Chapter 3
Jasper
‘Get. Out. Of. My. House.’
The voice slams into my head, and I freeze, my fox body going completely still.
‘What the fuck? How are you talking in my head?’
The cat jumps down from her perch on the arm of the couch and approaches me, tail in the air as she stalks close. ‘Magic, fuckface. Now, get out.’
‘Whoa. Hostile much?’
‘You have no idea. Now, leave.’
‘Whoa, whoa. Wait up a minute.’ I shoot back. ‘You’re saying this is magic. The only magic I know of that allows shifters to communicate telepathically is through a mate bond or a pack bond. And you and I are no pack.’
The cat hisses, her hackles rising. ‘You think you and I are mates?’ She actually chuckles in my mind. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
‘Do you have another explanation, Whiskers?’
She hisses again. ‘Don’t call me that. That name is not for you.’
‘Fine. Do you have another explanation, princess?’
Her pupils narrow. ‘It’s Halloween week, genius. Magic gets amplified this time of year. Everyone knows that.’
‘Not everyone. I didn’t know it was a thing.’
I can practically feel her rolling her eyes.
‘Clearly your pack didn’t bother with your education. Regardless, a cat and a fox would never be fated mates. We’re not even the same species.’
‘Interspecies mate bonds exist,’ I counter. ‘They’re rare. But they happen.’
‘Well, one isn’t happening right now, because I happen to find you repugnant. And I don’t think that’s how mate bonds work. Now, GET OUT. Bea is my human. I claimed her first.’
‘Bea? That’s her name, is it? What’s that short for? Beatrice?’
The cat straightens up. ‘Her name is none of your business. You aren’t staying.’
I look over my shoulder to find this ‘Bea’ bustling around the kitchen, completely oblivious to the mental warfare happening in her living room. She’s putting away groceries, humming that tune again, occasionally glancing over at us with a fond smile.
“Isn’t this nice?” she says. “All three of us under one roof. I always worry that Whiskers is lonely when I’m out. But now I won’t have to. Oh, you’re going to be such good friends!”
‘Over my dead body,’ the cat snarls in my head.
‘Look,’ I try, going for reasonable. ‘I don’t want to cause problems. I just need a place to stay for a little while—’
‘A little while? You think you’re STAYING?’
Her tail is lashing now, her ears flat against her head. To Bea, it probably looks like normal cat wariness. But I can feel the rage rolling off her in waves.
‘Yes. Until I get back on my feet. A week, maybe two—’
‘Absolutely not. This is MY house. MY Bea. I’ve been here for two years. TWO YEARS. And you think you can just waltz in here and—’
‘I didn’t know you were here! I snap back. ‘You think I wanted to run into another shifter? This was supposed to be simple!’
‘Oh, I’m SO sorry my existence complicated your little con.’
‘It’s not a con, it’s—’ I pause. This is definitely a con. ‘OK, it’s a con. But it’s a survival con. There’s a difference.’
‘No, there isn’t.’
We’re circling each other. She’s looking like she’s about to launch herself at my face. I’m in a low crouch, my teeth bared.
“Now, now,” Bea says, noticing the tension. “Let’s all be friendly! Whiskers, honey, this poor fox needs help. You know how we feel about helping animals in need.”
‘I’m going to kill you,’ the cat thinks at me.
‘Get in line,’ I think back.
Then she hisses.
Not a little warning hiss. A full, feral, I’m-about-to-fuck-you-up hiss that makes every hair on my body stand on end.
My fox instincts kick in and before I can stop myself, I bark. Not a cute fox yip—a full aggressive warning bark.
“Oh, dear!” Bea says.
The cat launches herself at me.
I dodge left, but she’s fast, swiping at my face with claws fully extended. I feel one catch my ear and yelp, stumbling backward.
‘That’s for eating my chicken!’
‘Oh, my god. It was just some chicken! I was hungry!’
She comes at me again, hissing and flashing claws. I drop low, then dart forward and pounce on her tail.
The yowl that comes out of her could wake the dead.
She’s on me in a second, a whirlwind of fur and fury. We’re rolling across the floor, a tangle of fox and cat, and I can hear Bea shouting but I’m too busy trying not to get my eyes clawed out.
‘You stepped on my TAIL!’
‘You clawed my ear!’
‘I don’t CARE!’
She lands a solid hit to my nose and I yelp again, finally managing to squirm away. We face off, both panting, both furious.
“THAT IS ENOUGH!”
Bea’s voice cuts through the chaos and so does the broom she shoves between us.
“I will not have fighting in this house!” She sweeps me in one direction, then sweeps the broom toward the cat, herding it toward the hall. “Whiskers, honey, I think you need some time to calm down.”
‘What?!’ The cat’s mental shriek nearly deafens me. ‘I’M not the problem! HE IS!’
But Bea is already sweeping her through an open door, while the cat wriggles and yowls trying to avoid the moving broom.
