Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 119764 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 599(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119764 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 599(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
He tilts his head at me, a clear question.
“More bad men will be coming,” I say. “Murr not safe. Murr go.”
That strange, erotic mouth of his curves into a hint of a smile, flashing his fangs. He cups my face again and leans in so his nose brushes against mine. “No.”
I can’t help myself. I move in toward him, closing the distance and kissing him. Just a quick, stolen kiss. Just a sip. “Murr, yes.”
“Dakotah, no.” He kisses me again, his tongue sweeping over my lower lip in a quiet invitation. “Dakotah here, Murr here.”
Those four words speak volumes. “I’m not going to convince you, am I?”
He kisses me again, gently tasting my upper lip, then back to my lower lip again. He showers me with the sweetest kisses, until I give in and slide my hands to his waist, holding him close as his tongue touches mine. No man has ever kissed me like this before him, like I’m the most precious thing in the world. Like he’s been starving for my touch all day long, and now he wants to feast.
All right, if he’s not going to leave, we’ll need a plan B.
Just…as soon…as we stop kissing…
CHAPTER 50
One Month Later
MURR
No wonder humans wear a dozen layers of clothing at all times. I pull my loin wrap tighter around my hips, wondering if I should switch to my battle-form, where the wind and cold do not bother me. The skies clouded overnight and instead of the normal balmy “ween-turr” weather, there is an icy breeze that makes the cats run for shelter and huddle in corners. I want to shift into my battle-form to warm them, too…but when I am in battle-form, there are no kisses and no caresses.
Two legs it is.
Dakota reassures me that the hay we put down for the cats in the other building will help them keep warm. Most of the cats have migrated over to the bookstore, because Rabbit gives them treats and pets and they curl up in her bed. There are a few cats that don’t like humans at all, but I make sure they are fed regardless.
I do not care for some humans, either.
“Murr, wilu hand me dat tarp?” Dakota says, gesturing at the blue rustling sheet near my feet. She speaks slowly so I can understand her words, along with the hand movements. “S’for my plants.”
“Why?” I ask as I drag the long, noisy length of blue…something over to her. It is not leather, for it rustles too much. I do not know what it is, only that when she woke up and saw her breath frosting, she dragged several of them out of the supply room and got to work. It is shaped a lot like the blanket she likes to wrap herself in, but the feeling is very different. “Is…bed?”
She takes the tarp from me and moves to the row of plants she’s been nurturing in a sunny spot in the parking lot. Dakota saved some of the hay we retrieved for the cats and piled it over her tiny greens. “Cover to keep warm. Tarp, hay.” With an ear-deafening rustle, she lays the tarp over her plants. “Protect from cold.”
Interesting. Dakota always has a plan of action for everything. I admire this about her. There is never a scenario that she is not ready for. “Dakota smart,” I praise.
She beams at me, smiling. Her nose is pink in the cold, and she shivers in the air before tucking the tarp around the plants again. Rabbit is working on bringing in piles of hay—dried grasses from the field nearby that we cut down with some strange blade—over to ensure the cats are warm. Dottie and Aggie are just outside the doors of the bookstore, huddled in blankets and tending to a small fire out of the way of the wind.
Stella is inside, probably passing gas and sleeping. The dog is a strange creature, far less fastidious than the cats. She is very easygoing, though.
I gesture at the window in the bookstore, which is full of more of Dakota’s plants. In the days since we last saw the bad male, she has been seeding pots and filling them with dirt. Something about “goinallin” which I do not yet grasp.
Dakota nods at me. “We’ll cover them too. Later.”
“Later” is a sound that means “not right now,” so I wait to see what Dakota has planned. I move closer to her so I can assist in whatever we work on next. The wind rips again, ruffling my mane and tearing the loin wrap from my hips.
Immediately, Aggie hoots. “BIG MEAT.”
“Ignore her,” Dakota says, stripping off her outermost layer of clothing, the puffy thing she calls a “coat.” She removes the next layer, too, and hands it to me.
“For…chest?” I hold the small garment up to my pectorals, amused. We are not nearly close in size, Dakota and myself. This might fit over one arm.