That was when something shrieked outside.
I jerked upright and banged my shoulder against the edge of a shelf.
“Damn it.”
Another shriek followed, and then a chorus of bleats, high and furious. Something thudded hard enough that I felt it through the floorboards.
For one stupid second, I thought something was attacking the house.
Then I remembered Kazan had goats.
Glow-goats, because of course they couldn’t just be goats.
I climbed back onto the footstool and leaned over the sink to look out the window.
There was a pen beside the house, fenced in with thick rails. I’d seen it earlier, but I hadn’t paid much attention. Now it wasfull of small white animals bouncing around like someone had insulted their ancestors.
And in the middle of them stood Kazan.
He’d taken off his flannel shirt.
That was the first problem.
The second problem was that underneath it he wore a sleeveless shirt that did not hide a single useful thing. His skin was a deep terracotta red; his arms were enormous, and the scars across his shoulders and chest caught the late light in thin lines.
I should have looked away.
I knew that immediately.
There were rules about this sort of thing. Probably. I didn’t know the customs here, but I was fairly sure spying through a kitchen window while your new almost-husband played with livestock wasn’t polite.
I kept watching anyway.
One goat reared up and planted its front hooves on his thigh. Kazan didn’t even wobble. He scratched it between the horns, and it leaned into him like it had never been denied anything in its life.
Another goat charged him from behind and rammed into the back of his knee.
Kazan staggered.
Not because the goat had enough force to move him. I was pretty sure a small vehicle would have trouble with that. He staggered because he was pretending, and then he laughed.
The sound came through the glass, low and rough and so easy that it made my chest feel strange.
I didn’t like that either.
The goat that had attacked him looked extremely proud of itself. It bounced sideways, shook its little head, and came backfor more. Kazan bent down, scooped it up under the belly, and tossed it.
Not far. Not hard. Just a gentle little lift through the air.
The goat landed, froze for half a second, and then ran straight back to him.
He did it again.
And again.
The ridiculous creature loved it.
A different goat had gotten hold of the hem of his shirt and was chewing on it with deep determination. Kazan reached down without looking and scratched its head too.
