Chapter 8

Kate

I wake with a delicious stretch, arms extending toward the headboard, pressing my palms into it. Someone has opened the curtains and even the windows, letting in a trickle of summer birdsong and beautiful golden bars of sunshine.

“I’m gonna fucking kill Brooks,” Marlowe grumbles, naked and standing beside the bed. He shoves the window closed and flicks the curtains back to block out the light. “We aren’t in the woods anymore. We don’t have to get up with the goddamn sun.”

“Good morning, grumpy,” I tell his ass. It’s right there in my face, taut and sexy and perfect. I never thought I’d get a guy with an ass like this. A body like this. A personality like—

“I’ll choke him with one of the muffins he’s baking.” Marlowe glances back at me, like he didn’t expect me to be awake. He thought he was talking to himself. His mouth quirks when he sees me. His dick, too. Quirks. It quirks at me.

“Stop quirking your dick in my face,” I say, but I don’t really mean it.

“My magically enhanced ultra-hung dick is bothering you?” he retorts playfully, climbing onto the bed with me. Marlowe locks his hands with mine, pressing them into the mattress. His right leg is between mine, his knee nudging the hot ache between my legs. “What was that last night, Kate? Tell me.”

He stares down at me with dark eyes, searching my face for the truth that my lips are struggling to say.

I want to tell him, but I’m afraid to.

“The cuddling?” I ask, and he nods. He’s not smiling. He’s not teasing me. He’s curbed his curmudgeonly behavior for the time being. “You said what you said in the turret, so I …”

“ She knows that I’m in love with her.”

He said that, but I didn’t know. Not for sure. I was starting to suspect, but I didn’t realize he was the fall-first type. Maybe I should’ve? One girlfriend his whole life, just one. He’s that sort of guy, the opposite of Tanner. Brooks seems to be some sort of healthy in-between.

Marlowe releases me and sits up, effectively straddling my left leg. His balls are touching my skin, and the sensation makes me want to writhe, to see if I can get him to fuck me. Probably not until I tell him the truth, huh? “You probably think I’m fucking nuts.”

He rakes his hand through his hair as I push up onto my elbows, staring at him. Waiting. Hoping. If he says he loves me again, it’ll be so much easier to start this conversation. If not … it’s fine. I’ve got this. I can do it. It’s not just Tanner that I’m in love with, but this is hard for me because you’re also my monster.

You’re my lover and my monster, Lo. I should say that.

“Marlowe, I’m falling in love with—” I start, and then pause when I hear a strong knock at the front door.

His obsidian eyes are wide, fixed on me, lips slightly parted.

This is not how I wanted our moment to go.

“In love with … Tanner?” he asks, but then something catches his attention.

Voices. From downstairs.

All of the color drains from Marlowe’s face, and he shoves up off the bed, nearly ripping our bedroom door from its hinges.

Whatever he sees downstairs freaks him out, and he stumbles back, slamming the door and turning to put his back against it. Both of his tattooed hands lift up to cover his mouth.

“What is it?” I ask, scrambling out of bed. I’m just assuming the worst. Nathan again? The Hag Wytch is back? No, I bet it’s worse. “Influencers!” I yell, but then I notice the vulnerability in Marlowe’s face. He went into the Witchwoods with a softness that didn’t survive. He isn’t vulnerable anymore. He’s a jerk with trust issues, and I get it. So, to see this look on his face?

I can’t breathe.

Marlowe drops his hands.

“My parents are here.”

I’m not expecting that. Of everything that might’ve happened, I didn’t see that one coming.

“Your parents,” I repeat. That means either the foreboding spell is fading or else they were just really, really determined to come here. I can’t imagine that they wouldn’t be. Marlowe is all over the internet. They had to have seen him by now. Miriam probably spilled the beans, too. I’m only surprised that it took them this long to show up. “What can I do to make this better for you?”

