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At least, not the one that shuts the downstairs off from the upstairs. There was no point. Vincent is nearly a head taller than me, and I got a front row seat to his brawny build. Mr. Whiskers has been able to throw his bulk against the door on the odd occasion that I forgot and closed it behind me. It always popped open. If he really is my cat, he’d know that, so why bother wasting my time?

That’s why, seconds later, I’m standing in the middle of my bedroom, glaring at the very locked door as Vincent knocks against the wood.

He could get past the cheap door easily and obviously did. But I’m a single woman in her early thirties living on her own. I put a decent lock on the door to my bedroom—as well as on the front and back door for my shop that, as my cat, Vincent wouldn’t have had to get around—and, whether he tried getting past it or not, it doesn’t matter.

I’m in here. He’s out there.

He’s also not happy about that fact.

“Kate? You can’t keep me out here. You know how much I hate it when you shut me out. I’m not going to scratch at the door because I have hands now instead of claws, but if you don’t open this door, I’ll just keep on knocking.”

“Go. Away.”

“I can’t. First of all, this is my home. And before you say it’s yours, that’s true, but you brought me in. You gave me a name, fed me, and let me sleep in your bed. Sorry, Kate, but I thought the courtship was going pretty well.”

I sputter. “Courtship? I thought you were a cat!”

“I am a cat. Your cat. Remember the pamphlet? Every day but Halloween, I’m a cat, and I’d rather not waste a few of my precious hours as a man asleep, but I know you need yours. I’ll sacrifice the hours to let you rest, but I insist you let me in.”

“To do what?” I retort. “Because, I’m sorry, I know what you told me downstairs, but if you think I’m going to sleep with you⁠—”

“Of course not.” His surprise filters through the closed door. “I told you that’s how we complete a mate bond, not that I expected you to want to mate me right away. We sleep for now. After all, I have until midnight tonight for that part.”

“Why, you⁠—”

Ugh!

I can’t help it. The way his surprise turned into pure smarmy arrogance has me marching over to the door, my poor, limp bun flopping with every powerful step. Unlocking the door even the little voice in the back of my head is telling me that I probably shouldn’t, I twist the knob and yank in the door.

Damn it. Is it possible for Vincent to have gotten even more attractive in the few minutes since I left him on the other side of the main door? Maybe it’s the way he’s leaning back on his heels, wearing a smirk that says he knew that it was only a matter of time before I opened the door to him.

“Hello, pumpkin.”

I point. “Get out.”

“Sweet, sweet Kate. We’ve already tried that. You told me to leave. I pretended you didn’t. You gave up on it… let’s just fast forward to that part, yeah? Because, I promise you, there’s no getting rid of a cat that thinks you’re his person, and that goes double for warlocks who have found their mate.”

I don’t care. “And I promise you, Whiskers, that I’m not about to let a stranger sleep in my bed with me no matter what he says he wants to do in it.”

“But I’m not a stranger. I’m your mate.”

“You were my cat an hour ago!”

“Both of those things can be true⁠—”

“No. You don’t get it.” Good thing I don’t have any neighbors nearby because the way my voice starts to climb, I’d be getting noise complaints for shrieking this late—or early, depending on how you look at it. “When you were Mr. Whiskers… I get dressed in front of you. You’ve seen me naked.” How often have I waltzed past my cat fresh out of the shower because, well, he’s a cat? “Did you know I was supposed to be your mate then?”

The look on his face tells me that yes, yes he did.

And if he knew…

“You’re supposedly some warlock, right? You told me you had enough magic when you’re Mr. Whiskers that you can hide your cat balls⁠—”

“You would, too, after the first time some well-meaning cat lady kidnapped you off the street and cheerily told you she was taking you to a butcher to get them chopped off,” Vincent mutters more to himself than me.

I ignore that. “You have magic. Have you used magic on me? Because I’m pretty sure you did before.”

“I didn’t want you to hurt yourself on the knife⁠—”