“I know you’re upset, sweetie, but this is not how we treat guests. Even unexpected ones.”
‘Guest?! GUEST?! Try interloper! Try devil incarnate! Try flea-ridden-half-pint-predator!’
The broom bristles chase her down the hall, and I lean back on the rug, tail flicking lazily.
‘Devil incarnate, huh? I’ve been called worse. Usually by smarter cats.’
‘SMARTER?! I’ll show you smart, you—’
The door slams shut, cutting off her mental tirade. Well, not cutting it off exactly, because I can still hear her screaming in my head, but at least there’s a physical barrier between us now.
I lie on my side, trying to look as innocent and pathetic as possible as Bea returns, shaking her head.
“I don’t know what got into her,” she murmurs, bending down to check my ear. Her fingers are gentle as she examines the scratch. “She’s normally such a sweet girl. Bringing another animal in must have scared her, poor thing.”
‘Poor thing? POOR THING?! I’ll show you poor thing, you mangy—’
‘Having trouble in there, princess?’
‘Don’t you DARE—’
Bea straightens up with a sigh. “Let’s get you settled. You can stay in the laundry room tonight. I’ll get you some blankets and a bowl of water.”
‘Stay? STAY?! Oh, absolutely not. Bea! BEA! He’s conning you! He’s a—’
‘A what? A shifter? Just like you?’
Silence. Beautiful, blessed silence.
For thirty seconds, anyway. ‘I’m nothing like you.’
‘Oh really? A shifter living a comfy life as an old lady’s pet? Yeah… I think we both know how that happens.’
‘You know nothing about me,’ she seethes.
‘Maybe. But I know enough to feel sure you need this roof over your head as much as I do. So maybe we both keep our mouths shut?’
A deep, deliberate silence falls. I can almost hear her gnashing her teeth from two rooms over.
While Bea gathers supplies to set me up in the laundry room, I take the opportunity to explore.
The house is even nicer than I thought—hardwood floors, crown molding, comfy furniture that’s well maintained.
There are photos everywhere. Bea with a man I assume was her husband. Bea at various ages, always smiling.
No kids in any of the photos, though. Just her and the man, and in the more recent ones, just her.
‘She’s lonely,’ I think, not really meaning to project it.
‘I know,’ Tabitha’s response is quieter. ‘That’s why I stay. And it’s why I won’t let you take advantage of her.’
“Here we go.” Bea appears again. “You’re all set up with food and water.
Come on little fox.” She beckons me over, and I hesitate a minute, much preferring the idea of curling up on her comfy couch over a pile of blankets in her laundry basket.
But after she coaxes me again, I figure beggars can’t be choosers, then follow her into the laundry.
I hop into the basket, twitching my ear just enough for her to believe I’m still in world-weary fox mode.
I play up the angle of a helpless, domesticated wild animal, coming in from the cold to collapse gratefully at her feet.
And she melts, just as I expect. Her palm smoothes my head, careful of the scratch, and her voice coos low.
“Such a sweet boy. We’ll have to think of a name. ”
Oh, shit. Here we go…
“How about Buttons?”
Buttons is awful!
“No. That doesn’t fit.”
You’re right. I’m glad we agree on that.
“Oh, I know! Sox. Because of your cute little feet.”
My what? No! My feet aren’t cute!
“Yes. Sox is perfect. You like that name?”
Not really. But I’ve been called worse, so…
“Oh good. Sox it is.” She pets me again. “Terribly thin, aren’t you? Don’t worry. I’ll fatten you up.”
‘I hope you get tapeworm,’ the cat thinks at me as Bea leaves the room. ‘I hope it gets so big you choke on it.’
All I do in response is get out of my basket and bury my face into the bowl of food, being sure to make as many pleasurable sounds as I can. ‘Mmm. So fucking good.’
‘Just you wait, fox-face. Bea will go to bed soon. And when she does, I’ll be waiting outside your door with a rusty cheese grater for your balls.’
‘And I’ll scream so loud she’ll wake up again.’
‘Of course you’d scream, pussy.’
‘You’re forgetting that I’m currently eating kibble by choice. Call me whatever you want, sweetheart. I have no pride.’
‘You’re the dumbest mammalian carnivore I have ever met.’
‘And you’re the cutest little house cat I’ve ever met.’
I hear a harrumph in my mind and smile to myself as I lick every last morsel from the bowl and knock it over for good measure. Then I curl up on the blankets, tail over nose, pretending I don’t care about the ongoing threat of grated genitals.
The moment I get comfy, I reach out with a final, ‘Good night, Whiskers.’ But this time I get absolutely nothing in return.
That’s unfun. And unsettling. She’s somewhere, seething, probably plotting bloodless murder, and if there’s one thing I know about cats, it’s that they don’t let anything go. Not grudges. Not pride. Not a single piece of chicken. I’ll be sleeping with one eye open.