Page 27 of Were-Geeks Save a Kitten

An hour later, Kit was ready to claw the computer to shreds. Typing with kitty paws was incredibly difficult, but every time he tried to shift back to human, all he got was a pounding headache. This might be the rebound from the gummies or the sheer frustration of pecking at a keyboard with his very flat nose. He could kill Coffee. Why the hell hadn’t he realized that one drunken night with the werewolf was the cause of this curse? Coffee had actually said, “If you lose, everyone will know you’re just an itty-bitty Scottish kitty.”

Arggggh!

Fortunately, Pee had things under control back home. She’d already emailed him a neat spreadsheet of the bets in Coffee’s book, categorized as money, silly, screw-ups, and world-ending. Thankfully, there wasn’t anything outstanding under “world-ending,” though one never knew with fairy bets. That left the silly and the screw-ups as worrisome, and he was only partially amused to see his bet listed under both.

The door popped open as Yordan strode back in, and Kit was able to hastily change the page on the spreadsheet. It wouldn’t save him from Yordan’s snooping, but it would at least delay the situation for a bit.

“Still too tired to go human?” Yordan asked as he strolled in. He wore low-slung sweats on his narrow hips and nothing else. Even his bare feet were sexy as he crossed to look at the screen. “Email? Need help?”

He wiggled his fingers over the keyboard, then at the last minute, tickled Kit under the chin.

“Unless you’d like a little rubbin’, swubbin’?”

Kit twisted and managed to bite down on his finger in response. Yordan only laughed harder.

“Don’t be a cwanky kitty. Big daddy-o is here to help his little wubbins.”

Kit wished he’d drawn blood. He hadn’t. The man’s human skin was as thick as wolf fur. No kitten jaw was going to pierce that.

“What have we got here? Email?”

Kit responded with a hard meow and a firm jerk of his chin at the main house. Yordan correctly interpreted that as a question about everyone else.

“Oh, right. The puppies are okay. Some basic first aid and a stern talking-to about thinking calmly during a battle. They’ll probably need to talk to someone about what happened. This was pretty traumatic for a first mission, but they’ll be all right.”

Kit absorbed that and meowed a short question. Again, Yordan seemed to understand.

“Marsha will settle her outstanding debt to Coffee. She’s cool.” He glanced at Kit’s twitching tail and grinned. “But I’d expect kitty litter as your Christmas gift for years to come.”

Yeah. He’d already figured that out.

“They’re all gone, by the way. We’ll take the van.”

What van? Kit looked up with a cat frown.

“Yeah, you don’t know about that. And you still don’t. Because Nero would never hide a sweet conversion van in a garage near here. One that is tricked out as a geek’s paradise sex van whenever they train up here.”

Kit croaked a slow meow of irritation. No wonder Nero’s pack loved training missions here.

“Have I covered all the questions?” Yordan asked.

Kit grunted and looked back at the screen. There were a few things that needed handling by a person with fingers. Might as well get them done now.

Yordan nodded and then started tapping. The problem was that it was awkward with them both trying to see the screen. Kit kept peering around the keyboard and blocking Yordan’s view. In the end, the guy cursed and picked up Kit by the scruff of his neck.

“This is going to take forever if we don’t work together,” the man grumbled.

Then he put Kit on his shoulder. Kit was a big kitten, large enough to dwarf someone else’s shoulder, but not Yordan’s. After an indignant yowl at the manhandling, he settled on the guy’s shoulder with a huff.

“Keep those claws contained,” Yordan grumbled.

Kit did. And in a moment, he allowed himself to lean into Yordan’s neck. Lord, it was warm and comfy here, and pretty soon, the two of them settled into a rhythm, moving through Kit’s work with surprising speed.

They developed a shorthand of yeses and nos by his meows. Yordan guessed at what should be said in responses—with fairly good accuracy—and typed it in his usual straightforward language. Typically Kit would be more circumspect, but Yordan’s bluntness had its advantages. When Kit would normally offer an explanation, Yordan typed, No. Or, Never. And once, Dream on, sucker, but that was to Nero, so he got away with it.

The important tasks were finished quickly, and Yordan settled in to see the breadth and depth of Coffee’s outstanding bets.

By that point, Kit’s exhaustion was creeping in. The warmth of Yordan’s body, the gentle rocking of his breathing, and even the low chuckle as he commented on the more stupid bets had Kit’s eyes drifting closed.