Chapter 9
Tabitha
“Now, where did I put that ribbon?” Bea mutters, rummaging through her craft supplies spread across the kitchen table. Halloween candy bags in various stages of completion surround her like a colorful army. “Ah! There it is.”
I’m curled up on the couch with Jasper, his fox body warm against mine, his tail draped over my back. To anyone looking—specifically Bea—we’re just two contented pets napping together in the evening light.
The reality is very different.
‘Your tail is on my face,’ I think at him.
‘Your ass is in my ribs.’
‘That’s because you’re hogging all the good cushions.’
‘I got here first.’
‘I live here.’
‘So do I. I’m a very tame fox, you know.’
I resist the urge to swat him and instead stretch, repositioning myself so my head is resting on his flank. He’s surprisingly comfortable as a pillow, all warm fur and steady breathing.
“Look at you two,” Bea says, glancing over with a fond smile. “My little best friends. I’m so proud of how well you’ve bonded.”
‘She has no idea,’ Jasper’s mental voice is smug.
‘I love how excited she’s been over how fast her training has worked.’
‘Hey, I’m an excellent student. I sit when told. I stay when told. I only destroy things when you frame me for it.’
‘That was one time!’
‘And I’m never letting you forget it.’
Bea continues making her candy bags, humming the tune to ‘Monster Mash.’ She’s been in high spirits all week, thrilled that her fox ‘training techniques’ have been such a success. If only she knew the real reason Sox has been so ‘well-behaved’.
It’s been a little over a week since that first night on the couch, and there hasn’t been a lot of sleeping ever since. By day we play our roles as devoted pets, and by night—
Well.
By night, Jasper sneaks into the spare bedroom where I’m waiting for him, and we make very good use of that lock on the door.
‘Wait. Is Bea the kind of owner who dresses her pets for Halloween?’ Jasper asks, and I can feel the spike of concern through our bond. ‘She’s not gonna put us in those weird costumes that make us look like tiny people running around with knives, is she?’
My body shakes with silent laughter.
‘I guess you’ll have to wait until tomorrow to find out,’ I tease.
‘That’s just cruel. You can’t torture me like that.’
I give another lazy stretch. ‘But it’s so fun.’
The only warning I get is the flick of his ear and a subtle tensing of muscle beneath my cheek.
In less than a breath, Jasper goes from limp, lazy fox to coiled predator.
He pivots—a blur of orange, white, and black—and before I can dig in my claws or even hiss, I’m rolling off the sofa and tangled in a heap of flailing limbs and tails.
You’d think a house cat could easily outmaneuver a fox.
But Jasper cheats. If he’s not tripping me with his ridiculous bottle-brush tail, he’s using his superior body weight to pin me to the rug.
I twist, contorting into the boneless, serpentine shape only cats can manage; he counters by planting a heavy paw on my shoulder, trying to lever me over with a force that would be comical if it weren’t so effective.
We hit the floor with a soft whomp. Bea looks up sharply from her cellophane and watches our tangle with concern.
I want to assure her it’s all a game, but then Jasper snags my scruff in his teeth—a move I absolutely refuse to admit that I like, but the jolt of electricity through my nerves says otherwise—and drags me two feet across the Persian rug before releasing me and flopping dramatically onto his side.
“Oh, he thinks you’re his baby, Whiskers,” Bea laughs, and I swear her voice sounds fond but a little wistful. “You know, I read that male foxes make excellent fathers. They take great care of their vixens, and have a very active role in parenting the cubs.”
Bea says it so casually, like it’s a charming factoid, not a live grenade lobbed directly at my deepest, darkest neurosis. My whole body goes rigid. Jasper’s ears flick forward, his tail thumping once against the hardwood.
‘Did she just—’
‘Don’t start,’ I warn, trying and failing to reign in the warmth prickling up my cheeks, which is a feat for a cat, and worse, a dead giveaway to the asshole currently mind-melding me.
‘She thinks we’d make good parents.’
‘No. She thinks you think I’m a fox cub. She’s calling you delusional.’
