The next time a friend dared her to steal something, Kelsie would say no. Should the friend also be a succubus, not only would she say no, she would run for the nearest border faster than a bat fleeing the dark depths of hell.
Under normal circumstances, she didn’t even mind serving community service. It added spice to an otherwise boring day and gave her something productive to do.
Hoping to contain her prankster ways, the judge teams her up with a grouchy wolf of a cop with an attitude problem. According to her virus, Kelsie needs to get the good officer out of his pants. According to her common sense, the last thing she needs or wants is a goody-goody hampering her style and getting in her way.
When they’re assigned to help rescue six kidnapped kittens, Kelsie knows one thing for certain: to create a Christmas miracle, she’ll do a lot more than bend the law—she’ll break it over her knee and unleash hell on Earth while she’s at it.
Whiskers on Kittens can be read as a standalone.
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EXCERPT:
The judge chuckled, set the briefcase down in front of him, and opened it. A puff of yellow smoke reeking of sulfur spread through the room. “I see Lucifer is involved. I should have known.”
“He does prefer when mortals understand when it is futile to protest overly much. While the girl will not be protesting, as she is of the opinion she is deserving of two years of service, the boy will surely protest early and often. This will spare us from a great deal of whining.”
“Wolves are masters at whining, though. That’s part of their gig,” I informed the angel. “They smell awful when wet, they whine, and they sniff around begging for food. Some of them make themselves useful when they aren’t doing that.” I eyed the cop, who had picked the chair farthest from me. “He’s probably a hybrid if he’s working in law enforcement here. You know how Chicago gets. So, this one is probably a useful wolf, and there’s something to be said for useful wolves.”
“While he is a hybrid, he was brought in to quietly help with the trafficking woes plaguing the city. His status as a hybrid makes him sufficiently durable for the job.” The angel sat on the judge’s desk. If the angel had a head, I suspected she would be grinning. “Lycanthrope males are useful in the cases involving children. They’re more useful in cases where we want them to make children, but that is a discussion for another time. As the police force, until recently, had been complicit in the trafficking situation, using the revamped force to deal with this issue is ideal. It undoes some of the damage they have wrought in past years. There are those we do not want learning of our activities, and so we are hiding it in plain sight. I have already done the paperwork with the FBI and other bureaus in the United States to grant you access to the entirety of the country. We have only looked into the future far enough to understand you two are our best choice for this work.”
“Miss Winfield is hardly a child,” the cop stated, and according to his tone, I disgusted him.
With a rap sheet the length of mine, which boiled down to me being a nuisance when permitted to become bored, it came as no surprise he disliked me. However, as having a brand new but sexy enemy introduced a great deal of spice to my life, I took a few moments to look him over.
According to my virus, he’d be at his most handsome naked and in my bed although she would settle with the removal of his pants for a chance to admire the goods. As I’d come out of my mother’s womb with more than a few cat-like tendencies, and that had been before my infection had matured, I understood my virus’s approach.
If now wasn’t an option, later would be fine, but only if she could toy with him first.
Great. My virus had lost her mind. The thought of six months of community service must have done her in. I liked community service. Sure, I wasn’t paid for the work, but it gave me something useful to do when I wasn’t legitimately earning money elsewhere.
Community service did an excellent job of curtailing my rogue ways as I lacked the time or the energy to create additional trouble after working and doing my time. When unable to become bored, I behaved.
Boredom led me into trouble, always—and I created the trouble to put an end to the boredom.
Author Bio:
RJ Blain suffers from a Moleskine journal obsession, a pen fixation, and a terrible tendency to pun without warning.
In her spare time, she daydreams about being a spy. Her contingency plan involves tying her best of enemies to spinning wheels and quoting James Bond villains until satisfied.
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