time, the girls would already have heard about the brand. No doubt they’d have plenty to say about it, too.

“Personally,” began Teague, spooning more ice-cream, “I would have thought you’d just be thankful that, out of the two brands, it’s the horse’s head that’s on your face. It could have as easily been the barcode. Which I actually would have preferred.”

“Because I’d have looked ridiculous?”

“Because you’d have looked well and truly owned,” he replied, his eyes heating.

Ignoring the little flutter in her stomach, she licked at her ice-cream again, scooping up the last few chocolate chips. “I’m totally gonna encourage my demon to put ‘Village Idiot’ on your cheek, by the way.”

“Your entity wouldn’t do that.” He flashed her a cocky grin. “It likes me.”

“I don’t know why that makes you feel smug.” Most people didn’t even want to be on her demon’s radar. It was understandable, really.

“How can I not be smug about it? Your entity doesn’t like many people. Same as you.” He pointed his spoon at her, adding, “But you like me. You’re falling for me fast, just like I said you would.”

Oh, he had no idea just how true that was. But she didn’t let that show on her face. “If I told you that you were right, you’d shit your pants and run.”

He frowned. “What?”

“You’re well-known for reacting badly to women claiming they care for you.” She gave him a smile of mock sympathy. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s not your fault that feelings scare you.”

“Okay, first of all, I don’t run from women who say they care for me. I just speed-walk.” His tongue flicked out and collected the stray nut that had stuck to the corner of his mouth. “Second of all, it’s not because feelings scare me, it’s because these people are talking a load of tripe.”

“Why would you think they don’t mean what they say?”

“How can they mean it? None of them know me. They only see the surface.”

Larkin let out a thoughtful hum. “Maybe that’s your fault, seeing as you make a point of not letting people close.”

“Whatever. The point is their ‘feelings’ for me aren’t real.”

“So what you’re saying is that if a woman’s feelings for you are ever real, you will stick around and try to build something with her?”

He opened his mouth, squinting. “Not quite.”

“Then we’re back to you being a scaredy cat. So maybe stop saying I’m falling for you. You don’t want to tempt fate, now, do you?”

Larkin looked away, inadvertently locking eyes with another starer. She shot him a dark look. He shrunk in his seat, holding his waffle cone in front of his face as if it would protect him, and then glanced up at the wall and pretended to admire the ice-cream parlor’s cheery, colorful fifties décor.

She returned her gaze to Teague. “The staring is getting old fast.”

“Enough with the scowling at me, I won’t be held responsible for what my demon does.”

“I’m not glaring at you because I hold you responsible. I’m glaring at you because I’m annoyed that you find this amusing.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Then why are you laughing?”

“I’m a nervous-laugher, and you’re making me nervous with the way you’re trying to kill me with your eyes.” Teague felt his mouth curve as she made one of those low, raspy growls in the back of her throat. “Best sound ever, I swear.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Fuck off, Shadowfax.”

“I hear the adoration in your voice,” he teased.

There was a loud crunch as she bit unnecessarily hard into her cone, her fingers flexing around it.

He stiffened ever so slightly. “You’re imagining throwing that ice-cream at me, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” she all but grunted.

He couldn’t say he blamed her.

He resisted teasing her again while they ate. But there was no way to fully stifle a grin each time she glared at him. Luckily, they managed to finish their desserts without him getting anything flung in his face.

Cleaning her fingers with a thin napkin, she spared the wall clock a quick glance. “I need to head to Devon and Tanner’s place or I’ll be late for her movie-evening thing. Not that we’ll actually watch a movie. We never do.”

His beast let out an unhappy snort at the idea of them parting ways. It didn’t want her going anywhere unless it was accompanying her. As if its possessiveness increased with each brand that it put on her body. That should concern Teague and make him sternly insist that the beast cease marking her.

Later. He’d do it later. Maybe. Not that his demon was likely to obey him or anything.

One thing mollified the entity—she wouldn’t be staying at Devon and Tanner’s place long, since she was coming to the Underground’s pit later to observe one of Slade’s brawls.

“Why call them movie nights, then?” Teague asked, dabbing his mouth with a napkin.

“We always start out intending to watch one. But we get distracted by all the talking and laughing, especially when the drinks start flowing. And, of course, Khloë will try drawing on people with a sharpie, which usually leads to arguing, since she tends to draw dirty stuff.”

Frowning, he dumped his napkin in his bowl. “Dirty stuff? I thought she drew animals. Cute ones. Like Fritz the baby hippo.”

“Fritz is not a hippo. It’s a doodle of a cock complete with hairy balls.”

“No, it isn’t.”

Her brow flicked up. “So you’ve seen one of her Fritz sketches?”

“A few. I know he doesn’t look like average hippos—”

“Because he ain’t one. You know it. I know it. So let’s not do this.” Rising to her feet, she threw her balled-up napkin at him.

He caught it fast, smiling. “Such violence.”

“Such idiocy.”

Chuckling, Teague stood and then guided her out of the parlor with a hand on her lower back. He had to smile at how quickly people looked away if she caught them staring at her. He perversely liked that so many were scared of his woman. Fake-woman. Whatever.

In an effort to distract her from all the looks she was receiving, he engaged her in general conversation as they made their way out of the Underground and through the club that concealed its entrance. Okay, by ‘general conversation’, he meant he pushed her wonderfully sensitive buttons until it got to the point where she tried whacking him over the head. Expecting it, he dodged her strike, which earned him one of her growls.

