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The critter growled and leaped out of Striker’s reach as he tried to grab him and place him on the floor.

“You’ve got food. You can’t be hungry. I know you like those gross warm innards in your bowl.” He toed the bowl of rank looking food on the floor.

Dinky growled at him and tried to nip his ankle.

“And no more biting! I swear, if you weren’t Wren’s pet, I’d have you in the lab to be the next creature to autopsy. All in the name of scientific research, you understand.”

Dinky bared his teeth, and his fluffy mane puffed up.

Striker kept a wary eye on Dinky. He’d been snarling at him since he came in to make dinner for Wren. And he’d tried to trip him over twice and bite him a dozen times.

The smell of burning reached his nose. He yanked open the tiny cooker and scowled. The glazed fish and roasted vegetables smoked at him.

He pulled out the tray and dumped it on the side. “This is your fault, Dinky.” He grabbed a rolled up piece of foil off the side and slung it at the norkie. It sailed over his head and landed in the middle of the lounge.

Dinky’s tail flicked up. He turned and galloped after the foil. He grabbed it in his teeth and shook it before trotting back to Striker and dumping it by his feet.

“Huh! You want to play fetch?” Striker grabbed the foil and threw it back into the lounge.

Dinky bounced on his paws, turned, and raced after it.

“Who knew that norkies played games?” Striker glanced at the ruined dinner and frowned. There was no way he could serve that. None of it was edible.

He opened Wren’s fridge. She didn’t keep much food, only a few basic supplies. It made sense, since most of their meals were taken in the communal dining room. He found a few eggs, some vegetables, and whipped up an omelet.

Dinky head-butted him hard in the back of the leg and dumped a foil ball on his toe. He chirruped, purred, and rubbed his head against him.

“Oh, so we’re friends now?” Striker arched a brow at the norkie.

Dinky bounced up and down and nudged the foil ball at him.

“So long as it keeps you happy and out of the kitchen.” He grabbed a few more pieces of foil, balled them up, and slung all of them into the lounge.

Dinky readily accepted the challenge and raced after them, growling at each one before he threw it in the air and batted it around.

The main door opened. “Striker, are you burning something?”

He strode into the lounge, a smile on his face. He walked toward Wren, wrapped her in his arms, and kissed her. “It’s your evil pet’s fault.”

She grinned. “I didn’t know Dinky could cook.”

Striker snorted a laugh. A thrill rode up his spine as he held her close. It was the same every time he saw Wren. He couldn’t get enough of this woman.

“It’s going to be omelet,” he said.

“That’s fine.” She scooped up Dinky and kissed his head. “Have you been misbehaving?”

Dinky licked her cheek and snuggled against her chest.

Striker scowled at him. “He’s always an angel when he’s with you.”

“Are you two still butting heads over who’s in charge?” Wren set Dinky down and looked around the room. “Why is there foil everywhere?”

“It turns out Dinky likes to play fetch,” Striker said. “We’ve formed an uneasy alliance based on me throwing him foil balls.”

“Oh, sure. Norkies are playful in the wild. They make small balls of compacted mud and carry them around like their favorite toy. If you read the mission briefs—” she bit her bottom lip. “Well, it doesn’t matter. Since we’re working together, I can spot the signs of a norkie, and you can deal with the capture.”

“And I know to follow your rules so we’ll always be successful.” He kissed her soft lips, reveling in her taste for a moment.