Hastings stared at Mr. Cheddar, his expression unreadable.
Then he let out a short, surprised laugh.
"He's remarkably scruffy," Hastings said, stepping forward. His eyes tracked the tattered orange ears, the bent whisker, the scar across Mr. Cheddar's nose from some long-ago fight.
"He's a survivor," I sniffled, wiping my nose with my sleeve. Mr. Cheddar's purr ramped up another notch. "And I'm warning you now that he's really grumpy. He doesn't like men. He'll probably scratch the Italian leather in your car. He might even pee on your handmade shoes if you look at him wrong."
I waited for the growl. Mr. Cheddar usually hated men. Hissed at them. Swiped at their ankles. Made his displeasure known in violent,creative ways.
But when he looked at Hastings, his golden eyes narrowed.
"Be good if you want to stay," I whispered into his fur.
The cat let out a loud, rumbling trill.
And in a move that shocked me to my core, he leaned out of my arms and stretched his entire scruffy body forward before rubbing his face all over the lapel of Hastings' expensive wool coat.
He left a wet streak behind. And what looked like a bit of dried food.
Hastings froze.
He looked down at the cat. Then at the damp, slightly dirty fabric of his jacket.
I held my breath, waiting for the complaint. The disgust. The "Absolutely not, that creature is not coming home with us."
But Hastings just smiled. It was slow, genuine, transforming his entire face. He looked younger. Softer. Like the man I'd glimpsed in Wales when he'd dropped to his knees and apologized.
He reached out a tentative hand and scratched behind the cat’s tattered ears. His purr went supersonic.
"I think we can make room for one more grump in the pack," Hastings murmured.
My throat closed up. Fresh tears spilled down my cheeks, but these were happy tears. Grateful tears.
Fritz laughed, clapping a hand on Hastings' shoulder. "Careful, Henry. I think he's claimed you."
"Looks like it," Hastings agreed, still scratching. Mr. Cheddar had gone boneless in my arms, his eyes half-closed in bliss.
"Let's go home," Etienne said, stepping forward to wrap an arm around my waist. He pressed a kiss to my temple, then reached out to stroke Mr. Cheddar's head. "Welcome to the pack, mon ami."
I leaned into Etienne, holding my cat, my heart finally feeling light. For the first time since Hastings had claimed me, the bond didn't feel like a weight or a complication.
More a circle that was finally closing.
"Wait," I said, my smile fading as I remembered the cold fear in Maeve's voice. "We have one more rescue to do."
The alphas' expressions instantly sharpened. The easy warmth drained away, replaced by something harder. More dangerous.
"Maeve," Hastings said, his voice dropping into that dark, lethal tone that usually terrified me. But today, I was glad for it. "I have it on good authority that she's in a small bed and breakfast close to the beach in Scarborough."
"Not Bridlington?" I whispered, clutching Mr. Cheddar tighter. He mewed in protest, but didn't struggle. "She's already moved. She really is scared that he's coming for her."
"Then we find her before he does," Fritzsaid simply.
The Scarborough bed and breakfast was painted a cheerful yellow that clashed with the gray sky and grayer sea beyond it. A hand-painted sign swung in the wind:The Seabreeze - Vacancies.
The helicopter had landed on the beach car park, drawing stares from the handful of tourists brave enough to walk the pier in February.
I climbed out, still clutching Mr. Cheddar. He'd calmed down during the flight, curling into a ball on my lap and occasionally opening one eye to glare at Fritz, who'd tried to pet him.
