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But I never made it to that unpeaceful land of horror.
Wetness coated my cheek, and my eyes blinked open to Remi glistening at my side.
Sweat covered him, but he was cold to the touch now.
My lips parted to whisper his name, but I wasn’t the one to call out.
A caterwaul of sound pierced through the darkness, and I jumped, my knee shooting out as I sprang up on the couch in time to see a hairless cat get slapped on its bald head by an angry tabby.
It cried out, and Remi cried out, too.
“What the fuck?” Those words were Remi’s, not the cat’s, obviously.
I spun my head so fast that my hair whipped Remi in the eye as he sat up, leaving a red mark just below his waterline. I focused on the new splash of color and missed seeing where the furry thug chased its sibling off to. Remi didn’t rub his eye because his hands were on my knee, prying it away from his probably-purple ballsack.
“Oh, shoot! I’m sorry.” I kept my mouth facing him and tucked my knees away to a safer spot. I felt guilty. The poor guy had been using drops for his eye earlier, indicating something was already causing agitation there. It looked very bloodshot. I didn’t even want to think about how much I hurt him between his legs. I dropped my head.
“Lift your head.” Two fingers tilted my chin. My breathing hiked. Pain between the legs for a man always resulted in worse pain for me.
I kept my knees together, and his hand forced between them—between my knees, not my thighs, which were sweating from every damn pore.
“You don’t need to do that. I won’t take anything you don’t offer.”
After widening my legs, he used his other hand to guide me onto his lap. His fingers spread over my back, his sweatshirt sticking to the sweat running down my spine. “You’re safe here.”
“The cats scared me. I didn’t realize you had more pets.” Voicing excuses had never worked before, but I needed him to know I wouldn’t intentionally hurt him.
Every rushing beat of my heart pounded beneath his long fingers.
“Relax. You’re not supposed to become stressed.”
“I’m sorry. I just—”
“Shh…” he cooed. “It wasn’t your fault. They’re little bastards. They scrap a lot. That tabby is a feisty little fucker. His name is Azrael.” His lips tilted, sensing my calm. “Good girl. Breathe easier, little nightmare.”
“I was in your nightmare.” I nodded. “You called for me.” My fingers reached out, and I ignored the tremble as they moved over his chest.
“I did?” His mouth dropped, and his wide eyes stared at my mouth, waiting for what I’d say next.
When I said nothing, he talked again. “There are four cats in total—three adults and one baby, who is probably in my brother’s room. However, I’m not sure, as he also has dogs in there tonight. Woodrow is quite the animal lover.”
I nodded, having seen him with two of Rothbart’s dogs earlier. My hair tickled Remi’s abs, all perfectly defined under his ink.
“You used to like kittens. You were actually the reason I got Michael.
“Michael is the black and white one from earlier?”
“Yeah. He was cuddling you.”
“Michael is an odd name for a cat.”
“Originally, Halloween was on TV when I took him in, but when the others came along, Woodrow thought an angel theme was the way to go. Michael is already an angel’s name. But we ended up with Gabriel and Azrael, too. Our newest kitten was born feral. His mother was a casualty of the road. He’s only a few months old and called Shadow, thanks to Dec intentionally calling it something totally different to piss off Woodrow, and it stuck. He’s cute though, I think you’ll like him.”
“No one changed his name afterward?”
“He responds to it already. And, of course, Dec hardly sees him. The kitten loves Woodrow. All animals love him.”
“Not the two out here?”
