Page 103

“Morrigan,” she says, “this is Edward.”

Morrigan blinks once. It feels like a verdict.

“She is not impressed,” I say.

“She rarely is.”

The ocelot lowers her head slightly, growling. I have faced debt collectors, The Collector’s smile, and my brother when he has decided explosives are a reasonable solution to a locked door. None of them have looked at me with such complete disdain.

Olive walks to the side table and pours herself water. “You have met before, I believe.”

I glance at her. She does not look at me; her mouth, however, curves.

My stomach drops. “I am not sure what you mean.”

“Morrigan is very protective of the balcony.”

Damn.

I clear my throat. “Ah.”

Olive turns, glass in hand. “Were you or were you not standing outside my balcony one evening like a suspicious ghost?”

“I was ensuring you were safe.”

“You were stalking.”

“Protectively observing.”

“That is stalking in a nicer coat.” Her tone is amused.

Morrigan makes a harrowing sound. I look at the cat. The cat looks at me.

“I did not realize she would throw herself at the glass.”

Olive’s brows lift. “She attacked the balcony door?”

“She expressed displeasure.”

“She terrified you.” Olive giggles to herself.

“No.”

Morrigan’s tail flicks. I sigh. “Possibly.”

Olive laughs. The sound loosens something in my chest. She sets down her glass and crosses the room toward me. “Morrigan has excellent instincts.”

“She thinks I am an intruder,” I explain.

“You were.”

“Once.”

“More than once?”

I say nothing. Her smile becomes dangerous.

“Edward.”