“I wonder that every day,” Angel said from his place near the fridge.
I threw my hands up in defeat. “The training exercise read: simple recovery op. Deserted warehouse, onedamsel, but surprise, it was Count Grumpula. Supposed to be easy in and out. But nooo, some shadow bastard spooked the hellhounds and added me to the menu after probably, maybe, eating my ex-boyfriend. And no, not the fun kind of eating. Then we got the zombie vampire surprise party. Turns out when you mix necromancy with bloodsuckers, everybody loses, and I’m on the Pentagon’s radar. Today can officially go bite itself.”
“Who’s the grumpy one?” Angel asked.
Ivan stared at me as if I’d grown two heads.
“Ever accidentally commanded a vampire?” I asked my brother.
“No.”
“I think I’d rather turn into a cat,” I told him and kicked off my grimy shoes onto the mat by the door.
He nodded. “Yeah.”
“So would you like to maybe visit the weird supernatural dude that is probably better equipped to protect you while I’m gone, or hide with Grandpa?”
“Can I think about it?” Ivan asked and chewed his lip.
“Sure. You have all weekend.”
Ivan hesitated a long minute. “You said warehouse. Is that why you smell like a dumpster filled with expired sushi.”
I squawked. “What? No, I don’t.”
“It’s not that bad, but yeah,” Angel agreed. “You do. Maybe go hop in the shower while I make dinner.”
Ivan wrinkled his nose and took a step back. “I can toss your clothes down the trash chute.”
“I like these clothes.” Or had when I put them on this morning. I grumbled my way to the bathroom, annoyed with all the hyper-sniffing shifters in my life. But as soon as I turned the water on and steam began to fill the bathroom, all my irritation melted away. And Angel left his shower gel in there, which meant I could act like a love-sick idiot with no one watching and scrub with his soap. I rinsed off, shut down the water, and stepped out to dry myself but caught my reflection in the fogged mirror.
My back was bare. The tattoo of the dragon, gone. I spun, wiping the mirror frantically. Nothing. Just pale, bare skin. It hadn’t moved since I’d rescued the little critter more than a week ago. Angel suspected it was resting, maybe regenerating its magic, and suggested we keep an eye on it as it created helpful shields and healing for me rather than acting with malice. But now that it was gone?
Shit.
How? When?
I yanked on sweatpants and a tee, heart hammering. Where had it gone? Had the shadow god taken it? No. The twins smelled the fae in the elevator. Then where?
I burst into the living room and froze.
A fluffy smoke-gray Maine Coon kitten batted at Peanut Butter’s tail; its oversized paws comically uncoordinated. Ivan sat cross-legged on the floor, grinning as the kitten pounced between a crumpled receipt, Peanut Butter’s tail, and Ivan’s outstretched hands.
Angel leaned against the kitchen counter; arms crossed. Our eyes met. His gaze flicked to the kitten, then back to me. A tiny shrug. Kitten equals fae?
The gray puff ball slid himself along Peanut Butter’s side as if the two were the best of friends, then wound himself around Ivan’s legs for snuggles, plopping down in his lap.
“He’s really cute,” Ivan said, rubbing the cat’s belly. “Crawled out of your work bag. Why didn’t you say something?”
One hundred percent not really a kitten.
The kitten blinked up at me with dark purple eyes, too knowing. Weren’t all kitten’s eyes blue? And grown Maine Coons green or gold? I let out a long breath, trying to stem my worry.
“What are we going to call him?” Ivan asked.
“Nox,” I said without thought. As if the critter put the name in my head. The kitten blinked, a long, slow close and open of his eyes, then tucked himself nose to tail in Ivan’s lap. Could my brother sense the cat wasn’t a normal cat?
“Dinner will be ready in ten,” Angel said, eyeing our new addition. “I unpacked the rest of your work bag and the books Remi pulled for you.” He sighed. “It’s all basic practitioner theory.”
