Chapter 8 8
Several hour later.
The rain had started up again—hard, fat drops hammering the cabin roof like nature’s own war drum. The fire in the hearth spat and hissed every time a draft shoved smoke into the room, the scent of uncooked rabbit meat still hanging thick in the air because someone—someone—couldn’t skin it properly without making a mess.
That someone was now sitting cross-legged on the worn rug in front of me, Marigold’s hair a wild halo from where she’d been running her hands through it like a stubborn child.
We’d been at this for an hour. An hour I could’ve spent sharpening blades or contacting my scouts, but no—here I was, trying to teach a woman how to pretend to be her own twin.
“For the last time,” she said, her tone drenched in irritation, “why the hell would I love pretending to be Margaux? She was a fashionista. Yes, she had nice clothes. Yes, she loved to talk. But she had the brain of a worm. I can’t act stupid. I don’t know how to act like I don’t know what algebra is.”
Her voice dripped with disdain, and she punctuated it by tossing one of the rabbit bones into the fire. It sizzled and popped.
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “You don’t have to love it. You just have to survive it.”
“I can’t survive being brain-dead,” she grumbled. “I mean, do you have any idea how hard it is to pretend not to know simple math? She was my twin, Alpha Gregor. But in the brain department? I was the one keeping us from flunking out of life. I did her homework, her essays, her thesis—her thesis, Gregor. Do you know what it’s like to write an entire paper on agricultural trade for a person who thinks a ‘bushel’ is a kind of dessert?”
The thunder outside rolled low, like the sky was growling back at her.
I stared at her, fighting the urge to grab her shoulders and shake some sense into her. Was it really that hard to just… pretend? “Just act like her. Okay? How hard could that be?”
Her eyes rolled so hard I thought they might rattle out of her head. “It’s very hard to pretend to be stupid without feeling like I’m actively killing brain cells.” She leaned forward, poking the fire with the iron poker like it had personally offended her. “You try walking into a room and forgetting which side of the fork is the pointy end.”
I just stared at her.
Thunder cracked closer this time, rattling the cabin windows, and the wind slammed rain against the walls. My wolf was pacing in my chest—half from the storm, half from sheer disbelief.
Here I was, the most powerful Alpha in the kingdom. The one whose name made lesser wolves flinch. The one who could take down a Black Fang patrol in under a minute. And she… she sat there in my cabin, barefoot, smelling faintly of wet pine and blood from the rabbit, talking to me like I was an annoying neighbor borrowing sugar for the third time this week.
She didn’t care that I was an Alpha. She often called me by my name. She didn’t even flinch when my voice dropped low enough to make grown warriors sweat. No—Marigold just smirked, tossed another rabbit bone into the fire, and said, “If you’re so desperate for a Margaux impression, maybe you should do it. I bet you’d look great in silk and heels.”
“What the—” I stopped myself, dragging a hand down my face.
What is wrong with this woman? Was it really that hard to play her twin for a week? Two? What life had she been living that this was somehow the bigger problem than getting hunted down by assassins?
I stepped closer, crouching so I was eye level with her. The firelight threw shadows across her face, highlighting that stubborn set to her jaw. “You will do this. You will act like her. And you will keep your head attached to your shoulders while doing it. Or else—”
“Or else you’ll kill me?” she cut in sweetly. “Aw, that’s adorable. Big bad Alpha Gregor thinks threats work on me.”
Outside, the thunder boomed again, and the storm kept hammering at the cabin like the gods themselves wanted to see who’d win this ridiculous standoff.
And for the first time tonight, I wasn’t sure it’d be me.
I swear, if I survive this mission, I’m going to build myself a soundproof cabin in the middle of the damn mountains just so I never have to hear another woman sass me while I’m trying to save her life.
I told her again, slowly, like I was explaining it to a pup, “Talk like her, walk like her, breathe like her. The more convincing you are, the longer you live.”
She had the audacity to snort. “Oh, sure, and maybe I’ll just cut out half my brain cells while I’m at it. You want me to start drooling too? Should I twirl my hair and ask if the moon is a planet?”
I blinked. “The moon is—”
She waved me off. “Don’t even. My point is—Margaux was the kind of girl who couldn’t find her own elbows without a mirror. You expect me to pull that off? That’s advanced-level stupid.”
I ground my teeth. “It’s not that hard. Just act shallow, smile a lot, and don’t argue with everything I say.”
Her eyes lit up with pure evil. “So… basically, the opposite of me?”
She was enjoying this. Actually enjoying watching me suffer.
“Try it,” I said, folding my arms. “Right now.”
Marigold straightened up, tossed her messy hair over her shoulder like she thought she was on a runway, and in the most over-the-top, nasal tone possible said, “Ohhh my gawwwd, Greggyyyy, does this like, fur totally make my butt look big?!”
I stared. No, I gawked. “... What the hell was that?”
She grinned, wicked. “Margaux impression. Nailed it, right?”
“That sounded like a dying goose.”
“Perfect, because that’s what she was—a goose in heels.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose, wondering—not for the first time—if I should just leave her here and let the Black Fang solve my problem for me.
And then—
Snap.
The sound came from outside, sharp and deliberate. The hair on the back of my neck rose instantly.
Her smile faded. “That wasn’t thunder, was it?”
“No,” I said, my voice low, already scanning the shadows beyond the warped window frame. Rain still pelted down, but underneath it, I could hear the crunch of footsteps. More than one.
I stepped toward the door, my wolf clawing for control, while she whispered behind me,
“Uh… Alpha Gregor? If those are assassins, can I go back to my dying goose impression so they underestimate me?”
I didn’t answer. My eyes were already on the tree line.
Because the Black Fang… they were closer than I thought.