ex-lover had given me wobbled.
“No, not the—”
A spectacular crash was followed by shards of glass littering the kitchen floor.
“—vase,” I said, shoulders sinking.
But I hadn’t expected this to be easy. Fisting a hand, I punched it into my palm and squatted, preparing to catch whatever roared my way.
The cat paused, twenty feet from me, huffing from the exertion of her berserker rage, a miniature bull facing the matador, green eyes narrowed and fixed to mine. A growl rumbled in the feline’s throat.
And she charged.
Bracing for impact, I instinctually placed a hand before my crotch, and another up before my head. Pin-sharp claws dug through the leather at my thigh, drawing blood. I yowled and stumbled back, landing with my spine against the sofa.
Small, black and angry stalked along my legs and over my hip. Each step was slow and calculated, allowing claws to sink in, marking me as if a perforation were required to then zip me apart.
“Easy, kitty,” I cooed as the creature settled to a squat on my chest. A tuft of white fur starred her chest. Beelzebub’s mistress had never looked more ferocious. And I had once met that catastrophe of a broad. “I just want to talk.”
The back-alley scrapper’s fey weight increased. I hissed and gritted my teeth when the claws tore my skin as they retracted into bone and flesh. Fur receded into skin. Bones lengthened and reshaped into human form. A crop of lustrous midnight hair spilled over a slender human face, framing a narrow jaw and fashion-model cheekbones.
A woman’s green eyes stared at me with the same pissed-off kitty accusation. She lay upon me, naked, and fully shifted to human shape.
Letting out a held breath, I said, “I have a business proposition for you.”
As a feline, I stretch often and well, but shifting to human shape provided my muscles the ultimate stretch. I came to, long black hair spilling over my shoulders and tumbling before my chest. My lengthening muscles felt like a massage across my shoulders and hips. My breasts grew to small globes. The claws were the last to retract, and one popped from the leather gloves the man wore as a feeble means of protection.
Had to hand it to the guy, he hadn’t gone into this whole kidnapping business without forethought. On the other hand, he had trapped me in a cage, carried me away from my neighborhood, and now I was locked in his home.
Kneeling and then standing over the sprawled man, I studied his defiant stare. He thought he had me under his thumb. The cocky smirk gave him away. Stupid witch.
I presumed that’s what he was. Who else would steal a kitty from her nightly prowl and not freak out when she shifted?
My profession required I work for witches, but that didn’t mean I had to like them. Or put up with this nonsense.
“Talk,” I said as he cautiously rose to stand, one shredded-leather-gloved hand held between us to placate. I wasn’t going to jump him, but he’d better beware my bite. “I’ll have you know, I’m not a happy kitty right now, and if you don’t have something interesting to say, I’m going to knock over more than an ugly vase.”
“Sorry.” He leaned toward the sofa and grabbed a red blanket from it and held it out for me. “I forgot clothes,” he offered in a husky voice that was soft yet so deep it strummed something inside me. Made my belly warm. Weird.
I snatched the blanket and wrapped it around my torso. I liked to knead soft things, and this one was woven from chenille. Oh, heaven… It felt luxurious beneath my stroking fingers.
But I couldn’t get distracted.
Nor would I allow myself to linger over the man’s appearance. He wasn’t your standard spell-throwing witch. At least not to judge by the ones I’d worked with during this, my third life. Male witches were usually skinny, bespectacled and, truthfully, ugly.
But this one? He had muscles. Everywhere. And he wore them well, as if designed to make heads turn. He bled at
“No, not the—”
A spectacular crash was followed by shards of glass littering the kitchen floor.
“—vase,” I said, shoulders sinking.
But I hadn’t expected this to be easy. Fisting a hand, I punched it into my palm and squatted, preparing to catch whatever roared my way.
The cat paused, twenty feet from me, huffing from the exertion of her berserker rage, a miniature bull facing the matador, green eyes narrowed and fixed to mine. A growl rumbled in the feline’s throat.
And she charged.
Bracing for impact, I instinctually placed a hand before my crotch, and another up before my head. Pin-sharp claws dug through the leather at my thigh, drawing blood. I yowled and stumbled back, landing with my spine against the sofa.
Small, black and angry stalked along my legs and over my hip. Each step was slow and calculated, allowing claws to sink in, marking me as if a perforation were required to then zip me apart.
“Easy, kitty,” I cooed as the creature settled to a squat on my chest. A tuft of white fur starred her chest. Beelzebub’s mistress had never looked more ferocious. And I had once met that catastrophe of a broad. “I just want to talk.”
The back-alley scrapper’s fey weight increased. I hissed and gritted my teeth when the claws tore my skin as they retracted into bone and flesh. Fur receded into skin. Bones lengthened and reshaped into human form. A crop of lustrous midnight hair spilled over a slender human face, framing a narrow jaw and fashion-model cheekbones.
A woman’s green eyes stared at me with the same pissed-off kitty accusation. She lay upon me, naked, and fully shifted to human shape.
Letting out a held breath, I said, “I have a business proposition for you.”
As a feline, I stretch often and well, but shifting to human shape provided my muscles the ultimate stretch. I came to, long black hair spilling over my shoulders and tumbling before my chest. My lengthening muscles felt like a massage across my shoulders and hips. My breasts grew to small globes. The claws were the last to retract, and one popped from the leather gloves the man wore as a feeble means of protection.
Had to hand it to the guy, he hadn’t gone into this whole kidnapping business without forethought. On the other hand, he had trapped me in a cage, carried me away from my neighborhood, and now I was locked in his home.
Kneeling and then standing over the sprawled man, I studied his defiant stare. He thought he had me under his thumb. The cocky smirk gave him away. Stupid witch.
I presumed that’s what he was. Who else would steal a kitty from her nightly prowl and not freak out when she shifted?
My profession required I work for witches, but that didn’t mean I had to like them. Or put up with this nonsense.
“Talk,” I said as he cautiously rose to stand, one shredded-leather-gloved hand held between us to placate. I wasn’t going to jump him, but he’d better beware my bite. “I’ll have you know, I’m not a happy kitty right now, and if you don’t have something interesting to say, I’m going to knock over more than an ugly vase.”
“Sorry.” He leaned toward the sofa and grabbed a red blanket from it and held it out for me. “I forgot clothes,” he offered in a husky voice that was soft yet so deep it strummed something inside me. Made my belly warm. Weird.
I snatched the blanket and wrapped it around my torso. I liked to knead soft things, and this one was woven from chenille. Oh, heaven… It felt luxurious beneath my stroking fingers.
But I couldn’t get distracted.
Nor would I allow myself to linger over the man’s appearance. He wasn’t your standard spell-throwing witch. At least not to judge by the ones I’d worked with during this, my third life. Male witches were usually skinny, bespectacled and, truthfully, ugly.
But this one? He had muscles. Everywhere. And he wore them well, as if designed to make heads turn. He bled at
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