He ran out of ways to describe the beast shortly after they left the interstate.
“Feel better?” she asked dryly.
“No.” He began winding his way back toward her apartment. “Dogs make sense. They understand hierarchy and the need to cooperate. They come when you call them. A cat though—a cat will take your number and get back to you. Maybe. If he’s in a good mood.” Not that he’d ever seen Harry in a good mood. “Why couldn’t you have gotten a dog?”
“At what point do you think I had a choice? Now that I think about it, being claimed by a cat isn’t that different from the mate bond.”
“There’s no similarity at all.”
She just looked at him.
He took a deep breath, trying to get his temper under control. “We’ll feed Harry and take him back to my apartment.”
“You keep forgetting the asking thing.”
“So?” He was being unreasonable. That was all right. He didn’t feel reasonable.
She surprised him. He hadn’t expected her to pout— Lily wasn’t a pouter—but he did think he’d get an argument, maybe an explosion. Instead she sighed, unclicked her safety belt, and levered herself onto the console separating the seats.
Automatically he stretched an arm behind her, steadying her. “What in the—”
“Shut up, Rule.” She leaned against him.
It couldn’t be comfortable for her, perching on the console that way. It wasn’t as high as some, but if she’d been bigger than a bite she wouldn’t have fit.
Her head was level with his. Normally that only happened when they were in bed. He could smell her hair— she’d recently switched to an apple-scented shampoo he liked—and the musky, indescribable scent that was Lily.
His arm relaxed around her. Her upper arm pressed against his, and the calf of her left leg rested along his right leg. She was warm. So warm.
What the hell. He’d give her suggestion a try and shut up.
For several blocks he drove one-handed, in silence and more slowly. His arm was no substitute for a seat belt.
Gradually his thoughts began to slow, too. He found a measure of silence, the inside sort. Like listening to the wind or letting the slow pulse of the earth seep up through his feet, this was a quiet that soothed even as it made him pay attention to things he’d wanted to ignore.
She was so warm and welcome against him, and he could lose her.
Nearby, a dog barked. A couple blocks away someone honked. He passed dark houses, closed businesses, an old Chevy with the bass blasting. There was the purr of the engine, the shush of tires on concrete, and the quiet susurration of her breathing.
Could she hear his breaths? He was never sure how much humans heard. In his other form, he’d have been able to pick out the beating of her heart, but his hearing wasn’t that acute while two-legged.
Of course, in his other form, the sound and scent and feel of her wouldn’t have affected him the way it was now. He was aware of his own pulse now, the sound of it in his ears, the heat and heaviness in his groin. Need brushed him with heavy wings that fluttered between desire and panic.
He could lose her.
When he turned onto the street that dead-ended at her apartment complex, she spoke quietly. “I’m scared for you, too.”
His hand tightened at her waist. “If you’d go to Clan-home—”
“I can’t hunt down Harlowe if I’m locked up somewhere.”
“I know. I know, but that doesn’t make this any easier.”
“What do you want me to tell you?”
That she’d quit her job, stay at Clanhome, let him make sure she was safe. That she’d… be someone other than who and what she was: the one for him. The only one, now and for the rest of his life. And a cop.
His instinct was to protect. So was hers. This was going to make their life together interesting. “Nothing,” he said. “There’s nothing you need to say. I’ll deal with it.”
He tried not to think about his brother. There was no point in going there, no point in remembering what Benedict’s Chosen had put him through. Lily was nothing like Claire, thank God. But she was human. So easily damaged. He couldn’t help remembering Benedict’s wild grief, the way it had ripped sanity from his brother like skin ripped from the body, leaving the insides exposed, bloody and dripping.
Gods, the sound of Benedict’s howl…
He hadn’t understood. He’d been very young, of course, when Claire died. But even as an adult he hadn’t grasped how deep his brother’s grief had cut, though he’d seen the effects of that wounding.
Now he’d had a glimpse. For an instant, one tiny slice of a second, when he’d seen Lily’s body on that bathroom floor…
“Don’t do that!”
“What?”
“Your eyes have gone all weird. Like you’re about to change or something.”
His breath hitched as he caught himself. Gods, yes, he’d been slipping, sliding toward the beast without noticing. Like some crazed adolescent, losing control through sheer, bloody inattention. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I can’t believe I… don’t worry. I’m not going to lose control.”
“Just don’t turn furry while you’re behind the wheel.” She brought her leg back over the console and slid back into her seat.
He missed her immediately. How absurd.
They’d reached her apartment complex—though that was too grand a name for the U-shaped, stucco huddle. It had begun life in the thirties as a cut-rate motel and hadn’t been improved by the Pepto Bismol paint job inflicted on it by some deranged manager. The exterior was well lit, at least—good from a security standpoint, if not aesthetically.
“How is it that you can always find a parking space?” she asked as he pulled into a spot directly in front of the exterior stairs that led to her unit.
“It’s not hard at this hour.” He climbed out.
The one advantage to Lily’s living quarters was the location—only two blocks from the ocean. The air was heavy with the sea’s complex perfume. Rule filled his lungs with it.
As usual, she got out without waiting for him to get her door, her unholstered automatic in her good hand. “That’s not it. You always… what?” she said crossly as his lips twitched. “What’s so funny?”
“Your weapon makes an interesting fashion accessory.”
She glanced at the gun in her hand, at her wreck of a dress, shrugged, and started for the stairs. Then stopped. “All right, all right,” she told the huge gray beast twining around her ankles as he voiced his opinion of the late hour. “The food’s upstairs, Harry. If you want to eat, you have to let me move.”
“He was worried about you.”
“He was worried about his dinner. Hey!”
Rule had passed her, moving at an easy lope that was roughly as fast as a human could run. He had no intention of allowing her to go in first, but she was likely to argue about that, given a chance. “You’re rearguard tonight.”
Her voice followed him up the stairs. “Just get out of the way if there’s something in there that needs shooting.”
“I’ll bear that in mind.” There was no sign of forced entry. And Harry, whose nose was keener than Rule’s at the moment, was impatient to go in, his tail twitching, obviously unalarmed. Rule put his key in the top lock, then the next one, and swung the door open.
A smell that didn’t belong had him dropping into a fighting crouch—then straightening as his brain caught up and identified it. “Bloody hell. What are you doing here?”
SEVEN