Chapter 10 10
By the time we stumbled into the little human town, we looked like we crawled out of a swamp. No shoes. Soaked clothes. Mud up to my calves. Hair plastered to my face. And, because the universe loves a dramatic punchline, Alpha “I’m Too Serious For Life” Gregor stomped into the shabby little inn like he was conquering a kingdom.
We were supposed to be at the next safehouse. Nice, quiet, hidden from the world. Maybe with actual food and—gods forbid—dry socks. But no. According to Zach, our brilliant little tech wizard, the Black Fangs were already there, setting a damn welcome party with blades and wolfsbane cocktails.
So here we were. In the middle of human territory. Looking like two beggars who got thrown out of a bar fight.
Gregor stalked beside me, broad shoulders hunched into a coat that was at least two sizes too small. It pinched under his arms, and every time he moved, I swore I heard a stitch cry for help. The mighty Alpha of Midnight Pack looked like he borrowed his clothes from a high school sophomore.
Me? I wasn’t any better. Some “helpful” leather jacket from shed, and let me tell you—it smelled like puke, cigarettes, and the kind of bad decisions people only make at 3 a.m. I pulled it tighter anyway, nose wrinkling.
“This is it,” I muttered, throwing my hands up. “The glorious escape of Alpha Gregor and the tragic twin. We’re not fugitives. We’re beggars. Beggars with a fashion crisis.”
He growled low in his chest. “Keep your voice down. Humans are staring.”
“Oh, please. They’re not staring because I’m loud. They’re staring because you look like the Hulk shrunk in the wash.”
Gregor shot me a withering glare. “I’d rather smell like this coat than smell like your jacket.”
“Excuse you,” I snapped, clutching the foul thing closer. “This jacket has personality. It has history. It’s been places. Probably seen at least three divorces and a biker gang initiation.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering, “Moon goddess, give me strength.”
We walked down the cracked sidewalk, people giving us side-eyes like we were one step away from begging for change. A kid tugged his mom’s sleeve and whispered, “Mommy, why is that giant man angry at the world?”
I smirked. “Hear that? Even the humans think you need to chill.”
He didn’t reply. Just kept stalking forward, his jaw tight, his coat groaning at the seams.
And then, because the universe loves to torment me, I caught my reflection in a shop window. Wet hair sticking out in random directions, mud still smeared across my cheek, eyes rimmed with exhaustion. I looked… feral.
Fantastic. My grand debut in the human world? Looking like a raccoon who lost a fight.
But hey, at least I had a puke jacket.
The receptionist—a tiny old lady with spectacles—took one look at us and sniffed.
“Mountain hikers, huh?” she muttered. “Lost your packs, did you?”
Gregor growled under his breath. I elbowed him before he could snarl in her face.
“Yes, ma’am,” I chirped sweetly, dripping water onto her counter. “We got caught in the storm, lost our things, but luckily my husband here is too stubborn to admit we’re hopelessly lost.”
Gregor froze, glaring at me out of the corner of his eye. Husband. I smirked at him like the devil himself.
The old lady grumbled, tapped her little ledger, and finally said the words that sent my sanity plummeting off a cliff:
“Only one room left. One bed.”
I swear I heard thunder rumble just to add dramatic flair.
Gregor rumbled, “We’ll take it.”
I choked. “Excuse me, we will not.”
“Oh, we will,” he shot back, already dropping a wad of cash onto the counter. “Unless you’d rather sleep outside in the mud with whatever monsters the humans don’t know are prowling the forests.”
I glared daggers into his very broad, very smug back as he collected the key.
Upstairs, the room was small. Cozy, if you were a couple madly in love. A nightmare if you were me—wet, cranky, stuck with a half-naked alpha who looked way too comfortable bossing me around.
The bed was big enough for two people if those people didn’t mind sharing pillow space and possibly accidental body heat.
Gregor crossed his arms, droplets of water still sliding down his neck, and announced:
“I’ll take the floor.”
I blinked. “Oh? Finally using your alpha brain? Great. Enjoy the floor.”
Then he smirked. “But the floor is filthy. Damp. Probably crawling with human lice. I’ll take the bed. You can have the floor.”
