“Complicated because of your new wife?”
He nodded. “That and what happened last night.”
“Mal killed that guy, huh?”
“Yeah, and it was settled until Chrysabelle showed up alive at Seven earlier tonight.”
“News travels fast. I thought there was a pride rule about feline-shifters going to Seven? As in it’s not allowed?”
He dropped her hands and leaned back. “That was one of the first rules I changed.”
“With your history with Dominic? Did you suddenly become friends with him?”
“I didn’t do it for him. I did it for the pride. Seven is a huge joint. Dominic employs a lot of people. I was trying to open up opportunities for the pride, show them… I don’t know… show them I’m not Sinjin. That I’m looking out for the pride’s best interest, not just my own.” He tipped his head back against the couch. “I never wanted this job.”
She slid closer to him and began to massage the back of his neck. “I know, baby.”
He bent his head, giving her hand more room. “Some of the pride members are calling for Mal’s death now. It ain’t good.”
“Shhh. It’s all going to be okay.” She leaned in and kissed the soft spot behind his ear as she dragged her nails over his scalp. Her reward was a soft, growly purr rumbling out of his chest.
“I’ve missed you something fierce, Fi.” His hand slipped between her knees to massage her leg.
“Me too, you,” she whispered against his skin before nipping his earlobe. “I hate being away from you.” She kissed his jaw. “I hate eating alone.” She kissed the bow of his upper lip. “I hate showering alone.” She ran her tongue over the seam of his mouth. “I hate sleeping alone.”
He pulled her onto his lap, his fingers digging into her hips as she straddled his legs. “Fi—”
“I know you want this as much as I do,” she urged him. She leaned back and yanked her hoodie over her head, revealing a skimpy tank top.
“I can’t. Not here. Not now—”
She shut him up with a kiss. Her hands found their way under his shirt.
A hissing noise filtered in through the low purr coming out of him.
“You little vadia!” Someone grabbed her by the hair and yanked her onto the floor.
Fi’s head smacked the table on the way down. She rubbed the sore spot as she looked up. A leggy brunette stood over her, but the woman’s eyes were on Doc.
“And you,” she spat, pointing at Doc. “Bringing your whore into my home. How dare you? Are you trying to shame me?”
Doc stood. “Wait just a damn minute.” He held his hand out to Fi, helping her up. The woman backed up a few steps as he tugged Fi behind him. “Don’t you ever call Fi a whore. Ever. So help me Bast, I might actually hit a woman if you do.”
The woman shoved a finger into his chest. “I am your wife. Any other woman who touches you is a whore. You don’t like it, don’t let them touch you.”
“Heaven, calm down.”
Heaven? Great. Perfect. Doc’s new wife was named for paradise. Fiona meant “fair,” but fair didn’t compare to perfect bliss.
Heaven hissed at Doc again. “Don’t tell me to calm down. Get her out of here or I swear, I will kill her like I promised.”
Fi stepped out from behind Doc. “Kill me? Kill me? Look, lady, I don’t know if you think inheriting my fiancé gave you some kind of special permission, but he was mine first. Got it? Mine first.”
“Fi.” Doc gave a little shake of his head.
“That’s right,” Heaven said. “Tell your whore to close her whore mouth before I do it for her.”
Unable to take any more, Fi launched, catching Heaven by the waist and knocking her off her ridiculous high heels. They hit the floor with a thud. Heaven let out a guttural growl that caused Fi’s muscles to contract. The body beneath her shifted and suddenly Fi’s hands were full of soft, spotted fur.
She jerked back. Heaven had just become a jaguar.
Doc pulled her away and set her on her feet, his eyes shifter-yellow, his body tensed like a trip wire. “Get the hell out of here, Fi, and don’t come back until I tell you.”
She stumbled away from him, trying not to cry. Those were words she’d never thought he’d say to her. She certainly didn’t need to hear them twice.
Morphing to ghost form, she slipped through the wall and out into the night.
Soft knocking woke Lola. She lifted her head from the pillow and turned on the bedside lamp. Squinting toward the door, she called, “Yes?”
“Sorry to disturb you, ma’am, but there’s a visitor,” a voice said from the other side.
“Come in, Hilda.” Lola twisted to look at the clock on the nightstand. Nearly 3:00 a.m. Why could nothing wait until a decent hour? Her maid, Hilda, entered the room a few feet. “Who is it?” Not many people had the cojones to visit her at home, forget at 3:00 a.m., but if they’d gotten past her security, it had to be someone she knew. Or something very urgent. Her only daughter was dead—what pressing news could someone be bringing her?
“He said his name is Thomas Creek, ma’am. Do you want me to send him away? He said you’d want to see him.”
She flipped the covers back and reached for the robe at the foot of the bed. “No, no. I’ll talk to him. Where is he?”