Page 14 of Marked

Five

I’m very aware of Taylor staring at me in mild concern as I down my third shot of tequila. Momentarily ignoring her, I lick the rest of the salt from the rim of my glass and bite into the lime. Swallowing the sour juice, I drop the fruit into the small glass and set it down with an audible clank.

“That bad, huh?” Taylor asks, her margarita still mostly full.

“He’s not safe to be around,” I mumble in reply and glare at the glass of water Taylor slides my way. “I’m fine.”

“We’ve been here for half an hour, Val. You can’t just drink away your problems.”

If only she knew. “Watch me,” I challenge, pushing up the sleeves of my black hoodie.

Taylor slides the glass closer, the two of us staring at each other without blinking. After a solid minute, I gave in and take a sip. Smiling in triumph, the wolf leans forward eagerly. “There you go. Now, tell me why Mister Alpha got you all hot and bothered. You know, besides fondling you in front of the whole department.”

I groan and rub my face, not caring about my makeup anymore. “I still can’t believe he did that.” The server brings us our dinner, and I move my shot glasses out of the way so she can set down the plates.

“Hey, in his defense, he was trying to help,” Taylor points out before lifting her silverware to cut a piece of her smothered carne asada burrito.

“Yeah, well, that doesn’t make it any less embarrassing.” I answer, dousing my cheese enchiladas with hot sauce. “He’s constantly checking my work and asking questions. We finished interviewing more of the dancers, but he kept going over our notes as if we both hadn’t been there. He will straight up tell me when he thinks I’m wrong or doesn’t like something I’m doing! I feel like he’s constantly challenging me!”

Taylor chews thoughtfully before pointing her fork at me. “He gets under your skin.”

I blink at her, fork pausing on its journey to my mouth. “Yeah, you could say that. I’m not used to someone being so honest and blunt.”

She laughs. “You mean like you are?”

“And you.” I give a half-hearted scowl and take a bite of my enchilada.

“I’m only that way with you, Val. You’re that way with everyone,” she teases. “But really, I think it says something that he gets under your skin.”

I groan. “Don’t start.”

Taylor gives me an innocent shrug. “You can’t just keep having this fling with Seth. You have zero intention of dating him, so maybe you need to start looking at some other candidates.”

I go to order another shot when the server checks on us, but Taylor’s warning glare makes me refrain. “I hate talking about this,” I begrudgingly admit after the server leaves.

“It’s not bad having a boyfriend.” She points out.

“You’re just saying that because you and Bryan are perfect,” I say without venom.

I love that Taylor met a fellow werewolf that compliments her so well. They met a month before Taylor and I did and have been together for two years now. I have a sneaking suspicion that Bryan is going to pop the question soon, but I’m just not sure if it’ll be the marriage or the mating one. Most shifters do both at some point.

Taylor’s dramatic pout makes me laugh. “I miss him so much,” she whines.

“He went with your guys’ alpha to meet with the Los Angeles alpha, right?” I ask, glad the focus is temporarily off me and my nonexistent relationship. “Or is it the LA County Alpha?”

Besides the typical hierarchy that is briefly taught in schools now, I’m not super familiar with how pack politics work. How does it go again? Alpha of the city answers to the alpha of the county, and he answers to the alpha of the state?

For my werewolf cover, I did the basic research directly affecting me. So I know the Las Vegas alpha is Dominic, and the Nevada alpha is Luis, but all the other information I get is from what Taylor tells me.

“The Alpha of Los Angeles.” She clarifies, still pouting. “They’re meeting with Cain to talk about some fae black market that keeps popping up.”

“When do they come back?”

She lets out a heavy sigh. “Hopefully they’ll be home by tonight, but Bryan said he’s not sure.”

I pat the top of my friend’s hand. “It’s been two days; you can survive one more.” I laugh again when Taylor’s bottom lip sticks out even more.

When I pull my hand away, my phone starts to go off, the theme from an old Meow Mix commercial ringing loudly. Taylor stifles a laugh, and I ignore the questioning glances from the other diners as I answer the phone. “Yes, Kitten?”

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