My jaw dropped. “What kind of medieval gaslighting is that? You just said it was disgusting!”
He shrugged like the arrogant brute he was. “I’m stronger. I’ll survive.”
“Oh, will you?” I snapped, marching to the bed and plopping down with a dramatic bounce. “Guess what? My delicate, fragile, not-fit-for-the-floor self will be sleeping here. So toughen up, Alpha, and enjoy your lice.”
His eyes narrowed, glowing faintly gold. The room suddenly felt too small, too hot. He stalked closer, looming.
“Move.”
“No.”
“Marigold.”
“Gregor.”
Our noses were practically touching. I refused to back down. My wolf purred at the challenge, the stupid traitor.
Finally, with a frustrated growl, he ripped the blanket in half. Literally tore it.
“Fine. We share. You get your side, I get mine. Touch me, and you’re dead.”
I smirked, lying down dramatically. “Relax, Alpha. You’re not my type.”
He slid in on the other side, muttering something in his wolf tongue that definitely translated to “infuriating woman.”
Five minutes later, the silence was unbearable.
“You’re hogging the pillow,” I hissed.
“You’re breathing too loud,” he shot back.
“Your arm is on my side.”
“It’s attached to my body.”
I rolled over dramatically, only to realize—oh. His body radiated heat. And I was shivering. My wet clothes stuck to my skin, goosebumps everywhere.
He noticed. Of course he noticed. “You’re freezing.”
“No, I’m fine.” My teeth chattered.
Without warning, he yanked me against his chest, wrapping the shredded blanket around both of us. I squeaked, stiff as a board.
“This doesn’t mean anything,” he muttered against my hair. “I’m not letting you freeze to death.”
“Uh-huh,” I croaked, cheeks burning so hot I could’ve dried my clothes on them.
By morning, our wardrobe situation had… improved. And by “improved,” I mean we raided the inn’s lost and found like raccoons going through someone’s garbage.
Gregor ended up with a small sized plaid shirt, and jeans that sagged just enough to make him look like he was cosplaying a lumberjack on probation. Me? I scored a pair of baggy jeans and—oh, the crown jewel—a bright pink hoodie with “Kiss the Cook” splashed across the chest in bold letters.
Gregor stared at it like it had spat in his coffee.
“You’re wearing it,” I declared, shoving it into his hands.
“I’m not.” His voice was a low rumble, the kind that usually makes people tremble.
I grinned, all teeth. “You are. Or we’re walking out of here naked.”
His nostrils flared. For a second, I thought he might actually choose the naked option just to spite me. But five minutes later, there he was: the most feared Alpha in America, shoulders filling out a neon pink hoodie that screamed suburban barbecue dad energy.
I tried. I really did. But the second I saw him sulking down the street in that thing, my laughter burst out so loud half the town turned to stare.
“You look adorable,” I said between wheezes. “Like a Disney princess’s bodyguard.”
He growled. “Say one more word and I’ll make you regret it.”
“Oh, I’m already regretting not taking a picture.”
By the time we reached the human bank, I was still giggling. Gregor, however, was dead serious. He marched up to the counter, all Alpha menace, and said, “I need to make a withdrawal.”
The employee, a twenty-something with a neat tie, glanced at Gregor’s neon hoodie, then at his mud-smeared jeans, then back at his face. “Sir… do you even have an account here?”
Gregor’s scowl could have cracked glass. “I don’t need one. Just check under—”
“Sir,” the man cut him off, polite but firm. “We cannot give you money just because you glared at me.”
I leaned on the counter, biting my lip to keep from laughing. “Honestly, if glaring worked, I’d be rich by now.”
The bank employee gave me a thank you for understanding your boyfriend is crazy smile.
“He’s not my boyfriend,” I blurted. Then realized I sounded defensive. Too defensive. “He’s… my cousin. From… Idaho.”
Gregor turned his head slowly, murder in his eyes.
“Idaho?” he muttered under his breath.
“What? You look like you came straight off a potato farm right now. Don’t blame me.”
Needless to say, the bank did not hand over money to Alpha Potato.