Page 31 of Murder Mittens

How utterly ruthless of him. “It better be a really good roar, lion.”

“And I will be expecting your best purrs. And yes, Miss Murder Mittens, lions have sensitive hearing, and I enjoy when you try to hide when you’re purring. That factored into my general willingness to roar at you. It seemed mean of me to deprive the sad, lonely little single lycanthrope of a joy in her life. I’m very interested in discovering how long you can sustain a purr, how loud your purring can get, and if I can make an entire lynx clan uncomfortable through making you purr.”

As far as negotiations went, we both won, and I could easily imagine my entire family having a catastrophic meltdown should a lion make me purr to that degree. “That better not just be some threat. If that is not a promise, I’m warning you now that there is nothing worse than a lynx caught in the throes of utter and complete disappointment.”

Sebastian chuckled, and he circled the truck to the passenger’s side, climbing inside. On my way to the driver’s side, I checked on my excessive collection of yarn, sewing supplies, and everything I needed to craft my way to heaven. “I owe you for my share of this.”

“You owe me nothing, but I will accept positive attention. I have decided your share of the bill is that I must be present when you’re crocheting or quilting, and it’s better if you do your work while near me. I am a lion, and lions require a great deal of attention. I am a lonely lion, so you have to pay extra attention to me. If you do not have a couch sufficient for two lycanthropes who are engaged in crafting activities, I will change that. Or I will bring rope, and I will enjoy your struggles while I tie you up to my satisfaction and drag you to your new home, after which I will recruit the lynx clan to move your things into the space I have chosen for you to live. I have already begun planning my takeover of the lynxes. This plan is exceptional, especially when they come to fruition. I get the woman, and I get control of an entire clan of moody cats. I will become a king of the jungle in an unconventional way. Bonus, I suspect lynxes do not have the general restrictions on number of children lionesses tend to come prepackaged with.”

The disturbing possibility of having gotten my ass kicked by the wolf I was supposed to brutally murder kicked in. I pinched myself, and it hurt as expected. I triple-checked the present vehicles, which by number and type implied somebody had died.

“Well, my mother gets upset when there aren’t kittens under her feet tripping her up, and the latest litter has gotten old enough she violated my poor father for more kittens. I do not think my father minded being used and abused for more kittens.” I hesitated, considering his threat—or promise. Hopefully promise. “Can I demand you must bring the rope? Because honestly, moving sucks, and the only way I’m moving is if someone forces me to move. And if my brothers do all the moving parts I don’t like while I get to struggle, this sounds like moving won’t be as bad as it usually is.”

“We’re lycanthropes, Wells. If you want rope and a struggle, I’m happy to provide the rope and will thoroughly enjoy your struggles. And I’m tired of being a good, patient lycanthrope, and I can’t help but notice you have not rejected me or ejected me from your personal space.”

“I have a week worth of spa and bounty hunting ahead of me, during which you can convince me I should investigate all ways of making you roar. But I’m not giving up annoying you into making you roar during business hours. That makes it worth putting up with you when I’m working.”

“If I had known all I needed to do to keep and hold your attention was roar at you, I would have yanked your tail a little more before indulging you, to make you properly earn those roars. Then again, I probably would have caved early, as a cranky Wells is a lot more of a pain in the ass than a purring one.”

“For the record, I will be purring while my brothers try to kick your ass, but then I’ll go from purring to snarling and yowling as soon as they do kick your ass. We’re cats. And I mean, we’re really cats.”

“As you did an excellent job of subduing your target without injury to yourself, I have decided you can pick what you have for dinner for two nights. Truth be told? That was flawless.”

I showed him where I’d poked my finger. “I did cut myself.”

“You were testing the shears for their viability as a murder weapon, and it would be wrong of me to use that against you. I realized I gave you an unfair option, as you might have wanted great chicken instead of steak. But really, pick what you want. You did that job as cleanly as I could ask for. Actually, I thought you were gonna dance around the point for a while before killing him.”

“I had the shears, she gave me the code, he matched my intel on him, so I saw no reason to give him a chance to surprise me. He deserved it, although he got off a lot lighter than he should have for being such an asshole.”

“Well, it looked like you probably severed his spine with your first hit. I wasn’t really sure why you decided to stab him so many more times, but I’m giving you full points for being thorough.”

“I wasn’t sure of the kill with the first hit, so I kept hitting him until I was sure of the kill.” I gestured to my wet shirt. “I got chicken all over my shirt when my parents inevitably ask why my shirt is wet. But because my shirt is wet, dinner should probably be takeout or fast food. We can do something nice on the way to the spa—or once we get to the spa. It’s a lycanthrope-friendly spa.”

“Will your shirt still be wet by the time we get to your parents’ place?”

Hmm. “I really don’t know. But I would totally wash my shirt in a bathroom sink because I got chicken grease on it, so they won’t think twice about it.”

“Or lycanthrope blood.”

“Chicken grease, lycanthrope blood… close enough.”

As I didn’t want to shame myself or Sebastian with my wet shirt problems, we hit up a fast food joint and got enough to tame our stomachs before heading to my parents’ house, arriving a little before midnight. We could have gotten there faster, but I had needed an hour to convince myself to finish the final twenty minutes of the drive.

“This is the first time you’ve brought someone home to see the family,” the lion guessed when I pulled into the driveway and parked the truck at the end of the line of vehicles, of which there were many. “Honestly, I’m surprised there aren’t more cars and trucks here.”

“A lot of the litters share vehicles, especially the ones who are just learning to drive. It keeps costs of insurance somewhat down. And my brothers end up having to buy their own vehicles. It’s expensive enough feeding the dependent kittens. Anyway, my family usually brings men home to meet me, they run away because of my face, and I pretend I don’t cry or get mad, somebody gets beaten, and it goes to hell in a hurry. If you’re carrying the sewing machine, you’ll live longer.”

Sebastian chuckled, got out of the truck, and headed for the bed.

After some debate, I left the yarn and quilting supplies in the cab and went to help him free the stand, which I would carry, as it would help lengthen my lifespan, too.

Every light in the house was on, and I bet the only reason a stampede of brothers wasn’t running out involved my dad growling a threat of death and murder should they swarm me.

Them swarming me led to one inevitable outcome: a cat fight partnered with a hissy fit. The hissy fit usually outlasted the actual fight, but the last thing I needed was to spend until the wee hours of the morning hissing at the entire clan for being, well, cats.

It took us ten minutes to free the stand and ease it off the bed without damaging it, and I took over carrying it while Sebastian freed the precious Singer from its carry box and carried it in his arms. “All right. I’m ready. Hopefully the sewing machine will discourage my outright assassination.”

“It will, or I’ll be destroying them all with my sewing machine and making them pay the obscene amounts to repair it.”