Page 2 of Accidentally on Purr-pose

Rebuilding, whispered a voice in the back of her mind that sounded suspiciously like her mother. You rebuild what was lost.

But rebuilding required hope, and hope felt like a luxury she couldn't afford these days.

"Let's focus on reaching the safehouse first," she said instead. "Everything else can wait."

Luka nodded, though his expression suggested he wasn't entirely satisfied with her answer.

"We leave in two hours," he said. "Pack light but bring everything we can't replace."

Freesia rose from the table and grabbed the small bag that contained the Compact, mentally cataloguing everything she'd need for another journey into uncertainty. The Waverly Compact, her weapons, the few personal items she'd managed to save from the attack. Everything that remained of a life she'd once taken for granted and now missed deeply.

Her thoughts drifted to Queen Valeria and the courage it must have taken to unite enemies who'd been killing each other for generations. Her ancestor had built something lasting from the wreckage of endless war. Maybe that was what came after survival—the chance to build something better than what had been destroyed. But first, they had to reach the northern safehouse alive.

The sharp rap against the front door of the safehouse sliced through the stillness like a blade, sending both Freesia and Luka into instant combat readiness. Her hand flew to the gun at her hip while Luka's gun appeared in his grip with the precision of someone who'd survived months on the run.

Freesia's tigress surged beneath her skin as every instinct screamed danger. Three months of running had conditioned her body to react before her mind could process threats, and the unexpected sound triggered every alarm she'd learned to trust.

"Get to the back door," Luka whispered, his green eyes already calculating distances and escape routes. "Now."

But Freesia held her position, her weapon drawn but not yet aimed while her royal training warred with survival instincts. Something felt different about this intrusion—less predatory and more... deliberate.

Luka moved toward the window with the silent grace that had kept them alive, pressing himself against the wall beside the frame they'd strategically positioned to observe visitors without exposing themselves. She could tell his jaguar was coiled and ready, every muscle in his body tense with the expectation of violence.

"Older woman," he reported after a careful glance, confusion replacing the deadly focus in his voice. "Designer pantsuit. Looks like she's dressed for a board meeting, not a manhunt."

Freesia's grip on her weapon didn't loosen. "No one looks harmless anymore."

The truth of that statement hung between them. Three months ago, she'd trusted appearances, believed in the safety of protocols, and assumed her family's centuries-old protections would hold. Now she knew better. Death wore many faces, and some of them smiled.

But Luka's posture had shifted from lethal readiness to cautious curiosity, and she'd learned to read his body language like a survival manual. If he wasn't preparing to kill, perhaps she could afford a moment of restraint.

He approached the door with measured steps, weapon still drawn but lowered slightly, his free hand reaching for the deadbolt they'd reinforced during their first week in this safehouse. The lock disengaged with a metallic click that seemed unnaturally loud in the tense silence. Then he opened the door slowly to reveal a petite woman who radiated confidence despite being faced with an armed jaguar shifter.

She wore an impeccably tailored emerald green pantsuit, her snow-white bob styled to perfection, and her eyes held a knowing glint that made Freesia's tigress pace restlessly. Without hesitation, the woman raised both hands in a gesture of peaceful surrender, though her expression remained more amused than alarmed.

"I'm not here for any trouble," she announced with a calm authority that suggested she'd faced down scarier things than weapons. "Aldric Rosen sent me."

The name hit Freesia like a blow, stealing her breath and sending her heart hammering against her ribs. Aldric Rosen. Her father's most trusted advisor, her childhood mentor, the man who'd taught her the importance of the Waverly legacy and the meaning behind every tradition. She'd hoped he'd survived the attack, but three months without word had carved a hollow ache in her chest she'd refused to acknowledge.

"Put the gun away," she commanded Luka, holstering her own weapon as she stepped forward, her royal bearing reasserting itself despite months of hiding. "Please, come inside."

Luka's eyebrows rose at her sudden transformation from fugitive to hostess, but he obeyed without question, securing the door behind their unexpected guest with the same thoroughness that had kept them alive for three months.

"Aldric Rosen is alive?" Freesia's voice carried a tremor she couldn't quite suppress, hope and fear warring simultaneously.

The woman's expression softened with genuine compassion. "Yes, he is. And he's worried sick about you, dear. He's been trying to find you for weeks, but you've done such a thorough job of disappearing that even his considerable resources couldn't track you down."

She moved further into the safehouse with the confident stride of someone accustomed to being welcome everywhere, her heels clicking against the worn wood in a rhythm that somehow managed to be both authoritative and reassuring.

"I'm Gerri Wilder, and your mother and I had a lovely connection," she continued, and Freesia felt the familiar stab of grief that always accompanied mentions of her parents. "Years ago, I told her that if there was ever any trouble—real trouble—I should be contacted immediately. She must've passed word to Aldric before..." The woman's voice gentled. "Before she died."

Freesia pressed her lips together, fighting the wave of emotion that threatened to overwhelm her carefully maintained composure. Her mother had been a planner, someone who'd prepared for contingencies Freesia had never imagined needing. Even in death, Queen Elara was still trying to protect her daughter.

"I'm truly sorry to hear of your family's deaths," Gerri continued, her tone carrying the weight of genuine sympathy. "But I'm fortunate your mother had the foresight to establish this connection, because it seems the time has indeed come for me to help."

"How can you possibly help?" Freesia managed, though her tigress was responding to something about this woman with an awareness that felt almost mystical.

"Well, I run a specialized service that helps people find exactly what they need, exactly when they need it most," she replied with a smile that held secrets and starlight.