Outside, he escorted her to her car.

“I’ll meet you at the pit later,” she told him as she pressed the button on her key fob.

Teague nodded. He wasn’t sure if she knew, but it was no small matter that Slade had invited her to come watch one of his fights. It meant that the hellhorse was beginning to view her as an extended member of their clan. Which was yet another thing that should concern Teague, and he should probably talk with Slade about it.

Later. Teague would do it later. Maybe.

He fisted her tee, hauled her close, and took her mouth, sipping and licking and nipping. Humming, he pulled back. “You taste good. Like caramel and honeycomb and chocolate.” He cast her a wolfish grin. “We really need to put some of that icecream on your—”

“Stop.”

“What? I was going to say shopping list.” He fought a smile as her eyelid twitched. Again. That permanent eye-twitch he was aiming for was totally gonna be a thing soon.

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.

“So your demon doesn’t want to keep her?” Leo cut in, settling at the picnic table. “Is that what you’re saying? Because if so, I call bullshit.”

“As do I,” said Gideon.

Tucker raised a hand. “Same here.”

The others nodded their agreement.

Teague inwardly sighed. In truth, his beast had every intention of keeping her, regardless of what Teague’s own wishes might be. It felt that he’d be stupid to let her go.

To be honest, he could easily envision having something real with her . . . though he wasn’t exactly sure what ‘real’ would entail. He stopped himself from exploring the idea too deeply because he had no clue where Larkin was mentally at.

There was a possibility that she wouldn’t want to take a chance on a guy who’d never committed to a woman before; that she wouldn’t feel she could trust that he’d stick around—much like her brothers didn’t. Well, it was worth considering, since she’d found it difficult to believe he’d keep up fake dating her for five months.

“What was her reaction to the new brand?” asked Slade, sitting on the bottom step of his wagon.

Knowing that the male would be referring to the horse’s head, seeing as Slade would have no idea about the barcode on her ass—which she’d ranted about for fifteen minutes straight earlier, and it had been a glorious sight—Teague replied, “She wasn’t happy about it, though she claimed she wouldn’t have cared if it wasn’t on her face.”

That she’d complained had bugged his beast. It wanted her to wear its mark with pride, no matter where said mark was located. But it had been placated by the fact that her demon had branded Teague again.

He now sported what looked like rake marks on his back—rake marks from the talons of a harpy eagle. And he found that he liked them. Liked that her demon was so boldly proprietary.

“But even though she ain’t happy about it, she isn’t walking away from you,” Slade pointed out. “She has to know that facial brands aren’t done casually, but she still spent the day with you. She’s still coming to watch my fight later. And she’s still probably going to end up in your bed tonight. That says she isn’t alarmed or put-off by the brand.”

“Which is a real good sign,” added Gideon. “Her demon can’t much care either, or you’d be missing a limb or something at this point.”

Tucker dipped his chin. “That entity would not hesitate to work over anyone who even remotely irritated it.”

Not sure it was a good thing that hope had firmly planted itself in his gut, Teague flapped his arms and asked, “Why are we having this conversation?”

“Because it’s making you uncomfortable,” said Leo.

Gideon shrugged. “Because I’m bored.”

“Because I like to watch you grind your teeth,” added Archer.

Clenching his jaw, Teague gave his head a quick shake.

“I still say you should keep her,” Gideon told him, his lips hiking up. “She’s loyal, she’s good for you, and she fits with us well.”

“Yeah, you should definitely hold onto her, T,” Archer advised. “But only if she’s not going to ask you to join her lair or move into her place.”

Gideon gave the male a hard look. “Hey, that’s selfish.”

“What is?” asked Archer, appearing bewildered.

“Expecting him to remain with us if he’d be happier being part of her lair and setting up house with her. You want him to be happy, right?”

Archer blinked. “Not particularly, no.”

Gideon elbowed him hard.

“What?” demanded Archer, lifting his shoulders. “I have other things to concern myself with. Very important things that take up much of my time and attention.”

“Name one thing. One. That isn’t related to mushrooms,” Gideon hurried to add.

His gaze turning inward, Archer opened his mouth, but no words came out.

Teague sighed again, raising his hands, palms out. “Just to note, I have no intention of becoming part of any lair at any point in time, or of moving out of our camp.”

Archer smiled. “That’s all I wanted to hear.”

“If you change your mind, Teague, the rest of us will understand.” Gideon took in every face. “Right?”

People exchanged looks, twisted their mouths, averted their gazes, or forced a cough.

“Right?” pushed Gideon.

Leo scratched his cheek. “I would try to understand. How’s that?”

“Yeah, we’d give it our best shot,” said Slade, to which the others dipped their chin.

Gideon gaped, shaking his head. “You’re all awful. Just awful.”

“Dude, that’s harsh,” upheld Tucker. “We just don’t want to have to—” He abruptly cut off as the dogs’ heads snapped up.

Barron let out a cautioning growl as the hounds then all got to their feet. The fur on their backs rising, they stared at the trees far up ahead of them and bared their teeth. Moments later, a distinctive squawk of warning came from a raven—a warning that they had company.

Falling silent, Teague and his clan went very still. They all exchanged looks, and he felt a grin tug at his mouth as anticipation quickly began to buzz through his veins and electrify the air of the camp.

Welcoming the shot of adrenaline that pulsed through his bloodstream, Teague reached out to his clan using their channel. It would seem that Ronin’s here. Fucking finally.