“Huh?” He looks so fucking confused, like nobody’s ever been nice to him in his entire life. I don’t think that’s true at all, but somehow it’s equally cute and a little bit sad. Tanner and Brooks damaged him. Mostly, Miriam and Dennis damaged him. All I have to do is be nice, and he has no defenses against it. Marlowe Waverley can make nasty quips from sunup to sundown, deflect me with his prickly personality, but he breaks under kindness.

Imagine that.

I move over to the dresser. Someone—Brooks, I think—has organized all of the clothes, so that the men each have their own drawer. I open Marlowe’s and take out the clothes he picked from the thrift store.

I turn and try to hand them over, but he’s just standing there, staring at me.

“Do you want me to ask them to leave?” I keep the clothes held out in front of me. “If you’re not ready—”

“I will never be ready for this.” He accepts the clothing and closes his eyes. While he isn’t looking, I step forward and press a kiss to his shoulder. It’s as high as I can reach without rubbing our naked bodies together, and that’s probably not a great idea right now. His eyes open on me, taking my face in like it’s his first time seeing it. “I feel things for you that I’ve never felt before, Kate. You make me feel … fucking weird.”

“Oh?” I stay where I am, one hand on his massive arm, the other clenched into a fist at my side. Waiting. Anxious. Wanting.

“I don’t know how to explain it. I want to fuck you. Constantly.” His teeth clench, but he doesn’t look away, like this is all shit he needs to process and he knows it. “It’s never enough. The fucking. I thought maybe if we fucked harder, more often. But no. It’s something else. I’m glad you crawled into my lap last night.” He cups the side of my face and sighs, like he knows we’re stalling a bit here. “I want to hold you. I want to protect you. I want … to mow your fucking lawn.”

Marlowe drops his hand and carefully moves around me, laying out the clothes on the bed. It’ll be a shame to watch his inked muscles disappear beneath fabric.

I should get dressed, too, but I can’t breathe.

I want to mow your fucking lawn.

Shit, shit, shit.

“All of those stupid words just for me to say what you already did so plainly for Tanner. I’m not falling in love with you, Kate.” Marlowe pauses to look over at me, and the tension in that room is like the final tick of the clock hand between night and day. Two entirely different states separated by a single second. “I’ve already fallen. Hard. Yeah, I’m actively in love with you. Right now. Currently.”

Fuuuuuuck. There it is again. He did say it. He does mean it.

I can see it in his eyes that he’s sure about this, as sure as I am that I fell for Tanner the very second I met him. Oh, Marlowe. No words will come.

Lo pauses to trade out the pants I chose for him. He picks a pair of sweatpants— my sweatpants, the pink ones with the paint spatters—over the jeans that are supposed to be his. I smile at that. Can’t talk, but I can still smile. Tremble. I can tremble.

Marlowe pauses next to me, breathing hard, eyes wide. His dark hair is in a tizzy, and his expression is so raw and anguished that I could scream. “I don’t think I would, if it was you.”

Those are his words from Fern Canyon, the ones he said when I warned him against meaningless platitudes. Don’t apologize if you’d make the same choice all over again.

I believe that he wouldn’t.

He’d let me go.

“Coven and romance, two birds, one stone.” My voice cracks, and Marlowe’s expression snaps in half. He bares his teeth in a grimace, but it’s all pain and no anger. Not only did he trap me in the Witchwoods, he was rude. He was mean. He knows that.

“I know how you feel about me, Kate, because I feel the same about Tanner. It’s okay for me to love you and for you not to love me back. I can wait.” He ruffles up his hair and then drags a t-shirt over his head, black ink eyes emerging from the neck before the rest of his face does.

I’m in love with my own monster. The words are there, but they stick to my tongue like hard candy. Sweet, but I can’t chew. Sweet, but I can’t swallow. I’m into Marlowe, but I haven’t forgiven him.

I have a million questions for him. Why did you put your fingers in me when you could’ve hauled me back to the cabin like Tanner said he’d do? Why not hit me? Would that have been easier or harder on the pair of us? I’m glad that you let that young girl go, but why wasn’t I worthy of your compassion? Why were you so mean to me?

