Chapter 4
Tabitha
The house is silent except for the soft tick of the grandfather clock in the hallway. Midnight. Bea’s been asleep for a few hours now, her gentle snores drifting down from upstairs.
Time to make my move.
I shift in the darkness of my room, bones stretching and reforming until I’m standing on two legs instead of four. The cool air hits my bare skin and I peek out into the hall, making sure I’m alone as I head upstairs to grab my robe from its hiding spot.
I tie the belt tight and do what I do every night—tiptoe into Bea’s room to check on her. She has a habit of forgetting to put her hearing aids on charge, so I always make sure to do that for her.
Her door is slightly ajar, and I ease it open just enough to slip through.
The room smells like her—that soft mix of rose hand cream and the lavender sachets she keeps in her dresser drawers.
She’s sprawled across her bed, mouth slightly open, one arm flung over her eyes. The hearing aids are on her nightstand.
Not on the charger. Again.
I smile despite myself and move quietly to her bedside.
She’s fallen asleep with her book still open—a romance novel with the silhouette of a golden wolf surrounded by roses—so I slide her bookmark into place and close it.
Then I pick up her hearing aids and place them in their charging case.
The little light turns green, and I allow myself a moment to just.. . look at her.
She looks peaceful. Happy, even in sleep.
And I almost ruined that tonight by attacking her new ‘rescue.’
Guilt twists in my stomach. Bea opened her home to that fox because that’s who she is—kind, generous, always wanting to help. And my first instinct was to tear him apart.
But on the other hand, it’s not like he was just some regular animal rescue.
That fox is a shifter, and a man at that.
I was just doing my job by protecting a kind old woman from a grown ass man trying to take advantage of her.
And even though I know Bea is a bleeding heart and just loves the idea of having another animal for company, I can’t let this continue. That mangy fox has to go.
I move back downstairs to the living room with renewed purpose, my earlier plan to terrorize him coming back in full force.
Maybe I’ll stand over him while he sleeps, let him wake up to a human face inches from his.
Or I could bang some pots together—Bea would never hear without her hearing aids in.
Or shift right on top of him so he wakes up with a cat on his chest, claws out.
The possibilities are endless, and I’m savoring each one as I pad silently through the living room toward the laundry room.
“What are we being sneaky for?”
I jump, spinning around.
And collide face-first with a wall of muscle.
Warm, solid, very male muscle that smells like wood smoke and something wild I can’t quite place.
My hands shoot out instinctively, pressing against his bare chest to steady myself, and oh my god, those are abs. Actual, real abs.
Wait.
I jerk my head up and my mouth goes completely dry.
He’s tall. Much taller than I expected. At least six feet two, maybe more, with broad shoulders and a lean, athletic build.
His hair is black, like the tip of his fox tail, messy and sticking up in all directions like he’s been running his hands through it or just doesn’t care to brush. And his face—
Fuck.
His face is all sharp angles and amused eyes, with a smile that’s equal parts charming and infuriating. He’s got a bit of scruff along his jaw, and there’s a small scar through his left eyebrow that somehow makes him even more attractive.
And he’s wearing nothing but a blanket wrapped around his waist like a towel. My fingers itch to reach down and…tug.
“Like what you see?” he asks, and his voice—his actual voice, not the one in my head—is low and rough and does things to my insides that I absolutely refuse to acknowledge.
I snatch my hands back like I’ve been burned, taking a step backward. “You—how—what are you doing out here?”
“I could ask you the same thing.” He quirks an eyebrow, looking completely at ease, like wandering around a stranger’s house nearly naked is a totally normal activity. “Although I’m guessing from the murder I saw in your eyes, you were coming to visit me.”
“Visit is a strong word. I was thinking more along the lines of terrorize.”
“Hot.”
My face flushes. “Shut up.”
He grins wider as he lifts his right arm and takes a bite from something. A turkey leg. A massive, cooked turkey leg that I know for a fact was in the fridge because Bea was saving it for sandwiches tomorrow.
“You can’t eat that!” I hiss, reaching for it.
He lifts it out of my reach—because apparently being tall wasn’t enough, he has to use it against me too. “Why not, kitty-cat?”
“Because Bea will notice it’s gone! I never take anything she needs.”
“She’s old.” He takes another bite, completely unconcerned. “She’ll just think she ate it and forgot.”
