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Hawk held a kitten. Well, I thought it might be a teenager.
Teabag, my last cat, had died years ago and I was still grieving. I didn’t particularly want another animal that could break my heart. Not when I barely kept myself alive most days.
But… the one Hawk held had spots on its back and big pointed ears.
I bit my lip as the desire to stroke those ears had my fingers curling in on themselves.
"That's a Savannah cat, isn't it?" I asked softly.
Quin nodded. "She came when I called."
I frowned. "Huh?"
"Quin's got this, like, Dr. Doolittle thing going on," Giulia explained, as if that made any sense. "Animals come to him. If they're sick or don't have a home, they trail around and then, when they run out of space, Amara dumps them on us. She’s better than the SPCA at fostering pets out."
Quin smiled at me. "She's been out of sorts since she came here."
"Who has?" I asked with a frown.
"The cat," he said with a laugh, kind eyes twinkling. "But when I whistled, these three were the ones who showed interest."
This had to be a joke.
It wasn’t the first time I’d thought that, but only Amara's tapping foot declared an impatience that belied any humor in the situation.
Was I seriously about to be forced into selecting a pet?
I took a step back, but as I did, the teenaged kitten yowled at me.
I jerked in surprise at the insistent sound—the fur ball was far more adamant than Amara.
I looked at it in the eye.
Swallowed.
And melted.
