Accidentally on Purr-pose (Paranormal Dating Agency #112)

1. Freesia

ONE

FREESIA

Steam curled from Freesia's coffee mug as she studied the worn map spread across the kitchen table in their tiny safehouse, her eyes tracking the routes she'd memorized weeks ago.

This safehouse had become familiar over the past two months—peeling wallpaper, creaking floorboards, and the persistent drip from the bathroom faucet that no amount of tightening could fix.

But home was a luxury she couldn't afford right now, even if this place had offered something nearly as precious.

Temporary safety.

Luka sat across from her with his green eyes fixed on the perimeter he'd sketched around their current location, his tactical mind calculating distances and studying terrain.

But dark circles shadowed his features, evidence of another restless night spent checking exit routes and listening for sounds that didn't belong.

"Three vehicles passed the eastern checkpoint yesterday," he said, tapping his pen against the table. "Same route, different drivers each time. Could be a coincidence."

Freesia's tigress stirred beneath her skin, responding to the tension in his voice. Three months on the run had taught her to trust Luka's instincts completely—the exiled jaguar scout that had become her unlikely ally possessed an uncanny ability to sense danger before it announced itself.

"Could be reconnaissance," she replied, setting down her mug. "How long before we know for certain?"

"We don't wait to find out." Luka folded the surveillance notes he'd been keeping and tucked them into his jacket pocket. "If I'm wrong, we've lost a day of travel. If I'm right..."

He didn't need to finish. They both understood the stakes.

Freesia's survival meant more than preserving one royal bloodline—it meant protecting four centuries of peace that someone desperately wanted to shatter.

The Waverly Compact rested in a small pack beside her chair, its ancient parchment containing promises that had kept Singapore's big cat prides from tearing each other apart since Queen Valeria's time.

The weight of that responsibility pressed against her shoulders every morning when she woke and every night before she slept. Sometimes she wondered if her ancestors had felt this crushing certainty that one mistake would doom everyone who trusted them.

"The northern route takes us closer to Vael territory," Freesia observed, studying the map with fresh eyes. "That's dangerous for you."

Luka's laugh held no humor. "Everything's dangerous for me. Cassian made sure of that when he exiled me. But the people at that safehouse aren't loyal to him—they're loyal to something better."

Something better.

The phrase resonated in ways that made her chest tighten. Freesia had spent three months focused solely on preservation, on keeping alive what her family had died protecting. But Luka spoke as if survival was just the beginning, not the end goal.

"You trust them?" she asked.

"I trust their hatred of what Cassian's become.

" Luka spread a second map across the first, this one showing elevation changes and water sources along their proposed route.

"The safehouse is run by a family that lost two sons to Cassian's 'expansion efforts' last year.

They won't turn us over to the bastard who killed their children. "

Freesia nodded, though something cold settled in her stomach.

Every alliance they'd formed over the past months had been built on shared loss, mutual enemies, and the desperate hope that tomorrow might be different from today.

But most importantly, she was grateful for Luka's protection—without him, she would have died in those first terrifying weeks after the attack on her pride territory that killed her family and many of her pride members.

Yet some days, their partnership felt fragile, held together by circumstances neither of them had chosen.

Stop thinking like that, she told herself firmly.

Luka had proven his loyalty a dozen times over. He'd shared his rations when food ran low, taken the night watch when exhaustion left her stumbling, and never once suggested she'd be safer without him. Whatever his reasons for helping her, they went deeper than political calculation.

"Ten miles through rough terrain," Luka continued, tracing their route with his finger. "We can make it in six hours if we push hard, longer if we encounter patrols."

"What about supplies?" Freesia pulled out the inventory list she'd been updating. "We're low on ammunition and medical supplies. Food will last another week if we're careful."

"The northern safehouse is better stocked." Luka's expression darkened. "Has to be. It's in contested territory where Cassian's forces patrol the area regularly, looking for anyone who refuses to fall in line."

The casual way he mentioned his cousin's brutality still caught Freesia off guard sometimes.

