“Mind?” A blinding smile. “I’ll look forward to each and every call.”
The rest of her grandparents’ visit passed by in a happy snapshot of talk and laughter, and yes, more than one teary moment. Returning to Bastien’s aerie the afternoon the two left for Calgary, she decided to make dinner while waiting for him to get back from the city. Her skin was tight with anticipation, woman and lynx both in possessive agreement.
It was about damn time Bastien Michael Smith understood that his mate was no longer vulnerable or shocked or in any way unsteady. She’d made her decision and it was a decision that would never, ever change. He was hers and she was keeping him.
So engrossed was she in her plans that she almost missed the sound of feet hitting the balcony, as if someone had climbed overlimb from another tree. A second later, a stunning woman wearing jeans and a simple white T-shirt stood in the open doorway, her red hair pulled back into a high ponytail and her legs long.
Even if Kirby hadn’t seen the photos scattered around the apartment and aerie, she’d have guessed the familial connection in a heartbeat. It wasn’t just the hair, she thought, but something about the shape of their eyes, a way they had of holding themselves. “You must be Mercy.” Hands a little clammy, she nonetheless smiled, recalling Bastien’s words: Show no fear. “I’m Kirby. Come in.”
“Thanks.” Sauntering inside, her walk lazily feline, Mercy took in the meal in progress on the kitchen counter, her body so lithely muscled that her pregnancy—her multiple pregnancy, according to Bastien—wasn’t obvious at first glance. “What’s for dinner?”
Kirby bit the inside of her cheek and decided what the hell. “Fresh kitten cutlets. Want one?”
A hitch in Mercy’s step, before she turned and saluted Kirby with two fingers, no hint of a smile on her face. “Touché.”
Conscious she wasn’t out of the woods, Kirby walked around to finish prepping the cutlets—a prosaic chicken—before washing her hands and putting on a pot of coffee. Mercy said nothing throughout, simply leaned up against a nearby wall, arms folded and eyes watchful. Her dominance was potent, the other woman a senior member of DarkRiver.
“So,” Kirby said, unwilling to be intimidated, “pistols at dawn?”
Mercy’s eyes gleamed. “Bastien tells me you’re a kindergarten teacher.”
“Yes.” To her joy, she had a job to return to next week, the board having been sympathetic to her unique circumstances. “Maybe I’ll teach your pupcubs one day.” Bastien had laughingly explained that since no one knew if Mercy’s babies would shift into wolf pups or leopard cubs, everyone had taken to calling them pupcubs.
“Maybe.”
Yes, Mercy was a tough nut to crack, but Kirby wasn’t about to give up, her lynx digging in its claws. “Cream? Sugar?”
“Both. Two sugars.” A pause. “The pupcubs like sugar.”
Kirby considered whether that tiny tidbit indicated a thaw in Mercy’s mood, decided not to be too optimistic. “Here you go. Bastien’s blend—much nicer than the instant stuff I used to drink until he spoiled me.”
“Bastien does have good taste.” Mercy unfolded her arms to accept the cup. “You like his city apartment?”
“Sure, it’s stunning, but I love this aerie more.” The sound of the tree leaves whispering in the wind, the wild lynx who often dropped by, the scents in the air, and most of all, Bastien’s happiness here, it all mingled into a song of homecoming. “I do still have to use the rope ladder to get down,” she admitted. “I don’t quite trust myself to jump even in cat form.”
“You’ll get better.” Mercy took a sip of the coffee. “Dorian said he spoke to you.”
“Yes, he’s been incredibly helpful. So has everyone else I’ve met from the pack.”
“We’re not always this welcoming with strangers—it’s a good thing you knew Bastien beforehand.”
Kirby decided to stop fencing. This was too important. “I adore him, Mercy,” she said, holding the other woman’s gaze even though her lynx knew she risked angering a far more dangerous predator. “I’d adore him if he didn’t have a penny to his name or a pack to call his own, or if he lived in a tent.” Her chest ached with the fury of her emotions, her breath catching. “He’s smart and gorgeous and wonderful and overprotective and stubborn enough to drive me mad and I can’t live without him!”
“If you think Bas is stubborn,” Mercy drawled, “you haven’t seen Grey in action.” A slow smile so reminiscent of Bastien’s that Kirby missed him unbearably. “You had me at the kitten cutlets.”