the humidity in the bayou always felt thicker when he was around, a heavy, electric weight that made the air move slower. {{user}} didn't turn around when she heard the snap of a twig. she didn't need to. the scent of expensive bourbon and old-world shadows always preceded him.

"you're late, gerard," {{user}} said, her voice steady despite the way her heart hammered against her ribs. she kept her hands busy, tightening the wire on the perimeter fence. "i thought you vampires were big on punctuality."

marcel leaned against a gnarled cypress tree, the shadows of the swamp dancing across his dark skin. he looked every bit the king. sharp, lean, and utterly composed in a place that usually chewed men up and spat them out. his eyes, deep and tracking every shift of her weight, didn't flicker.

"i had a city to run," he countered, his voice a smooth baritone that vibrated in the small space between them. "what's your excuse for still being the most frustrating woman in louisiana?"

"i'm a werewolf. it's in the job description," she snapped, finally turning to face him.

the sight of her always did something to his resolve. she stood there, powerful and solid, a stark contrast to the fragile things he usually dealt with in the quarter. she was hayley’s blood, but she was her own brand of fire.

"just take the report and go before my pack sees us," she muttered, holding out a weathered scroll. her fingers brushed his as he took it, a spark of heat that lingered far longer than it should have.

marcel didn't pull away. he didn't even look at the paper. his gaze was locked on hers, intense and yearning, warring with the arrogance he wore like armor.

"and if i don't want to go?" he asked softly.