Page 1

Chapter 1

Quinn

His hand around my throat jerked me from a restless sleep.

Panic spiraled within me, and I fought, twisting the sheets around my legs in my desperation to free myself from my attacker. Where was Romulus? Why had he let anyone in without making a sound? Had he hurt Rom to get to me?

Fear for my dog cut through the blind terror, enough for my brain to catch up and push through the staggering rush of adrenaline fueling me and allow reality to assert itself.

There was no hand on my throat. No heavy weight pressed me down into my bed, trapping me again. Rom hadn't sent up the alarm because there was nothing to be afraid of.

There's nothing to be afraid of.

Maybe if I whispered it in my head enough times, I'd believe it.

The soft glow of the alarm clock on my bedside table said it was barely past two in the morning, but there would be no more sleep for me tonight.

With a resigned sigh, I sat up and peered around my bedroom. Night lights plugged into outlets on all four walls cast shadows across the lumpy pile on my bed, down near my ankles. The rustling of the blanket was enough to disturb their sleep, and the light caught a pair of sleepy green eyes blinking up at me.

"Hey, Porthos," I murmured, which woke up the kitten's brothers. Athos and Aramis yawned and stretched, displaying their sharp little kitten teeth, and the next thing I knew, all three of them were in my lap. Aramis immediately started scaling my shirt until I acquiesced to hold him. He promptly went back to sleep, leaving Athos and Porthos to wrestle below him.

"Enough of that, you two," I murmured, snaking a hand between the kittens and getting a nip for my trouble.

Past the bedroom doorway, I heard the soft jingle of metal dog tags and knew the rest of the house was waking up for the day, despite what the clock said. If I was awake, so was everyone else.

Scooping up the squirming kittens, I padded through the house, the hardwood floors cold beneath my bare feet. In the living room, I found the missing brother and deposited my armful of kittens near their brother D'Artagnan, who had claimed the big armchair as his bed for the night. Beside the chair, sprawled on the plush rug spread across the middle of the floor, lay Rom. He thumped his tail against the floor when I greeted him, and something in my scent must have tipped him off, because he pushed himself upright and leaned against my legs.

"I'm okay," I whispered, petting his soft head. "There was nothing to be afraid of, I guess."

Romulus nuzzled into my touch, looking up at me with those big, soulful brown eyes of his. His thick black fur, broken only by the white at the tip of his tail, made me think he had some Border Collie ancestry somewhere, but his size was closer to a Great Dane. I'd found him as a puppy out in the woods shortly after I'd moved into my tiny house and in the years we'd been together, he'd grown from a pup I could hold in my arms to a giant whose head reached my ribs.

As more and more creatures joined our little family, he'd appointed himself our guard dog. His deep bark sounded ferocious when he wanted it to, and no intruder needed to know that Rom would never hurt a fly.

He nuzzled against my hand, but my reassurances didn't convince him because he followed me as I started my morning chores four hours early. The Musketeers chose to collapse into a fuzzy pile on the chair, with D'Artagnan in the middle, flat on his back with his brothers tucked around him.

My cottage had an open layout, with only the bathroom closed off. I'd taken out my bedroom door, even, so I could see every nook and cranny of the little house from the front door. I'd done the same with the tiny second bedroom, but that was for more practical purposes. I never had guests, so there was no point keeping a spare bedroom, so I'd repurposed it into the animal room, and that's where I went now, with Rom at my heels.

Open shelving lined one wall, with a row of drawers beneath them. It'd taken me two weeks to sand and paint the mismatched dressers I'd found and turn them into a cohesive unit, but it was worth it. Bags and cans of food sat on the shelves, while plastic bins held extra leashes, collars, and grooming supplies. I'd received some as donations, but most I'd bought myself.

Two tanks on stands occupied another wall, each with its own light bulb over it. I went there first, pausing at the first to check on its resident.

"Good morning, Priscilla," I murmured. The ball python ignored me, as usual. Only the tip of her nose stuck out from under the husk shelter inside. She'd eaten last week and preferred to sleep curled up under her light most of the time now.

The resident of the other tank was more active. The small turtle crawled around, contentedly munching on the greens I'd left out for him before bed. One of the local kids had brought him to me at my shop just a few days ago after finding him on the side of the road. It looked like a stray had tried to take a bite out of him, leaving a crack in his shell. After a visit to the vet, I'd taken him home with me to recover and named him Franklin. Once the crack healed, he'd be assessed to return to the wild.

The far corner of the room held the litter boxes, a long row up against the wall. I'd had as many as nine cats here at one time, but right now, I just had the kittens, so cleaning the boxes only took a few minutes.

"What do you think, Rom?" I asked once the indoor chores were done. "Get it all done now or wait for sunrise?"

The dog tilted his head at me, wagging his tail slowly but offering no opinion of his own.

"Let's get it done. Maybe I can try to nap afterwards." Doubtful, but it was worth a shot. "Let's go outside."

That was a word Rom knew well, and he happily trotted to the door, waiting while I pulled on my boots and a heavy jacket over my pajamas. The calendar said it was April, but that meant nothing up here in the mountains. Just last week, we'd had a snowstorm blow through. Most of it had melted now and spring was making promises about finally arriving, but the night air still held a chill.

Luckily, I only had a few outdoor residents to worry about right now. The chicken coop was quiet, with my feathery heathens all tucked inside the heated house to avoid the cold. They stirred when I checked their food and water, but none of the girls were interested enough to leave their warm beds.

Unlike most of my animals, the chickens weren't rescues or fosters. I'd gotten them shortly after I'd found Rom, ostensibly to save money on eggs and maybe even make a profit selling them, but mostly because I needed a project to keep me busy after work. Researching their care, building their coop, and figuring out their personalities filled the endless hours when nights like this stretched out before me.