“It’s a slippery slope, Doll Baby. There’s a never ending supply of feral kittens and if you get sucked into taking one, next thing you’ll have an entire colony living under your back porch.”
“That’s awfully specific," Hunter says.
“Yeah, well, lesson learned.” He goes quiet, eyes flicking between me, the kitten, and the boathouse. I can see the wheels turning, like he’s already made a decision but hasn’t said it out loud yet. Finally, he exhales. “Fuck,” he mutters. “Okay.”
“Okay?” I ask, heart leaping. “Really?”
“Yeah,” he says, already reaching for the flashlight again. “I’ll figure something out. But just the one. I’ll come back tomorrow and see if Mama took the bait.”
I turn, ready to argue further, just in case, but Hunter has gone completely still. For a beat, I think he’s about to say no.
Instead, he moves.
It’s quick and decisive. One step forward, a careful scoop. “Gotcha.”
The kitten freezes in his hands, all bones and trembling fury, then lets out a tiny, outraged hiss that barely qualifies as a threat. Hunter holds it like he’s handled fragile things before–firm enough to keep it from wriggling, gentle enough not to hurt it.
I laugh, breathless. “Oh my god.”
“It tried to bite me,” he says mildly, glancing down at it. “Respectable effort.”
Damon snorts. “Told you she was spicy.”
We hustle back to the truck, the cold biting harder now that the adrenaline’s worn off. Hunter settles the kitten into my lap once we’reinside, layering his jacket over it without a word. The little body shakes, then cautiously, stills.
I cradle it against my stomach, one finger resting near its crooked paw. It doesn’t bat this time. It just breathes, it’s little body warm and alive.Safe.
My chest aches in a good way.
“She’s going to be okay,” I say softly, more promise than fact.
Damon glances over from the passenger seat, eyes lingering on the kitten, then on me. “Yeah,” he says. “She is.”
The truck rumbles to life, headlights cutting through the dark, and for the first time all night, I feel light–like we stole something precious out of the dark and got away with it.
28
Hunter
The gas stationtwo blocks from campus is the kind that never really sleeps. It’s close enough to campus for freshmen to walk to and the guy behind the counter rarely checks ID. The air has a unique scent, the mix of gasoline and old grease drifting out of the mini-mart–fried food that’s been sitting under heat lamps too long.
I kill the engine and step out into the cold. It slices right through my jacket. We’re halfway through December. Exams are winding down. The solstice is a few days away. After that, the holidays. I haven’t thought much about whether I’ll go home or not. It’s strange, but the House of Night feels more like home than my parents' house ever did.
I twist the gas cap loose, metal cold against my palm, and hook the nozzle into place. There’s a scratch across the top of my knuckle–one the kitten made as we handed her over to a grinning Mateo after a late night stop for supplies. We weren’t sure if the King would allowa kitten in the house, but the dormitory? He probably wouldn't even notice.
Squeezing the handle, the pump hums, and I lean back against the truck and wait.
The bell on the shop door chimes and a tall, dark-haired woman steps out; it takes a second before my brain catches up.
Our eyes meet.
“Hunter,” Sofia Martinez says, her voice carrying easily over the hum of the pump.
“Evening.”
She stops a few feet away, hands tucked into the pockets of her coat like she’s keeping herself anchored. There’s a smudge of exhaustion under her eyes that every professor, TA, and student on campus has as the semester winds down.
“How’d you feel about the exam the other day?” she asks, going straight to TA mode.
