Aubrey came slowly to herself in a warm space. She lay on her side on a soft bed across from a square window beneath a slanting roof. Sheets covered the bottom half of her legs; a bare arm lay across her naked hip.
I should panic. But that thought came from a far away memory—this had happened to her before: waking in a new place, a storeroom. She’d been in pain. Now, she was drowsy and loathe to move. And not in pain.
Except there was that arm. In the window’s light, she could see that the arm was muscular and covered with light-brown hair. It ended in a square hand with long, blunt-edged fingers. Behind her, the owner of the arm breathed soporifically.
She slid forward, away; the arm’s hand slid along her hip and dropped laxly to the bed. She set her feet on a cold, wooden floor and stepped across to the window. Looking out, she sagged in relief. Below was Cleveland Square. She was in Police Headquarters.
Aubrey turned to study her location although she already knew it. There was the tall, three-drawer bureau, there the writing desk, and there a large bed containing a waking rumpled man. Charles pushed up on his hands to roll over and sit against the bed’s backboard; he studied her, eyes heavy-lidded.
“I thought that was you,” he said, his voice pure gravel.
“How long was I transformed?”
“You arrived here in cat-shape last night.”
She climbed back onto the bed, rolled herself in the top quilt, and lay on her side facing Charles.
“I came to your room,” she said.
“You were sitting on the front step when our night patrol changed shift. I followed you up here.”
“I was at Lord Simon’s. There were two men—Mr. Jacobs and Kev—”
Charles braced himself.
“Yes,” Aubrey said. “Kev wanted to take me back to wherever this all started, continue his experiments. I transformed. I think I clawed him.”
“Good. And Lord Simon?”
“It was never about the initial spell. It was always about the second one. I think he’s trying to remove a spell from that woman in his house, and he wanted to see if it would work on me. Which it didn’t, not completely. The bubble is more stable, not the threat it used to be. But I still have these.”
She let her claws spring free. Charles touched one, moved his hand to her cheek. She opened her mouth and he lightly touched her fangs.
“We’ll catch Kev,” he said. “We’ll lock him up—and this other man, Jacobs.”
“He put a sack over my head.”
“When you were human?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” He grinned slightly at Aubrey’s grimace and moved his hand to the back of her neck, massaged it. “This way we can hold him for kidnapping.”.
Aubrey yawned as Charles gently scratched her scalp. “Should I purr?” she said crossly.
“You did before.”
She laughed and tumbled back, bringing Charles with her. She raised her chin, and he kissed her, she kissed him, pressing her scent against him; they became a tangle of quilt and legs until Charles moved his head to her shoulder, breathing deep, holding her with no caresses.
Aubrey said, “Shy, Mr. Stowe—?”
“I prefer things regularized, ordered.”
Aubrey chuckled, soft and low and pleased. Charles's order was freedom, a structure of possibilities and sureties that she could rely on--unfairly in this instance. She rubbed a hand over his hair.