Marlowe exhales, tugging on the hem of that too-small t-shirt as he watches the kaleidoscope of emotions play over my face.

“Watching you chase your friends into the woods? Shit. You’re goddamn selfless, Kate. If we weren’t already married under binding magical vows, I’d put a ring on it.” He leans down to look at me, expression tender but serious. “You’re selfless, and I’m selfish as fuck for you. I’d rather die than live a single second without you.”

Miriam and Dennis abandoned Marlowe in the woods. I would never. I could never. I can barely process the idea of abandoning Viv the K9 handler and Detective Gilley. But this man? A man that I’ve laughed with, that I’ve fucked, that I’ve welcomed into my home? No. Never.

He’s telling me that he feels the same. We both hate to be left, and we both hate to leave people.

Lo lifts his head at the sound of Flick barking, and I see it. A flash of real, true fear. A flash of desperation. This is what Marlowe was willing to trade the life of a strange woman in the woods for.

His family.

He wanted his family back more than he wanted an empty sense of righteousness.

Lo opens the door and takes off, leaving me alone to get dressed … sort of.

Pretty sure Tanner is in the hallway just outside the bedroom door.

I realize that I better hurry the hell up and get clothes on so I can meet my in-laws. That, and reintroduce them to their son who’s been missing for two decades.

I’m only a few seconds behind, unkempt and unnerved. I should’ve taken the few extra minutes to run down the hall to grab deodorant. Brush my hair. Brush my teeth. I wonder if there’s a spell for those things? I bet there is.

I hit the bottom of the stairs just after Marlowe but right before Tanner. Brooks doesn’t seem to have left the kitchen, food on one half of the table and several grimoires stacked on the other.

The Waverleys wait patiently in the foyer.

They’re younger than I thought. In my head, they were old with white hair and wrinkles, maybe dressed in khaki and shiny dress shoes. I don’t know why I thought that. They can’t be older than late-fifties? I feel like I remember reading that they had Marlowe in high school together.

Marlowe’s mother is beautiful, her dark hair swept over one shoulder. It’s glossy and shiny, like she took the time for a proper blow-out before coming over. His father is angry—that much I can see from the pinch between his brows—but he tries to affect a casual stance with one hand tucked in his pocket, the other tapping at the leg of his slacks.

Everything changes when they turn and spot their son.

They’re high school sweethearts looking into the eyes of their firstborn—a man they haven’t seen in twenty years.

It takes several seconds for his appearance to register, but when it does, I watch a thunderstorm of emotion sweep across both of their faces.

Marlowe is frozen in the doorway between the living room and the foyer, our oblivious cat weaving figure-eights around his ankles. I very carefully pad up to stand beside him, the fingers of my left hand gently resting on his arm.

His mother’s dark brown eyes drop to that single point of contact. Hold there. Stay. Lift up to my face. His dad is frozen. No more tapping of his fingers. He’s barely breathing.

“Who the hell are you?” his dad asks finally, voice cracking.

Tanner watches from his spot against the wall, arms crossed, barely moving. I wonder if he’s thinking about his part in all this, how he trapped Marlowe in the woods and led us all to this very moment. He notices me watching him, and offers the smallest little smile in return.

“The fuck sort of question is that?” Marlowe shoots back, clenching his hands into fists. “Fucking look at me.” He takes several steps forward and his mother actually scoots back. Marlowe looks at her before turning to his dad again.

“Our son has been missing for twenty years, so don’t you dare lay claim to his name.” His dad is breathing hard, like he’s just as angry as Marlowe is. I can only imagine what this is like for them both. Eight months of living in the woods, and Marlowe’s family can’t recognize him. Two decades of missing their son, and his parents find a man frozen in time who looks just like him.

Marlowe scoffs and turns away, his gaze catching on me. I take a small step forward, and he furrows his brow—just like his dad was doing earlier. He puts some space between himself and his parents and turns back around.

“Who do you think I am then?” Marlowe retorts, crossing his arms. His attention shifts over to Tanner, and the pair of them stare at each other. Marlowe signs something. Tanner signs something back. And then Tanner’s pushing up off the wall and heading into the kitchen. He pauses only briefly to stroke his fingers through my hair.

