“Reagan.” I ignored him. “Reagan, this is important.” Another tail flick.
All went silent and my mind switched off. A light caress ran the length of my rear paw—my leg jerked. The tickling continued and I batted at the intrusion. Warm air blew in my ear, making it flick back and forth. I groaned.
“Come out, Reagan. I know you’re in there.”
With a huff of frustration, I shifted. The moment my vocal chords were human, I scoffed, “What do you think happens when I shift? A lion flies in and eats me?” With a frown, I added, “I’m not a common house cat you know. I am fierce. Fierce.”
He smirked down at me. “Sure you are. And my tiny Fae brain has a hard time understanding how a large cat is curled up inside your little—” His words cut off as his gaze trailed over my naked body.
I reached out a finger, tilting his chin up. “It’s skin. Focus. You interrupted my attempt at a nap. This better be important.” I considered, then added, “And I mean, shifting doesn’t tickle. Having your bones extended and snapped into new locations is actually kind of painful. If you wondered.”
Grimacing, he said, “I wondered, but now I have a clear visual. Thanks for that.” He shuddered. “So does your brain become a lion’s too when you”—his finger twirled in the air—“do that thing you do?”
Rolling my eyes, I sighed. “No. Not usually, anyway. Mordecai used to tell me stories about shifters whose animals took control when there was no other way for them to survive.” A shiver rolled down my spine. “I don’t care to find out if there’s any truth to them.”
Tarik gave his head a small shake, then huffed a laugh. “Wow. Well, let’s hope a day never comes when you see me as prime rib.” Jumping to his feet, he reached a hand down. “And it is important. Come with me.”
I sighed. Goodbye, delicious sunshine. Goodbye, nap. I accepted the hand that was offered, following him inside.
A few steps in, he stopped abruptly. “Uh, wait here,” he said, dashing outside and quickly returning with the clothes I had forgotten about. “You might want to put these on.”
Inhaling, I released a long breath. Today was exhausting already. Whatever he was up to, I seriously considered shifting and returning to my attempted nap. Let him try to drag a lion away. At least my shifter nature wasn’t trying to burst out of my skin now. But I relented, tugging the clothing on. “This better be worth the effort.”
He chuckled. “I hope so, too. I don’t want to become catnip.”
I turned in his direction, slowly running my gaze down the length of him and back up. “You still might.”
His brows rose in surprise. A beat later, his lips tipped up, and he leaned in close, whispering, “Is that a promise?”
Warmth hit my cheeks and I leaned closer. “And if it is?”
He erased the space between us, breath tickling my ear. “If it is . . . you’ll have to catch me first.”
I growled loudly as he disappeared around the corner. Prick. But I grinned, glancing at the empty kitchen before I stepped into the dining room. Rebel Leader had set out picnic tables instead of more traditional seating—kid-friendly and seated more people, he had said. The concrete walls were plastered with children’s art, one of the few things he encouraged them to “destroy.” Nevaeh spent hours with them when she could, teaching them to paint and draw.
The rest of the room beyond had been made into a communal lounge—couches, recliners, and a single television dotted the space. A few Fae waved as I passed, a couple tilting their heads pointedly in the direction of the covered garden out back. I grinned and nodded my thanks before I stepped outside, pausing to admire the handiwork.
Rebel Leader had done really well by this garden. The top was concealed so that nosy dragons couldn’t see in, but the space was still open enough that sunlight poured through. The plants grew in plethora. Despite my aversions, I couldn’t help but appreciate the beauty—even in the vegetables. I spied a bobbing head of red hair behind the tomato vines and slid around the corner. Tarik sat cross-legged and met my eyes as he took a bite out of a giant tomato.
I gagged, turning away. “No, ugh. You’re tainted catnip now. Your loss, sorry.” I swallowed hard before I glanced back over my shoulder.
He stopped chewing, eyes round with shock. Then burst out laughing. A thin trail of tomato juice dribbled down his chin and my stomach lurched. Finally, after a full minute of rolling on the ground, he said, “For that, I’m putting you on tomato-picking duty. Say hello to your new job.”
“I can pick them but please don’t make me eat them.” I gagged again, sticking my tongue out for effect.
His face turned serious. “I’m sorry, Reagan, but I can’t promise that. You see, Fae have this ritual. One involving tomatoes and shot glasses.”
My hand fell to my fluttering stomach. “If I puke, I’m aiming for you.”
He scrambled off the ground. “Noted. Good thing I was joking about the shot glasses. There may actually be a bathtub involved.”
I dry-heaved, pleased when he had the decency to look slightly concerned. “What are we actually doing out here?”
“Well, I was serious about putting you on tomato-picking duty, but more like garden duty. You said you didn’t have anything to do, so I asked if they’d let you help here. Outside seems to be your preference, so . . .” He spread his arms wide. “Here we are.”
I met his eyes and held them for a long moment. This time when my stomach fluttered, the cause was very different. The corner of my lips rose. “This is perfect. Thank you.”
He smiled softly. “You might not be thanking me when you pick a
