Page 15 of Strictly Yours

No...

It can’t end like this.

But it won’t. I have to know it won’t.

We’re soulmates, and this is just the beginning.

I’ll make damn sure of that.

I’ll burn down the world before I let that girl slip out of my life.

My birthday wishwillcome true.

Amber will be mine.

CHAPTER SIX

Amber

By the time I burst into Willow’s condo, I’m sweaty, out of breath, and dangerously close to having a panic attack.

“Munchies?!”

Silence.

I kick off my shoes, drop my luggage, and run through the place like my life depends on it. “Munchieeeees!”

He finally waddles into view down the hallway, looking exactly how I remembered him from the pictures Willow is always sending me—like a grumpy little warlock who got trapped in a shag carpet.

“Holy Fancy Feast,” I whisper, pressing a hand to my chest. “You’re alive.”

He blinks and then flops onto the floor with a demanding look. If he could talk, I’m sure he would be hissing, ‘Pet me now, woman.’

I hurry over and drop onto the hardwood floor beside him. My heart is still pounding from all of the panic, but it’s winding down now that I know he’s okay.

Muchies is so odd-looking. I love it. His face is so flat it looks like it was ironed at birth, his fur is unruly, like a haunted mop, and his pungent smell is like a complicated blend of tuna breath and something I can only describe as musty vintage carpet.

“Hi, buddy,” I say as I pet him. “I’m your Auntie Amber.”

He licks his paw. Then coughs.

Right. Meds.

I dig around the kitchen until I find the extensive list Willow left me on the counter, and my jaw drops.

The list goes on forpages. Plural.

I scan the list as I mumble to myself, holding it out at arm’s length like it has personally offended me. “Three pills, two droppers, and a shot? How are you still alive, cat?”

I get everything in order, line it all up, and look at him. He looks at me. We both know this isn’t going to end well.

Ten minutes later, I’ve been clawed a dozen times, drooled on, and hissed at more times than I can count.

He’s got drool on his whiskers. I’ve got blood on my wrist.

This is my life now. For the next two weeks, anyway.

“Okay,” I say with a sigh as I collapse onto the massive sectional in the living room. “We survived. Barely.”

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