My entire body breaks out in happy shivers, but I try to push them down. Marlowe’s parents have just spotted the witch hats hanging from the hall tree, and the tiny bird skull sewn into the cone of one. If only they could see my hat’s tongue stealing strawberries off of Marlowe’s brim.

“Are you our grandson?” his mom asks, her voice shaky with reluctant hope. She wants to believe that this man standing in front of her is connected to her son, but it feels impossible. “You look just like him.”

Marlowe closes his eyes, and he looks like he’s meditating in place. The cat continues to molest him, but he doesn’t react. I give in and pick her up, freeing him from her ministrations. Maybe I should leave, give him a moment alone with his parents?

I start toward the kitchen, and Marlowe’s hand flies out, snatching me by the wrist.

“Stay.” He turns to look at me, and pulls in a deep breath. “This is my wife, Katelynn.”

“Nice to meet you.” It’s all I can manage. I love the word wife rolling across Marlowe’s handsome mouth.

Silence falls over the foyer. It’s awkward as hell in there.

“Coffee is ready,” Brooks says, appearing in the kitchen doorway. He leans casually against the doorjamb, dressed in a soft cozy shirt and loose lounge pants. Also both items of my clothing. As soon as we get paid—or have the chance to make more magic leaf cash—I would love to go shopping and buy some more clothes. I don’t mind the men stealing all of mine, but we’re going to need a bigger supply overall. “Why don’t you four take the kitchen? Tanner and I will make ourselves scarce.”

I assume that by ‘scarce’, they mean they’ll step outside like they did at Miriam and Dennis’ house.

“Come on in,” Marlowe mumbles, turning away and dragging me into the kitchen with Stix tucked under my left arm.

There’s hot water in a kettle on the counter, jars of tea set out beside it. There’s fresh coffee. Brooks baked some biscuits and left them in a tantalizing tower on a plate in the center of the table. The mini jam jars are back. A fresh stick of butter in the dish that Stix infiltrated last night.

I head around the table to my chair and Marlowe beats me to it, pulling it out for me.

I notice that his dad does the same for his mom. Holy shit, that’s so cute. I blush as I take a seat. Marlowe puts his hands on the back of my chair and leans down, his huge body way too close to my face for comfort. With his parents here, I mean. It’d be perfectly comfortable if our coven was alone.

“Coffee with cinnamon and honey?” Marlowe asks, directing his question to his mom. She’s sitting in his chair while his father takes Brooks’. Both of his parents look at him like he’s a Tanner Senior corpse zombie risen from the grave. “And you.” He turns to his father. “If you’re still into tea, we have blends you’ve never tried—I can guarantee that.”

Silence.

Dead silence.

The grandfather clock ticks in the living room as I keep Stix on my lap.

“Coffee would be nice,” Marlowe’s mom finally chokes out. His dad says nothing.

“How about you, babe?” Lo turns and puts his face up against the side of my neck. I can feel his breath against my skin, uneven. Nervous. “Coffee with milk?”

“I can get the coffee,” I assure him, but he just laughs softly and stands up, moving over to the pot. With his back turned, it feels like I’m briefly alone with his parents, and I have no idea what to do. What to say.

His parents are so stiff, dressed up like they’re on their way to a corporate function. His mom plays with a necklace around her throat. His dad is a statue.

“Biscuits?” I ask, taking the small stack of side plates and laying them out in front of each chair. “Brooks is great at baking.” Freakishly so. “Makes good coffee, too. Oh, and the tea really is delicious if you’re …” I trail off because both of the Waverleys are staring at me like I’ve sprouted horns. Oh my God, I didn’t, did I? I look behind me to see if I’m casting my witch shadow, but there’s nothing. No shadow at all. Eerily so. I turn back around. “If you’re really into tea, we’ve got some good stuff.”

