Page 25 of Murder Mittens

I did not have a week to appease her or stake claims on the lion who tested me in all ways possible.

I parked the truck at the seamstress’s shop, wondering if I’d have to search for the asshole wolf who’d taken away a woman’s right to choose her mate and infected her with the virus against her will. With luck, the asshole would be present at the shop, which was one of his usual habits, or so claimed the bounty. “Steal-killing lions owe me extra nice steak,” I warned. “And compensation for stealing my kill. Good lions do not bother the lynx out for a kill. My call sign is Murder Mittens, not Distressed Damsel. Are we clear?”

Sebastian chuckled. “Should he bruise you and you do not immediately dispatch him, we can fight over the body after I educate him on the error of his ways. He won’t learn from his mistake, as he will be dead, but I will observe initially. I am a lazy lion, and if I can admire when a woman shows off her skills, I absolutely will.”

My virus wanted to drag him off somewhere and learn a lot of skills we’d been denied due to the scars on my face and the unforgiving nature of lycanthropy. A promise to indulge in the possibilities of a permanent partnership with the lion kept the wild side of me contained, and I got out of my daddy’s truck, grabbed my purse, and bounced into the shop.

According to the internet, the shop offered all things sewing and craft related, and the woman who owned it would work for a low rate of ten dollars an hour for her work for those who wanted beautiful things but didn’t want to make the beautiful things. I stepped through the door into yarn heaven.

Cats plus yarn equaled trouble, and I bet I could create a lot of trouble toying with the lion in the truck and some yarn. With wide eyes, I explored the collection, spotting a chunky black yarn that would look wonderful against the lovely tan of Sebastian’s skin.

Holy meow with some cream on the side and a fresh fish. I snatched a skein, and on second thought, I grabbed two more before checking the label and grabbing the correct sized crochet hook.

After sacrificing a little yarn for leashing my lion, I could make a small blanket.

Deeper in the store, I spotted the wolf from the bounty in the corner, sitting in a rocking chair while keeping a close eye on me. He held a tablet in one hand, and a laptop sat on an end table nearby. A shelf near him held a half-finished knitting project and a mug of coffee.

I bet the knitting belonged to the woman, who stood near her register, hard at work sorting through a box of plastic-wrapped yarn.

Sebastian came in, and he chuckled when he caught sight of my acquisitions. “Is that going to be enough yarn?”

I stopped, turned, and stared at him with wide eyes. “I’m really not sure.”

He glanced at the label before picking up a sky blue skein of the same line, reading over the label. “You need at least seven skeins if you want to make a blanket. If you use all black, your eyes will rot out of your head. If you really want to be a goth queen, they have enough black. But this blue would contrast nicely.”

In what universe did Sebastian know his way around yarn? I held the black against the blue, nodded as he had a good point on the color contrast, and asked, “Four of the blue and three of the black?”

“That would make a nice blanket, give your eyes a bit of a rest, and still challenge you with the black.” Sebastian tucked four skeins of the blue under his arm. “Are you knitting or crocheting?”

“I’m crocheting. I can knit, but I’m a lot slower at it. And I’m going to need to make some baby blankets. Four of them.”

“Well, this won’t work for that, but this will work for you. Do you have a travel bag?”

Wait. Travel bags? For yarn? People traveled with their crochet? My mouth dropped open, and I shook my head.

“You need a travel bag or the yarn will escape, messes will be made, and tears will be shed.” Sebastian headed for the counter, nodded to the woman we would be setting free within the next few minutes, and set the yarn down. “Someone in her family is expecting, and we’re on baby blanket duty. What’s the best yarn in the market right now for baby blankets? We’ll be crocheting them.”

The wolf in the corner tensed, but Sebastian’s comment put him more at ease. Interesting. The wolf didn’t trust his forced mate—and for good reason. But he didn’t distrust Sebastian as much as I thought he should.

Wolves defined what it meant to be jealous over their mates.

Cats redefined what it meant to be jealous, and my virus wanted a show to go with the yarn.

Curious over what the lion would do, I asked, “Beanies and onesies?”

“We can do them, too.” Sebastian made a show of thinking, which amused me, as the lion could think on his feet with the best of them. “We better get a set of hooks for each one. I bounce projects.”

According to my virus, nothing beat having a male feline who would indulge my enjoyment of yarn. Even if I didn’t get to actually do anything with it. I had mastered a set of ten stitches, which put me at absolute last in the family for any form of crafting ability. But I could do basic blankets, and I even liked making them. More importantly, I finished what I started. “I am loyal to the death to my one and only project.”

“You’re still going to have the supplies for at least two projects, so you need to pick your second project that isn’t for the babies.”

Damn. Had Sebastian attended a school on how to talk dirty to a woman while visiting fiber heaven? Apparently. “I like blankets.”

The lion smirked at me. “I like the color red.”

Okay. If he wanted a red blanket, I could do that—and my virus demanded I fall into line, as two projects meant more time with him.

Pushover virus.