Brux had looked at the spoolers with some interest, filing the information away for later. One of them—which was hanging upside down and chewing something it held with tiny dexterous hands—had blinked all six of its bright orange eyes at him and then spat a sticky glob at the barrier for no reason he could determine.
Kiera laughed.
“See? No manners at all.”
Buck had chuffed in amusement and Kiera had laughed again and rubbed his ears.
That was another thing he had discovered over the past week. If he did almost anything—chuffed, whuffed, tilted his head, pressed against her, came when she called, obeyed a command—Kiera praised him lavishly as though he were the cleverest being in the universe. She told him he was a good boy so often that the words had begun to feel like a kind of warm spell she laid over him, one that soothed his nerves and made his heart beat harder in his chest.
Of course, Brux knew he was not actually a “boy.” He was a fully grown Lykan warrior, with many kills under his belt. But somehow, when Kiera spoke in that soft, affectionate voice, he didn’t mind what she called him—he was just happy to be near her and to be pleasing her.
Their days quickly fell into a routine.
Kiera would rise with the first pale purple light of morning and Buck would rise with her. He was almost always awake before she was, watching her sleep and breathing in her scent while he lay curled around her beneath the covers. Sometimes she woke with her face buried in his ruff and one soft brown leg thrown over his flank, and every time that happened, Buck had to remind himself very sternly that he was not yet able to Bond her and ought not to try.
Then she would yawn and stretch and smile sleepily at him and say something like,
“Morning, Buck. Sleep good?” as if he were merely a beloved pet instead of a male hanging onto his self—control by the thinnest of threads. But of course, she didn’t know his true nature—how could she, Brux reminded himself.
After breakfast came the daily rounds.
Kiera checked every enclosure personally, though the work—bots handled the heaviest labor—carrying feed, scrubbing troughs, mending fences, hauling fresh bedding, and all the other endless maintenance that went into caring for so many strange, alien creatures. Still, Kiera liked to put eyes on each of her animals at least once a day.
She checked their food and water and watched how they moved. She peered into mouths and ears, and checked claws, scales, feathers, and fur. She cooed over the animals and scolded them and made little notes on her wrist—screen when she saw something she wanted to follow up on later. It was clear that she really loved them, which warmed Brux’s heart.
Another thing that warmed his heart was the fact that she took him everywhere with her.
At first he had simply shadowed her because he hated the idea of letting her out of his sight. But very quickly he discovered that he could be useful to her—more than useful, in fact—he was excellent at helping herd escaped animals back where they belonged.
The first time it happened was on the third morning after he came to live with her. Some kind of power fluctuation had knocked out the lower—level barriers on one side of the petting zoo during the night. When Kiera came outside that morning carrying a bucket of feed pellets and humming softly to herself, she found no fewer than twelve theebles loose on the grounds.
The tiny creatures, which Brux had heard her describe as “neon kittens with beaks and useless wings” were everywhere. Two had climbed onto the roof of the flefur shed and were screeching insults in high angelic voices.
“Bad bird! Bad bird! Oh shit! Oh shit!” they screamed at the flefur birds, which were shifting uneasily on their perches.
Another theeble got itself stuck headfirst in an empty watering can and was running in frantic circles while muffled cheeping noises echoed from inside the metal container.
Three more were bouncing through the silver—threaded meadow grass like neon—colored popcorn, their tiny, vestigial wings flapping uselessly as they chirped random swear words.
“Oh no,” Kiera said faintly, stopping dead in her tracks. “No. No—no—no—no—no.”
At the sound of her voice, all twelve theebles turned to look at her. Then, in perfect unison, they cheeped, “Kiera! Kiera! Kiera!” and scattered in twelve different directions.
“Damn it…” Kiera sighed and put a hand over her face.
Brux, who had thought them ridiculous from the beginning, sat down and regarded the chaos with grave disapproval. He didn’t like anything that caused his mate distress.
“They’re not supposed to do this,” Kiera said, as if explaining the situation to him somehow made it less absurd. “They’re supposed to be sweet and cuddly for visiting children, not little feathery felons! And the swearing is really getting out of hand,” she added.
Suddenly, one of the theebles launched itself at her from the roof of the flefur shed and landed on her head.
“Kiss my ass!” it cheeped brightly. “Kiss it! Kiss it! Kiss my furry ass!”
Kiera shrieked in surprise and flapped her arms.
The theeble launched itself from her head to the ground, laughing—actually laughing—in a little high—pitched trill.
Brux had never in his life seen anything so foolish. Still, Kiera was clearly distressed, so he sprang into action.