Marlowe presents my coffee first then his mom’s. He sits down with nothing for himself. I decide to butter a biscuit and pass it over, and the way he looks at me … Oh, yeah. Oh my God. We’re falling in love, and it feels so good, like I’ve just dropped over the edge of a large ravine on a rock climb. I’m not falling, but I’m rappelling down, and it’s dizzying but secure.

“Thanks.” He takes the biscuit and sets the two halves aside. On one half, he puts blackberry jam. On the other, he adds strawberry.

“Alright, let’s hear it,” his dad breathes, voice tight and heavy with sadness and strain. “I’ve dealt with dozens of grifters, and they all had a sob story waiting. What’s yours?”

“Anthony, stop,” his mom murmurs as Marlowe sits there with the knife in one hand, red jam dripping from the end to land on the edge of his plate. “I’m sure we’ll get answers if we give it some time.” She looks back at her son with this cresting wave of excitement while her husband appears to be drowning.

Not literally, from like Marlowe’s magic. Metaphorically.

“A sob story?” Marlowe repeats, finishing with the biscuit and then switching our plates so that I’ve got the one with butter and jam. I switch them back, and Marlowe’s mouth quirks a bit before he frowns again. “If I wanted something, don’t you think I’d have come to you and not the other way around?”

“You went to Miriam,” his mom continues, sliding her coffee close. She actually takes up our offer and selects a still-hot biscuit, splitting it in half. Buttering it. Stix tries to get on the table, but I block her with my foot before she can make the jump. Stubborn cat. She’s eyeing the butter dish, make no doubts about it.

Marlowe’s jaw tightens and he closes his eyes, breathing through it. He opens them back up, and there’s a hardness there, a wall against his emotions. Guarded. That’s what he is, guarded. And hurt. His trauma manifested as weariness, and his only defense mechanism is lashing out. He holds himself in check this morning, which is pretty damn impressive.

“Yes, Elizabeth. I went to Miriam, which was a mistake. Did she call you? Is that why you’re here?”

“You’re all over the internet.” His mom takes a sip of her coffee, and her eyes widen. She flicks her gaze up to Marlowe, and I can tell that—just like with Miriam and Dennis—she knows. If you love somebody, if you really know them, then twenty years is nothing. You still know exactly who they are when you see them again. “It took us some time to find this address. Even longer to work up the courage to come over here. We tried so many times to just get in the car and—”

“Who are you?” This is from his dad, Anthony, again. He keeps his arms folded tight and stares at the table instead of his son. “The one question you refuse to answer.”

“Well, I know how your wife likes her coffee—who else puts cinnamon and honey in theirs? I know you only drink tea. I know that Marlowe likes biscuits with strawberry and blackberry jam.” A scowl. “I know that you live in the same house on California Street where we’ve lived my entire life.” Marlowe takes a deep breath and, when his dad stands up and sends his chair screeching across the floor, my lover does the same. “I know that you two fell in love in ninth grade, that you wanted me even though your parents threatened to kick you out if I didn’t go up for adoption. We never went to Disneyland, but we drove all the way up to Oregon to visit the Enchanted Forest theme park instead.”

“Enough.” His dad is shaking, but maybe it’s less out of anger and more out of … fear.

He wants so badly for this to be Marlowe, but his mind knows it’s impossible. How can twenty years have passed, and his son hasn’t aged at all?

“You sure? Because I can keep going.” Marlowe smirks and runs his fingers through his dark hair. “Remember in sixth grade, when you told me not to climb on top of the minivan, and I did it as soon as your back was turned? Six bones that I broke. Six bones for a sixth grader, you’d always say that.”

“I want a DNA test.” Anthony stares his son down, but Marlowe isn’t intimidated.

“Oh yeah? Fine then. Let’s do a DNA test, and I’ll prove to you what you already know.” He stands up straight and holy Witchwoods hell, he’s intimidating. Big and broad, inked and angry. Fucking beautiful. “You want to know who I am? I’ll tell you: I’m Marlowe Lee Waverley. I was born in 1982, right here in Eureka. In 2004, I made the mistake of putting my hand into the Witch’s Tree. You’ll never believe me, which is fine.” He smirks and tucks his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. “But I think the DNA test is a fantastic idea.”

