“Unlike with Urien, the deer avoid you,” Mabon said.
“The deer are skittish.” Rux stood and rolled his shoulders. “I’m naturally intimidating to prey animals. But cats? Cats appreciate confidence.”
“This cat,” Urien said quietly, “appreciates violence.”
“Then we’ll have something in common.” Rux headed for the door, already planning. Garden produce was Urien’s baby, but fresh-baked goods were his.
After Urien’s disaster, Rux had spent the rest of Saturday in the kitchen, and now seventeen different pastries were lined up on cooling racks. Croissants - plain, chocolate, almond. Danishes with cream cheese and berries. Those little Portuguesecustard tarts Mabon couldn’t get enough of. Cinnamon rolls that had taken three hours just for the dough, and that was without the biscuits, slices, and muffins in a variety of flavors. In his defense, Rux had no idea what Sam liked, so he was taking a mix of everything.
“Are you going now?” Mabon called after him.
“No time like the present.”
“It’s seven in the morning on a Sunday.”
Rux paused in the doorway. “Sam invited Urien in at dawn on a Saturday.”
“Sam invited Urien in because Urien was leaving vegetables on his doorstep like some kind of deranged gardening fairy. You said you’re just going to knock.”
“With pastries and sweet treats.” Rux grinned. “Seventeen kinds. The cat will smell the butter and forget all about his draconic prejudices.”
Urien made a sound that might have been a laugh or a warning. “I’d like tosee you manage the boxes and still knock on the door. And for the record, that cat doesn’t care about butter. That cat has murder on his mind.”
“We’ll bond.” Rux’s dragon stirred, pleased at the prospect of finally getting past Sam’s threshold. “I’ll win him over with charm.”
“Your charm.” Mabon’s voice dripped skepticism. “The same charm that had you making a fool of yourself the first time you talked to him?”
“I was nervous then. This is different.” Rux ducked into the kitchen and surveyed his work. The pastries crowded every available surface, golden and flaky, smelling amazing. He’d even made those little jam-filled cookies his mother used to bake; a recipe he had remembered from a century ago.
He loaded everything into boxes, stacked three high, and inhaled the mingled scent of vanilla, cinnamon, and almonds. No cat could resist the contents, and no human either. Samwould open the door and smell paradise.
“Just take the croissants,” Mabon appeared beside him and selected a box. “And the custard tarts. Leave the rest.”
“I’m taking all of them.”
“You’ll look insane.”
“I’ll look generous.” Rux added another box to the stack. “This is a thoughtful gesture – as if someone spent his entire Saturday thinking about what would make Sam happy.”
“We still don’t know what makes Sam happy.”
“That’s why I made seventeen kinds.”
Mabon pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is the six-coffee situation all over again.”
“This is different.” Rux balanced the boxes, headed for the door. “This is food. Everyone loves food, even homicidal cats.”
“Basil doesn’t love food,” Urien called from the library. “Basil loves blood and chaos.”
“Then he’ll love me.” Rux shouldered through the front door, boxes stacked to his chin. The morning air hit him, cool and fresh, and his heart stone burned with anticipation.
“This is a mistake,” Mabon said from the doorway.
“This is fate.” Rux loaded the boxes into the Range Rover, trying not to think about how right Mabon probably was. “Sam will smell these pastries and realize how wonderful I can be for him.”
“Sam will smell these pastries and call the police about the stalker leaving baked goods at seven on a Sunday morning.”
But Rux was in the driver’s seat, already pulling out of the drive. The cat would love him. How could it not?
