Page 80 of Marked

As I stepped inside Buck’s Tavern, dim lighting and musty warmth enveloped me. Despite the smell of stale beer and sweat, I walked forward a bit, drawn to the oddly safe feeling of the room. Ace moved in behind me, letting the door close with a thud.

The main room was small and cozy, lit by low-hanging bulbs illuminated with magic to cast a soft glow. Lining a long wraparound wooden bar, rough-looking men hunched over their drinks, while a few round tables sat empty in the open space behind them.

No one looked up at our entrance. No one approached us. This place offered anonymity and detachment from the outside world. No wonder Ace liked it. I liked it, too.

Tension slipped from my shoulders, and I took a deep breath.

On the far side of the tavern, a lone musician strummed his guitar on a small stage, singing a quiet tune loud enough to enjoy, but not so loud to overpower conversations.

"Go grab us a seat, Mouse,” he said, his voice low. He jerked his chin in the direction of the booths flanking the stage. "I’ll join you shortly.”

I nodded and made my way to the booths with wraparound leather seating, scanning the patrons as subtly as possible. They all looked like they belonged in the same rough gang—long beards, greasy hair, and heavy leather vests over white short-sleeved shirts despite the cold temperatures.

I slipped into the booth, my thighs pressing into the cool leather, and an instant need to curl up and take a nap overcame me. Instead, I pulled off my gloves and placed them on the table.

It had been a long night, and while I was immortal and tended to be a night owl, often hunting into the early hours of the day, I didn’t contain boundless energy. I wanted to go home and snuggle with Nala on the couch. She’d still be curled up near our bows in the forest right now, guarding them, and perfectly content to do so, but I wanted to cuddle. I wanted to shove my face in her thick, fluffy fur and inhale her nutty scent while she tried to slather me with her tongue.

I shook away the thoughts—I needed to keep it together around Ace.

He was already making his way to me, holding a pitcher filled with amber ale in one hand and two pint glasses in the other.

Apparently, we weren’t eating.

“What’s up with you?” Ace slid the pitcher over the table’s lacquered surface before setting one of the empty pint glasses in front of me.

“Just missing my wolf.”

He slipped into the booth on the opposite side of the table from me and pulled off his own gloves, stacking them on top of mine. He reached for the pitcher and filled my glass before his own.

“It’s only been a few hours. You’ll be fine.” He set the pitcher down with a thud.

I scowled and reached for my drink. The glass was cool to the touch and condensation had already pebbled along the sides. “You don’t get it.”

“You’re right, I don’t.” He took a long sip of beer. “Why don’t you explain it to me?”

I took a sip and sputtered. The sour taste made my skin crawl. I slammed the glass back on the table and glared at Ace. “Did you piss in this?”

He chuckled and took another drink. “No.”

“Did the bartender piss in this?”

“I don’t believe so, no. I think I’d remember that.”

I watched him drink some more and eyed my own glass.

He finally set his pint down. “We can’t all have the same refined taste as you, Mouse.”

I narrowed my eyes.

“And unless you want to get us thrown out of here, I suggest you keep your voice down, stop insulting the tavern’s fine ale, and drink up.”

I straightened in the booth and scanned the room. No one had bothered to look over, and since no one sat close by, we didn’t have to worry about anyone easily listening in on our conversation.

Despite this, I leaned forward and dropped my voice to a whisper. “This really does taste like piss.”

Ace leaned forward, too, mimicking my movement, and whispered, “I wouldn’t know. But what I do know, is the more you drink, the less you give a shit about how it tastes.”

“Please tell me that’s not the line you use to get laid?”

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