His mother is frozen in place, biscuit in hand, a single bite stolen from the circle of savory pastry.

Nobody moves. Nobody talks. It’s one of the most awkward experiences of my entire life.

“How about a genealogy test?” I say finally, trying to help. “We could just order a couple of kits online and—”

“We’ll provide the tests.” Anthony is a hardass, but only on the outside. I can see some of Marlowe’s personality in him. “Do you have a phone number where we can reach you?”

“Don’t be so cruel, honey,” his mom—Elizabeth—whispers. Her hand is shaking so badly that she has to put the biscuit down. “Just look at him, for fuck’s sake. Look at him. ” She stands up, too, and then I stand up because everyone else is standing up.

It feels like I should slip out the back door, remove myself from a very personal situation that I know nothing about. But then Marlowe looks at me like I’m his anchor in this world, the sturdy weight holding him in place in the same tumultuous sea where his parents reside. A sea of emotions. Of heartbreak.

“I want to hug you, but I don’t know who you are.” Elizabeth grabs a napkin from the table and dabs at her eyes. “Still, I want to hug you so badly.”

“He’s a stranger,” her husband says softly, and I appreciate the concern that he has for his wife.

Marlowe is looking at me again, and I’m looking right back.

I walk over to him and then slip my hand into his pocket to grab his phone. He just stands there, breathing a bit harder than he should, and lets me take it. I type in his passcode—it’s the same as my passcode—and then hand the phone over to his mother.

She adds herself to the contacts, and then I text her, just to make sure she’s got it.

“The biscuit is very good,” she adds, folding it into the napkin to take with her, and then following her husband to the front door.

There’s another uncomfortable moment where we all just stand in the foyer.

“Come back with your DNA tests, and I’ll have my wife’s other husband cook you dinner.” Marlowe opens the door and lets his two very shocked parents out onto the porch.

He slams it shut, locks it, and then turns around. His body slumps into the door as he closes his eyes.

I take a step forward, my bare feet causing the old floor to creak. Once again, I can hear the ticking of the clock.

“She wanted to hug you.” I pause and wait to see if Marlowe is going to lift his head and look at me. He does. That’s a good sign, right? “Did you want to hug her, too?”

He thinks on that for a minute and then pushes up off the door, moving over to stand in front of me.

“I’d rather hug you,” he tells me, and then he’s wrapping himself around me. It feels good to be enfolded like that, absolutely consumed by Marlowe’s body and his warmth and his borrowed t-shirt. “I knew my parents were going to be tough. I guess a DNA test makes sense.”

It makes sense until somebody finds out about it. Like the cops. Or social media.

I laugh, the sound soft and cozy against his chest.

“Once they know it’s you, will they like me? I feel like your mom was already giving me what the fuck are you doing with my six-foot mountain of a baby vibes?”

“You’re real funny, Kate. You know that?” Marlowe draws back from me, hands on my shoulders. He looks me in the eyes and lets his lips curve up to the side in a smile. “I don’t care if she likes you or not. We’re a coven. I can’t go to family dinners unless we all go to family dinners. This is our life now.”

“You’re not going to punch me?” Tanner asks, coming into the back door. He has blood all over his bare chest, and I’m pretty sure I see a dead creature hanging from the makeshift meat hook in our backyard. “If you want to, I’ll let you. Seems fair. This is definitely my fault.”

“Fucking idiot,” Marlowe growls, but he doesn’t take it any further than that. Good sign, right? “My parents … even with a DNA test, it’ll take them a long time to warm up. Maybe not … ever. They might be cold forever.” He lets go of my shoulders and stands up straight, crossing his arms. “If you and I hadn’t had the conversation we did right before I came downstairs, I’m not sure how I would’ve handled it. I might’ve flipped the table. I definitely would’ve punched Tanner.”

“Lucky me, eh?” Tanner remarks, disappearing from view as he heads in the direction of the sink. I hear the faucet click on, and some mumbled thanks about the perfectly warm water.