‘No. I think she knows we’re in love.’
‘Love?’ I scoff mentally, but my purr is involuntary. ‘That’s going a bit far, don’t you think?’
He flicks his tail. ‘Now who’s delusional?’
The truth is, these past few days have been.
.. perfect. Better than perfect. During the day, we lounge around the house together—him sprawled in sunny spots, me on my heated bed or perched on windowsills.
Bea fusses over us, feeds us leftovers and premium food, reads us excerpts from her fox behavior books like we’re actually learning something.
“It says here that foxes are incredibly social creatures,” she’d told us yesterday, completely serious. “They form strong pair bonds. Just like you two have!”
I’d almost choked on my kibble.
But the nights. God, the nights—and any moment we’re alone during the day too.
The moment Bea either falls asleep or leaves home to run an errand, we’re immediately shifted and in each other’s arms. And we don’t always make it to the spare room.
So far, we’ve christened the kitchen counter, the door of the hallway closet, and—memorably—the bathroom again, because apparently we have a thing for that particular location.
‘We have a thing for each other,’ Jasper corrects, reading my thoughts. ‘The location is just wherever we happen to be when the need becomes unbearable.’
‘The need is always unbearable with you around.’
‘Likewise, kitty.’
And it’s not just the sex—though the sex is mind-blowing, especially with our bond amplifying everything.
It’s the quiet moments too. The conversations we have while tangled together afterward.
The way he holds me while we fall asleep, even though he always has to sneak back to the laundry room before dawn.
Of course, it hasn’t all been perfect. We’ve had some close calls.
Like yesterday morning, when Bea came downstairs early and nearly caught us on the kitchen counter.
Jasper barely had time to shift and bolt back to the laundry room before she rounded the corner, and I had to pretend I’d knocked over a container of treats and get scolded for being ‘naughty.’ Which, honestly, was fair.
Or the day before, when her friend Marjorie stopped by unexpectedly and we had to scramble—Jasper diving behind the couch in human form, shifting before he hit the floor. And me shifting mid-leap and landing on the sofa as a cat.
‘You seem worried all of a sudden,’ he thinks at me now.
‘Just thinking about our close calls. We really need to be more careful.’
‘But we didn’t get caught. We’re getting good at this.’
‘We’re getting lucky. Eventually, our luck will run out. What happens if we mate tie again?’
‘Then we shift together and the humans will be scandalized witnessing a fox and a cat doing bad, bad things to each other.’
I refuse to dignify him with a response, even though the image that flashes through my brain is mortifyingly vivid. ‘You are such a pervert,’ I send back eventually.
He gives me a slow, mocking wink, then curls his tail over my face again—this time with a deliberate, languorous stroke soft as silk. It takes all my effort not to yowl my outrage. Instead, I plant my paw squarely on the bridge of his nose and push.
‘Oh, kinky. You want to do feet stuff? I can do feet stuff.’ he thinks, biting gently at my toes.
I jerk my paw away and settle for glaring at him until he rolls over, exposing his belly in the most undignified way possible, then stretches with a human-like yawn that makes all his teeth gleam in the sunbeam.
Unfair. Nobody that annoying should be so attractive, even as a fox.
“Oh darn it,” Bea interrupts, staring at her supplies. “I’m out of the orange ribbon. And I need it for the bags to look right.” She checks her watch. “The store’s still open for another hour. I should run out now.”
She stands, gathering her purse and keys. “You two be good while I’m gone. I’ll be back in thirty minutes.”
We watch from the floor as she puts on her coat and heads out the front door. The car starts. Backs out of the driveway. Disappears down the street.
We wait exactly five seconds after the sound of the engine fades.
Then we both shift at the same time.
I barely have my human form before Jasper’s hands are on my waist, lifting me up. I wrap my legs around him instinctively, my arms going around his neck as his mouth crashes into mine.
“Thirty minutes,” he murmurs against my lips.
“We should make it count,” I breathe back.
“Oh, I intend to.”