Derrick stuck his head around the corner, interrupting her thoughts, his dark hair gleaming in the sunlight-bathed room, a question on his face.
A ripple of pure awareness skittered along her spine. Wow. He was really beautiful to look at—tight, tan skin, thick thighs, lean waist.
He drove his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels, his expression tentative. “I’m a little at a loss right now. I don’t know what to offer you in terms of nourishment, and I don’t know how to ask without offending you.”
Please, for my dignity, don’t offer me tuna in a can.
“Tuna maybe? I have a couple of cans.”
Oh, heaven.
Rather than offend him, she decided tuna from a can was better than nothing from a can. To communicate her willingness, she skirted past his legs to head toward the kitchen, her tail brushing his calf as she did.
And there was that tingle again, a small beat of electricity, beginning in her stomach and spiking along her spine in a whisper of heat.
She shook it off, chalked it up to her new surroundings and lack of male companionship for so many months and sauntered down the long hallway again, heading toward the kitchen, where she sat in the middle of the floor, waiting.
As Derrick made his way into the large space, she stopped breathing momentarily.
She’d have to attribute that to nerves, too, but while she watched him open the can of tuna and put it in a bowl, watched the muscles in his arms flex and move beneath his skin, she had to wonder if admiring him the way she was had less to do with nerves and more to do with pure physical attraction.
Derrick set the tuna in front of her along with a bowl of water. “I have to head out to get some work done. Will you be okay here alone for a little while?”
Martine looked up at him, pausing before gobbling down the tuna she’d wanted little to do with moments ago.
He dropped to his haunches, tipping her chin up. “Maybe we can work out a sign? Meow for yes, it’s okay to leave you alone for a little while, don’t meow if not?”
Derrick’s hand on her chin was sort of nice. She found she had to fight to keep from rubbing her head against it.
Instead, she meowed her consent.
Satisfied, he rose, grabbing his keys from the countertop and glancing at her one last time. “I’ll be back soon. Feel free to make yourself at home.”
With that he was gone and she was left alone with her tuna and her thoughts.
Bleh, tuna.
At least it was albacore packed in water.
* * *
He caught sight of Hector just as he was crossing over the pathway connecting their houses.
“Look, Derrick!” Hector yelled from the doorway of his barn, his voice full of excitement. He held up a small brown bunny from the hut he’d had built for them right next to his house in order to keep them close.
Derrick let his head hang low, hiding his groan as he strode into the barn. Another bunny. “Hector, you’re going to need another hut the way you’re going. You can’t save them all, buddy.”
Hector rolled his dark eyes and made a face. “I could if you’d all stop eating them. You’re heathens, you filthy carnivores.”
Hector was a descendant of those damn experiments he’d told the cat about—a vegetarian werewolf who despised the hunt and refused to participate. Somehow, his DNA had been so irrevocably changed he managed to thrive without protein, yet was still able to shift.
Derrick held his hands up like two white flags before scratching Hector’s latest love under the chin. “Hey, I stopped eating them the minute you told me you gave them all names. I stick to stuff from the supermarket. No free-range woodland creatures in this belly. Promise, buddy.”
Hector slid bunny number eighteen at last count into the heated hut and smiled his approval. “So what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be with your mate, you know, mating?”
“About my mate…”
His eyes rounded when he grinned. “I heard. We all heard. A cat, right?”
Derrick sighed, jamming his hands into the pocket of his coat. The trouble with a close-knit family was the close-knit part. “Yes. She’s a cat. But she shifts. At least I think she does. She smells like she does, anyway.”
Hector leaned against the hut, readjusting the night-vision goggles he always wore in order to be prepared to watch for any small animals in distress. Unfortunately, as a result of his lineage, he’d also inherited poor eyesight. Or what was considered poor for a werewolf. “So what’s the problem?”
Derrick sighed. “She won’t shift.”
Hector threw his head back and laughed so hard his slender shoulders shook.
Derrick frowned. How was this funny? Okay, so maybe it was a little ironic that he’d ended up mated to a cat who wouldn’t shift, but it wasn’t damn well funny. “I fail to see the humor in this, Hector. I can’t communicate with someone who won’t shift.”