I take Marlowe’s arm and drag him into the kitchen to see that Brooks is already back and fixing himself a cup of coffee in the mug that was meant for Marlowe’s dad. Tanner is taking a seat at the table and serving himself a dozen biscuits. I imagine the guys’ll clean this tower up before we leave the house.

We’re technically late to work, but I’m also my own boss and we’re way ahead of schedule. Even if none of those things were true, I’d have prioritized Marlowe’s reunion with his parents anyway.

We all take our usual seats at the table, and it’s awkward as hell.

“It was less awkward in here when you guys came all over me, licked it off, and spit it into my mouth.” I’m trying to be funny here, but it doesn’t land. All three of them are staring at me with varying expressions on their faces.

I’m sure that Marlowe is more upset than he’s letting on. It’s possible that Tanner, in all his stalker glory, overheard Marlowe confessing his love to me which is … great. Brooks is, you know, he’s Brooks.

I try to get Tanner to look at me, but he’s too invested in his biscuits to look up. He tosses a plain one to the dog and when Ebon lands on his shoulder, he feeds her a piece covered in jam. Stix hops on the table, and Marlowe drags her into his lap with a sigh.

I look over to see that his eyes are shut tight.

“If you need to cry or—” I stop talking as his dark eyes open and fix on me.

“Cry? You’re fucking with me, aren’t you? I had more than enough fits in the Witchwoods dealing with this shit. I’m past the hurt feelings stage.” Marlowe picks up another biscuit, breaks it in half and starts to apply what is apparently his signature jam treatment. “Keep being sweet to me though. I like it.”

He finishes with the biscuit and chucks it onto my plate.

Tanner is staring at the pair of us, chewing thoughtfully. He’s definitely … something. Secretive. Thoughtful. Brooks sees it all, everything, every minute reaction between the three of us. He appears mildly annoyed.

“What did you hear upstairs?” I ask Tanner, and he just smiles as he chews the biscuit. Washes it down with some coffee. Studies me. I want to wiggle under his gaze. I want to ask him why it’s so easy for us to strip naked in the woods and fuck in the dirt but so damn hard to talk about feelings together.

I want to be loved and cherished by these men.

How? How did I end up here? I didn’t even want them in my house let alone my pussy and my heart.

“Sorry, I was going to reply straight off, but then you went deep inside that pretty head of yours.” Tanner takes another bite of biscuit and winks at me, but the tease is only skin-deep. He’s definitely in his head over something, too. “What did I hear? None of my business.” He sits back in his chair, effortlessly casual and totally full of shit.

Brooks takes a seat with his coffee, dragging a pair of biscuits off the platter and onto a clean plate. Stix hisses at … well, could be anything. She’s a bitch. Marlowe curses when she bites him, but then she’s rubbing her head against him all of two seconds later. My cat is insane, I swear.

“None of your business?” I repeat, toying with the biscuit that Marlowe gave me. I force my gaze back to Tanner’s. “Is there such a thing in this coven? I thought we had zero boundaries with one another.” I lift my chin, and Flick barks because … he’s a fucking herding dog. If I breathe too loudly, that hypes him up. I retrieve his ball from the floor and toss it out the back door.

I wait for Tanner—who’s shirtless and speckled with blood—to reply. Marlowe eats his biscuit. Brooks sips his coffee. Flick returns with the ball, dropping it on the floor between me and Tanner. He reaches up with two fingers to stroke Ebon, studying me. I end up throwing the ball again. And again. Again.

“I don’t know what to say, kitten.” Tanner sits up straight and rolls his beautiful head on his beautiful neck. Muscles and skin that’s starting to tan from the sun. Doesn’t seem like he ever saw much of it in the Witchwoods. No sunshine. No moonshine. “I never really let myself think this far ahead.”

“Meaning what?” I demand. Tanner pushes his biscuit plate aside, crossing his arms on the edge of the table. He leans in toward me, Ebon shifting on his shoulder and peering at me with six violet eyes.

