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He shrugs his shoulders. “Nothing.”
That was not ‘nothing’. That was—
I grit my teeth and glare at him. “Where is my cat?”
“Right in front of you.”
“I don’t see him. Where is he?”
“Technically—”
“Where. Is. My. Cat?”
“Fate says this is supposed to be easy...” Vincent sighs. “Kate, I am your cat.”
FOUR
DON’T MAKE HIM CRANKY
“You’re blond,” I tell him stupidly.
Later, I’ll blame it on shock, plus the fact that I got maybe two hours of sleep before I woke up to discover a naked pie thief chowing down on my cherry pie and claiming to be Mr. Whiskers. Instead of saying that it’s impossible—because it is—or running away from him, I look at him in bewilderment and comment on his hair color.
Vincent lifts his pie-stained hand, ruffling his hair. “Yup.”
“Mr. Whiskers has black fur.”
“So?”
“If you want me to believe that you’re somehow my cat, shouldn’t you have black hair? Or he should have blond fur?”
He cocks his head. “Have you ever seen a cat with blond fur, Kate?”
My jaw works for a moment before I spit out, “No, but I haven’t heard of a man being able to turn into a cat, either!”
He crosses his arms over his chest. “Warlock.”
I rip my gaze away from the way his muscles rippled to form his new pose. “Excuse me?”
“I’m not a man,” Vincent insists. “Not a human man. I’m a warlock male.”
Insane. This is insane—
“I thought you were supposed to be a cat!”
His fingers travel over the black tattoo on his right arm. “I am a cat. Your cat.”
“That’s impossible.” I notice that I’ve relaxed my grip on the knife. I lift it up again. “I need my phone? There’s got to be someone looking for you. If not the men in white coats, then the police. I’ve got to call them.”
“For eating a little pie?”
“For breaking into my shop and possibly murdering my suddenly missing cat!”
“Kate?” I don’t know what’s worse: how he keeps using my name, or that he says it in a mixture of affection and exasperation. “I just told you. I am your cat.”
“You can’t be. I—oh.”
Something warm brushes over me.
