Hunting the Fairy Tale

Chapter 21 - Hunting Rover

Laughing, I reach up to stroke the cat's fluffy head. At first, Rover gingerly sniffs at my fingers, getting the full dose of dog flavour, and then she surprises me by turning her head, nestling it into my palm. She's probably trying to get rid of the dog smell.

"I was waiting for the weekend when I'm actually around more to help her get used to Piddles," Hunter says. "She's fine on the roof, she has a nice shelter and a bed up there and room service," he adds nodding toward the bowl in my one hand. I agree with his logic.

♫

Hunter

"Isn't Rover a rather boyish name?" Willow asks. I'm watching her stroke my cat, her gentle fingers brushing my cheek every now and then. Each time the feather-light touch sends electric shocks through every cell in my body. I suck in my breath, reminding myself of my determination to not be an arsehole. Let the seeds grow, Dad said, he has no idea how dangerous those seeds might be. I need to nip them in the bud, big time.

My current main mission in life is to help Willow settle in and that is all I'm going to do. The only seeds I'll allow to grow are the ones helping Willow put down roots in Briar Cove. That's it. I've promised Ma to help Willow and I've actually begun to genuinely care about whether she feels at home or not.

"I swear she was a boy when she was little," I say, my voice sounding a bit hoarse to my own ears. Willow laughs that sparkling laugh she always gives when she's amused. Usually, gender mistakes are in the other direction when it comes to cats.

"She's huge."

"Yeah, she's pretty big. She's a Siberian Forest crossed with a drainpipe. Siberians can become fairly big, but she's mostly just too fat. I'm trying to put her on a healthy diet, but she has ways of avoiding that. She wasn't this fat before she was sterilized, though, so it's kinda my fault, I guess."

"She is gorgeous." Willow seems to relish the softness of the cat's pelt. She becomes aware of me watching her with way too much interest. Does she realise that her fingers are brushing against my cheek, that she'd started to stroke my face more than she's stroking the cat? Probably not.

I'm finding it very hard to breathe again. Her hand stops moving, her fingers buried in Rover's thick fur. Her eyes are gazing into mine in a way that's making my heart do all kinds of strange things in my chest. I look into her eyes, and it feels as if I'm drowning, everything around us slipping into a blur, and then, fortunately, all hell breaks loose.

Someone has opened a door, causing the dog to escape. He makes a beeline for Willow and starts to bark excitedly when he sees the cat draped over my shoulders. I grunt when Rover digs her nails into my neck, seeking traction to launch herself towards the study's roof. She's amazingly agile in spite of her size.

I absently touch my hand to the back of my neck and when I lower it, Willow is staring at my fingers in horror. I look down to see that there are blood spots on my fingertips. It's nothing, but she has a look on her face as if Rover has opened a vein and I'm bleeding to death. She looks up at me, her lips moving as if she wants to speak but cannot find her voice. Instead, she bends down and grabs her excited dog.

"I'm so sorry," she mutters breathlessly, and looking as if she's about to cry, she hands me the bowl of cat food, spins around, and runs away before I can tell her to chill.

♫

Willow

I sit on my bed; my knees pulled up against my chest. Asher would be jealous of the success I'm having in imitating his preferred pose. I don't find much comfort in that knowledge.