“Meaning all of this. A home. Breakfast in a sunny kitchen. You, mostly.” He runs his hand through his hair, messing up the black and gold. “I didn’t prepare myself for the next step. Keeping you from running, that was all I could think about at first.” His mouth twitches. “Didn’t know you’d turn around and start running straight at us.”

I blush—this time from actual embarrassment—and try to decide what he means by that.

“You can’t push something on somebody and then be surprised when it goes exactly the way you wanted.” This is the second time I’ve said it, but it bears repeating.

“Hey.” Tanner reaches out and puts his hand on my knee, thumb skimming over the fabric of my sweatpants. “I said I was surprised, not disappointed. We never talked about this, what to do if the North we captured fell in love with three monsters from the woods.”

My whole body feels hot. My skin is a suit that I want to unzip and crawl out of, become some feral witch thing so I can run away from my shame into the woods behind the house.

I don’t deny what he’s saying, and I know that Brooks takes note of that. He doesn’t miss anything, does he? In love with three monsters. Three. All three of them.

“We can have private moments,” Brooks begins, staring past me and toward the sliding glass door. We all turn to look and there she is again, the fucking Hag in the reflection of the glass, watching us. I lift up a hand and flip her off as Brooks continues. “We should have private moments—but whatever goes on in this group is everyone’s business. We’re a coven.”

“I agree.” I turn back to Tanner even though the idea of leaving the Hag at my back freaks me out. She isn’t real. She doesn’t fully exist in this world. If anyone can watch your back, it’s these men. “Everything that happens here is our business.”

Tanner exhales and slumps further into his chair, turning his attention to Marlowe.

The pair of them stare at each other.

“You’re in love with Kate, huh?” Tanner rubs at the blond stubble on his jaw as Brooks’ hat observes the three of us like big fat Witchwoods maggots in a mason jar (like the ones in the cabinet behind his head).

“Trauma bonding,” Marlowe says with a shrug. “Maybe that’s how it happened so fast? I don’t really care. Even if we hated each other, we’d be living together, working together, casting together.” His mouth twitches. “Fucking each other. Leaning into my feelings seems rational, don’t you think?”

I’m hot all over again, tugging at the neckline of my hoodie and sweating.

“Rational, huh?” Tanner replies, and I have no goddamn clue what he’s thinking. Brooks either. “Is love rational?”

“For eight months, I sat in those woods wondering how my best friend and my girlfriend could leave me to rot all by myself. We meet a woman who jumps into the Witchwoods without a second thought to save her friends’ asses. Is love rational? Fuck no. I’d die for a girl that I met less than a month ago. That’s not the rational part. The rational part is turning and facing those feelings head-on.” Marlowe cocks a brow, and then shoves up from his chair, taking my cat—our cat, I suppose—with him.

He disappears up the stairs and slams the bedroom door.

He’s upset about his parents, but doesn’t want to show it. That’s my theory. Or maybe he just embarrassed himself as badly as he embarrassed me?

“What about you?” I ask, trying to get Brooks to break that stoic expression of his. “Do you have anything else to say?”

“I didn’t expect Marlowe to confess his undying love to you so soon, but it makes sense.” His mouth quirks, and he takes another sip of his coffee. “As I’ve been saying all along—as you yourself have started saying—we’re a coven. I’m happy for the two of you.”

I narrow my eyes on him and then shift my attention to Tanner, but he won’t look at me.

Fine.

Marlowe and I can live happily-ever-after, and these two idiots can watch from the sidelines.

I stand up and take off, but Brooks grabs my wrist before I can leave the room. His thumb rubs over my pulse point, stopping me in my tracks.

“Just because I’m happy for you both doesn’t mean I don’t feel anything else, Kate.” He lets go of me, and I take off. I head up the stairs, slowing my steps as I approach the bedroom.

The Numa Numa song is playing on the other side of the door. I very carefully try the handle, but find that it’s locked.

That’s okay.

I step away and let Marlowe have a minute to himself.

But I am going to make fun of him for listening to that song later.