Luka spoke of Cassian's violence with the weary resignation of someone who'd watched a loved one transform into a stranger.

She recognized the tone because she'd used it herself when talking about the scattered remnants of her pride, the family members she couldn't save, and the home that no longer existed.

"We'll need to move fast once we're in Vael territory," she said, making notes on their supply list. "No extended stops and no unnecessary risks."

"Agreed." Luka folded the elevation map and reached for a third chart showing known patrol routes. "But Freesia... once we're there, we might learn things about what happened to your family. The people running that safehouse have connections throughout the region. They hear things."

Freesia's pen stilled against the paper.

For three months, she'd focused on immediate survival, on protecting the Waverly Compact and staying ahead of whoever had orchestrated the attack.

She'd deliberately avoided thinking too deeply about the larger questions—who had betrayed her territory's security, how the attackers had known exactly when to strike, why the assault had been so precisely coordinated.

Because those questions led to answers she wasn't sure she was ready to face.

"Information is good," she said carefully. "But our priority remains the same. Protect the Compact, stay alive, and keep moving."

Luka studied her face with the same intensity he brought to reading terrain maps. "And after that? Once we've stayed alive long enough to matter again—what then?"

The question hung between them like a challenge. Freesia had spent so long thinking in terms of days and weeks that the concept of "after" felt foreign. What came after survival? What came after protecting her family's legacy?

Rebuilding, whispered a voice in the back of her mind that sounded suspiciously like her mother. You rebuild what was lost.

But rebuilding required hope, and hope felt like a luxury she couldn't afford these days.

"Let's focus on reaching the safehouse first," she said instead. "Everything else can wait."

Luka nodded, though his expression suggested he wasn't entirely satisfied with her answer.

"We leave in two hours," he said. "Pack light but bring everything we can't replace."

Freesia rose from the table and grabbed the small bag that contained the Compact, mentally cataloguing everything she'd need for another journey into uncertainty.

The Waverly Compact, her weapons, the few personal items she'd managed to save from the attack.

Everything that remained of a life she'd once taken for granted and now missed deeply.

Her thoughts drifted to Queen Valeria and the courage it must have taken to unite enemies who'd been killing each other for generations.

Her ancestor had built something lasting from the wreckage of endless war.

Maybe that was what came after survival—the chance to build something better than what had been destroyed.

But first, they had to reach the northern safehouse alive.

The sharp rap against the front door of the safehouse sliced through the stillness like a blade, sending both Freesia and Luka into instant combat readiness. Her hand flew to the gun at her hip while Luka's gun appeared in his grip with the precision of someone who'd survived months on the run.

Freesia's tigress surged beneath her skin as every instinct screamed danger. Three months of running had conditioned her body to react before her mind could process threats, and the unexpected sound triggered every alarm she'd learned to trust.

"Get to the back door," Luka whispered, his green eyes already calculating distances and escape routes. "Now."

But Freesia held her position, her weapon drawn but not yet aimed while her royal training warred with survival instincts. Something felt different about this intrusion—less predatory and more... deliberate.

Luka moved toward the window with the silent grace that had kept them alive, pressing himself against the wall beside the frame they'd strategically positioned to observe visitors without exposing themselves.

She could tell his jaguar was coiled and ready, every muscle in his body tense with the expectation of violence.

"Older woman," he reported after a careful glance, confusion replacing the deadly focus in his voice. "Designer pantsuit. Looks like she's dressed for a board meeting, not a manhunt."

Freesia's grip on her weapon didn't loosen. "No one looks harmless anymore."

The truth of that statement hung between them. Three months ago, she'd trusted appearances, believed in the safety of protocols, and assumed her family's centuries-old protections would hold. Now she knew better. Death wore many faces, and some of them smiled.

But Luka's posture had shifted from lethal readiness to cautious curiosity, and she'd learned to read his body language like a survival manual. If he wasn't preparing to kill, perhaps she could afford a moment of restraint.