Page 12 of Kitty Cat

A noise pulled him out of his reverie; lifting his head, he found the object of his conflicted thoughts in the kitchen, opening her fridge.

Questions

Rygan frowned, wondering how the hell she’d gone past him unnoticed.

“Don’t beat yourself up,” the woman said without turning to him. “Not a lot of people can hear me coming.”

That pissed him off; he wasn’t just anyone, and hewouldhave heard her, if he’d paid attention. No one snuck past him. Ever.

Although, come to think of it, it was the second time she had. He hadn’t heard her approach before she’d spoken, the previous day. Ouch. His pride took a dent at that realization.

“Good evening,” he said.

It hit him that these were the first words they’d ever exchanged.

Fuck. He was fascinated with the woman and they had never eventalked.For a minute, he wondered if she could be part siren, or if she just overused some seductive potion, but as he walked towards her, her scent became stronger at each step, and what he smelled was feline, natural, and feminine. She’d just come back from a run: he could detect her usual blend of wood and spices, as well as rain and sweat. A tantalizing mixture that made him want to lick her from head to toe.

He hadn’t seen her for over forty eight hours and honestly, he’d thought that his memory might have overplayed her charms - and the effect she had on him.

No such chance.

“Ace, right?”

“Daunte is one of only three people in the world who calls me Ace,” she replied. “It’s Aisling. At least, that doesn’t make me sound like a jock.”

“Aisling is a mouthful, sweetheart,” he drawled. “What shall I call you?”

She rolled her eyes at that.

“Despite the admittedly noticeable southern accent, I’m not going to fall for any sort of line you could possibly come up with, so spare us both, Rygan. Call me Ace if you must. It shouldn’t matter much, as you’re going to stay out of my way.”

He should, but he knew there was a pretty good chance he wouldn’t.

“How do you know my name? I don’t believe I introduced myself.”

Rye wasn’t particularly vain but he knew females liked what they saw. Ace was acting like he wasn’t even there. But she’d asked Daunte about him, obviously, and he wanted to hear her say it, admit that she’d been curious.

“Rygan Wayland, six foot four, age thirty-one,” she recited. “Second son of our good King, and Alpha of the Wyvern pride.”

Grabbing a pack of raspberries and some yogurt, she closed the fridge with her foot and walked to the breakfast table.

“That puts me at a disadvantage. I know nothing about you.”

Aisling tilted her head left and smirked. “That would be because only one of us happens to have a fan page.”

He groaned, but conceded her point.

“It’s not like Iwantone.” He generally didn’t find it necessary to justify anything about himself, but that damn fan page was the exception. “Coveney set up a pride website to help stay in touch with other shifters, and apparently, there was a lot of hits on my profile. He figured we might as well cash in on the traffic.”

She had the decency to at least try to stifle her smile.

“And the half-naked shoots?”

“Our calendar made us half a million. And it’s not justmein it. Daunte does it, too. You’d do it, too, to feed a pride.”

So, yeah, he sounded petulant as fuck.

“It’s all for the greater good,” she replied, nodding, but still smirking.

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