“That’s—you can’t—” I jump for the turkey leg and he pivots, holding it even higher. “Give me that!”
“Come and get it, princess.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Would you prefer Whiskers?”
I growl—actually growl—and make another grab for it. This time he steps back and I stumble forward, catching myself on his chest again.
We’re close now. Really close. Close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off his skin, can see the flecks of gold in his amber eyes, can smell that wild scent even stronger now.
“You want a bite? It’s delicious.” He wafts the turkey leg in front of my face, and fuck me, it does smell good.
My mouth begins to salivate, and I can practically imagine the taste and the texture on my tongue.
“Yeah. You want it bad, don’t you? It’s OK.
I won’t tell. Just lean in and take a great. big. bite.”
Instead of giving in, I reach up and snatch the turkey leg from his grasp, spinning away from him as fast as I can and running it back into the kitchen, placing it on the plate he left sitting empty in the fridge. Typical.
“That wasn’t very fair, kitty.”
I glare at him. But you know what’s really unfair?
The fact that he’s now fully in the kitchen with me, his stupidly wide shoulders filling the doorway, a smug look on his face.
The blanket is barely doing its job, threatening to slip at any second, and I absolutely will not let my eyes dip below the collarbone.
Not even once. My dignity is already on life support.
I carefully reassemble the saran wrap as if that’ll somehow disguise the bite radius then close the fridge.
He leans against the counter, arms crossed, the muscle in his forearm flexing in a way that honestly seems intentional.
He doesn’t even try to hide the fact that he’s watching me, tracking every flustered movement with those lazy, calculating eyes.
“Are you planning to keep staring at me all night, or…?”
His gaze drops, slowly raking down my body. Taking in the robe, the bare legs beneath it, the realization that I’m not wearing anything underneath.
“You know,” he says, his voice dropping even lower as he stalks toward me, “you are way hotter in human form.”
My knees wobble. Then my brain catches up with my body, and I hold up my hands, showing him my very human, very sharp nails. “And yet my nails are just as sharp as my claws.”
He looks at my hands. Then back at my face. Then he actually has the audacity to chuckle—this low, rough sound that does absolutely nothing for me except make heat coil low in my belly.
“Yes, please, kitty,” he murmurs. “Do bad things to me.”
“You’ve got some nerve,” I tell him, but my voice comes out thin and scratchy. Not the dangerous feline purr I was going for.
He cocks his head, eyes narrowing. “I’m pretty sure you were the one getting ready to murder me in my sleep. I was just up having a snack.”
“You’re—this is—I’m not—” I stumble over my words, which makes me even more angry because I don’t stumble. Ever. “Stop being so—”
“So what?” He tilts his head in the opposite direction, all faux innocence except for the wicked glint in his eyes.
“So—” I gesture vaguely at all of him. “This!”
“This?”
“Yes! This whole—” I wave my hand at his stupid attractive face and his stupid attractive chest and his stupid attractive everything. “Whatever this is!”
“Are you saying you think I’m hot?”
“No!”
“Because it kind of sounds like you’re saying I’m hot.”
“I’m saying you’re annoying!”
“Those aren’t mutually exclusive.”
I open my mouth. Close it. Open it again. No words come out.
He grins like he’s won some kind of prize. “How do you think it’d work?”
“What?”
“A fox and a cat. Cats go into heat, right? And the males of your species have this weird backward—”
“I’m not discussing this with you.”
I cut him off and my cheeks burn. He smirks.
“But you’re thinking about it.” His eyes travel down my body again. “Don’t worry. I’m thinking about it too.”
“You bring that thing near me and I’m calling animal control,” I snap, “or maybe I’ll neuter you myself.”
He throws his head back and laughs, genuine and wild, and I have to suppress a shiver at the way it vibrates through the space. The sound is dangerously infectious.
I take a step back and realize, too late, that I have boxed myself into the corner by the fridge. He just stands there, arms crossed, eyes glinting with animal amusement, making no move to touch me but also making no move to leave.
“So what’s the plan, kitty-cat?” he asks. “Gonna chase me out with a spray bottle?”
“Don’t tempt me,” I say, but the bite is gone from my voice. “Where on earth did you come from anyway?”
He shrugs, which makes the blanket slip a full inch lower on his hips. I force my vision upward, but the effort gives me a headache. “Here and there. I get by.”