Page 90 of Dead Girls Don’t Forget

That night he picked me up after dark. We didn’t talk much on the short drive to his house. We didn’t need to. His hand stayed on my thigh the whole way, warm and steady. When we finally slipped into his room, he wrapped his arms around me, solid and possessive. I fell asleep with my head against his chest.

The next morning, I woke before dawn. Still half-asleep, I felt my cat’s pull rise sharp and insistent under my skin. I didn’t fight it. Bones reshaped with a deep internal grind. Muscles flowed and settled into new shapes. The world sharpened into something simpler, cleaner.

Be good, I told her. Don’t cause too much trouble.

She stretched luxuriously across the sheets, claws flexing into the mattress, then curled beside Jackson with a deep rumbling purr.

Jackson stirred a few minutes later, the mattress shifting under his weight. His eyes opened and found her right away. A slow smile spread across his face as he took her in.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, running a hand down her back. His fingers traced the powerful muscles beneath her sleek dawn-colored fur.

She purred louder, leaning into the touch, kneading the pillow with her front paws and tearing the fabric a little.

Behave, I warned. She flicked her tail in blatant disregard.

“Look at those cute little murder mittens,” he teased, brushing a finger over one paw.

Her tail twitched again.

Then Jackson reached toward the nightstand. “I got you something.”

The cat’s ears perked forward. From the drawer he produced a small stuffed fish in lurid pink fabric. He held it up between two fingers.

The cat launched herself across the bed before I could fully process it.

Jackson laughed as she snatched the fish from his hand. She dropped onto her side and wrapped all four paws around it. A second later she was kicking it viciously with her back legs.

Catnip. Of course it was catnip.

“I thought you’d like it,” Jackson said.

She adored it. She was on her back now, fish clutched to her chest, pupils blown wide, tail thumping the mattress.

Jackson looked unbearably pleased with himself.

I am never going to hear the end of this.

“Harper, shift back,” he said, half amused, half exasperated.

The cat ignored him completely and kept attacking the fish, batting it hard enough to send it skidding across the sheets. Jackson chuckled and headed for the shower. The water started running a moment later.

She murdered the fish thoroughly while he was gone. By the time the water cut off, the seam had widened, one fin was gone, and a wet patch of drool darkened the pillow. The catnip had loosened its grip by then. She lost interest and sat back, tail flicking once. Then she nudged the wrecked fish under the corner of Jackson’s pillow with her nose and jumped off the bed. With a soft click she pushed the bedroom door open and slipped out into the hall.

Where are you going? I asked.

She ignored me, padding silently down the hall. She leaped onto the tallest bookcase in the living room. It wobbled for a second, then held. She perched there like royalty, licking one paw with deliberate nonchalance.

Lia walked in from the kitchen and froze. “What the hell—”

The cat didn’t even look at her, grooming her claws with haughty precision.

Be good, I warned again.

Jackson ran down the stairs a moment later, still dripping, wearing only boxer briefs.

“It’s okay,” he told Lia quickly. “That’s Harper.”

Lia’s eyes darted between them. “I didn’t know that. I walked in and there was a—” She gestured sharply. “I could’ve killed her. This is my house. I could have—”