The Scarred Huntress

Living Together

"No." The word lands in a heartbeat, but I don't say it aloud. I remain quiet, and so does he for the rest of the drive.

Eventually, night stretches above us, and Icar parks in the driveway of what seems to be a modest motel.

I can tell from the way the building lights up, as if to push customers away from it.

Icar kills the engine.

"Wait," he tells me, then steps down and closes the door. The boot opens, and I snap behind me. I watch him drag out two briefcases before closing it. He soon stands by my door. I take that as my cue to open it since his hands are full. I step down, and he hands me a case. I accept.

Icar locks the car, turns the handle to be sure, then, satisfied, he nods toward the entrance. We enter, and the reception table isn't hard to find because it's very obvious. So is the woman behind it. The only thing modest about her appearance is the professional bun her blonde hair is tied into. The rest of her screams, "LOOK AT ME."

I don't like her. And I sure as hell don't like the way she lights up in the presence of Icar. It pisses me off more when I deduce that she definitely does the same to countless other men who book rooms here.

"I need a room," Icar says.

The woman is too busy eyefucking Icar, so I snap my fingers.

She blinks, and the haze clears from her eyes. It is only then she notices me.

Icar says nothing and puts his briefcase on the counter and unlocks it. I see the stacks of money that fill it up. He takes out a wad and shuts it.

"How much?"

The dreamy look wipes off her face. Something professional replaces it as she clears her throat.

"A hundred a night."

"How is it?"

"It has an ensuite and 24-hour air conditioning, as well as breakfast-in-bed delivery. The lavatory is spotless, and if you ring the bell, the room warden will attend to you."

"This is for three nights." Icar drops the money on the desk. "I might check with you again after then."

The receptionist collects the money and fetches the room key.

"Your name, sir? Or should I just call you Sir?"

That was more flirty than it had any right to be. I want to fist her hair real tight and rip it off her scalp so she cries tears that ruin her makeup. I almost laugh at the horror-clown version of her face that my mind conjures.

"Call me your number one customer, and call her," Icar grabs my waist, and I lean into him, "the customer's wife."

I grin while the receptionist forces a smile. Serves her right.

"Congrats," she says. "Have a happy night."

"You too."

Icar winks at me. I let him collect the second briefcase from my hand and follow him upstairs to the floor where our room is.

We walk in, and the door clicks behind us. I fall on the bed and sigh, making eagles. Then I frown and sit up.

Icar turns away from the door, and our eyes meet. He's also listening. And then he grins. A beat later, I understand why. Just slightly above the constant hum of the AC is the distinct, unmistakable sound of flesh meeting flesh. And muffled moans.

My cheeks heat up, and my smile is tight. Icar's grin widens. I know this is just our special hearing being too active. The walls can't be that thin.

"Ahn~ ahn~ aaaaah~ OOOHH YES!"

I thought too soon.

The sounds get loud. It's embarrassing, and I'm sure the receiver would be as red-faced as me if she saw us and knew we both heard her.

Icar sets the briefcases on top of the wardrobe. The height doesn't faze him. Nothing fazes him. I think back to our escapades in the city and can't help the smile that stretches my face. I watch him stretch and then rotate his torso from side to side. The room I thought was big now looks small with the way he stands and just fills up space.

He takes off his shirt, which is unnecessary because of the blasting AC, but then Icar's wolf is incredibly immune to super low temperatures, so I don't judge that he's showing off his six-pack and powerful chest. But when he unbuckles his belt and steps out of the stolen uniform, I have questions. But they remain in my throat because I can't stop looking at the meat between his legs.

This big, and he's not yet aroused. Why isn't he aroused, alone in a room with me?

"If you keep looking at my d**k like that, I might have to shove it down your throat, Huntress," he says, and I snap.

"What are you doing?"

"Trying to take a shower," he says. It sounds obvious. Like it's totally normal to be naked in front of a woman. Okay, it's totally normal, as this is not the first time, but it feels different now. Like it's the first time. I don't know whether it's the bedroom setting or the fact that he gave me clothes, bought me food, and claimed me as his wife in front of that b***h. I still can't believe how much has changed between us. It's been barely a day since our escape from werewolf island, and a major part of me is already daring to hold Icar in a different light.

"Be quick," I tell him, already feeling dirty.

Then he's gone, and the shower spray is all I hear.