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Lys was on the floor, yelling and bracing the blue kobold with her claws. Jack’s hand stung. A few thin, red streaks shined in the light where the mug fragments had cut him. The handle fell out of his shaky hand. His favorite mug, smashed to bits. He stared at the broken end lying on the carpet.

“Jack?! Why did you do that?!”

“The gun, where’d it go?” No time for mourning. He side-stepped pieces, and he started searching for the gun, not that it took long; shiny as it was. He stared down at the firearm. The only gun he’d ever fired was his dad’s .22 rifle back when he was a teen; all he knew about handguns came from watching videos on lunch break. He nearly dropped it twice. “Model J-22” It was a real gun, cheap, but it could kill as easily as a nice one. After some finagling, he dropped the magazine out and grimaced at the rounds inside.

“Why did you do that?! What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Not now, the gun…” It took several tries to pull back the slide. Empty.

“What? Are you listening to me?”

“Maybe you didn’t notice the damn gun?” How’d she even find this place?

“What gun?! What are you—oh.” Her tail did a limp flop against the carpet.

“God and elders…” The blue kobold groaned and rubbed her head. Her scaly eyelids fluttered and then squinted. “Lys, is that you?”

Lys flung her arms around her in a big hug. “Mom! Are you alright?”

The blue kobold opened her eyes completely and wrapped her arms around Lys. “My little emerald.”

Emerald?

She winced. “My head hurts—“ She brushed her head, “And I’m bleeding.” Jack saw a few dark stains and had to hold back a slight pang of guilt. Gun or no gun, violence wasn’t his nature, not unless needed. The blue kobold glared at Lys. “Why did you make me come here?”

Lys let go. “Make you? How did you even find me? I’ve been looking for you.”

“And I’ve been looking for you. Seems I’m better at finding.” She smirked and sat up, grunting as she did so. “Oh, does that hurt. I was looking at you, and then…wait! My pistol…the smoothie.” She saw Jack and tried to stand, only to be stopped by Lys. “If you try to take me for a pet, you’ll be disappointed. Let go of me, hatchling.”

“What are you talking about, Mom?” Lys shook her once. “You didn’t answer the question. How did you find me? Did you threaten Rodil or something?”

The blue kobold turned her smug smile to her daughter and laughed. “That hollow skull? I was amazed to hear he was still alive. Ow!“ She touched a claw to her wound. “I’m sure he could take a crack like that and feel nothing.”

“Not now, Mom. Answer the question.”

She patted herself down thoroughly while she scowled at Jack, then she pulled a phone from her pocket. “Hmmph! Ixby still has friends. I ask them, and they tell me.” The blue kobold showed Lys her phone. “Imagine my surprise when I get a message from one of them with a picture, telling me that someone who looks very much like you is wandering around these parts with a human.”

“What exactly did they tell you?” Jack asked, feeling himself getting hot and nervous that an entire shadow network of kobolds might be spying on him now.

“They said that my daughter was here. Staying with a human, and that she almost never leaves.” Ixby glared at him. “I came here to make sure, and when I was, I wanted to get her back.” Ixby hugged Lys again as if to make a point, but then she raised her claw and took note of her daughter’s toplessness. “But maybe she’s enjoying it.”

Just when Jack thought he’d heard every noise she could make, Lys did something like a cross between a growl and a purr, almost like a raptor out of a movie. “Not even five minutes, Mom. And where did you learn to speak so well?”

“That’s no way to talk to someone who only came to help you.” She hugged her yet again.

Lys leaned into it and sighed. “I’m sorry. I’ve really missed you and Dad. I really have, but where is Dad, and why do you have a gun? What about the phone?”

“I should ask you where you learned to speak so well,” the blue kobold said, dodging the question. She looked her daughter up and down. “Did he train you?” She pointed at Jack. “What else did he train you to do, hatchling?”

Jack clenched his teeth, his guilt fleeting, and a sudden urge to hit her with another mug rose; once hadn’t been enough. Rodil’s words came back, sharp and unwelcome. He looked down at the pistol again—cheap, real, and almost certainly illegal. She was giving off loads of vibes, all of them bad. He looked up in time to read Lys’s face; her scaly muzzle drooped, eyes dull and distant in an almost wistful look.

“Mom…” There was an ache in her voice, and she seemed to age five years while she looked at her mother.

“Help me up, my emerald.” Ixby held out her arms.

Lys closed her eyes and sighed. She helped lift Ixby back to her feet, who struggled to keep her footing; that crack on the head connected harder than she let on. Now that the panic was fading, he got a better look at her. More turquoise than blue. Ixby hugged her again. “Thank you. I’m happy to see you’re alright…” He noticed her horns—longer than Lys’s, with a curling hook at the end—a bit taller too, leaner. “…if you are alright.”

“She’s fine.”

“Jack!” Lys turned about.

He gestured in Ixby’s direction. “She comes in here like she owns the place and pulls a gun on me, and she’s done nothing but insult both of us.”

“He’s braver than he looks.” The cut on her head and the trickle of blood didn’t stop her from cracking a smug look at him. “Am I a prisoner then? Hoping for another kobold to play with?”

Lys raised a finger, trying to shush Jack preemptively. “That’s enough, Mom! I’m not a pet. Jack is my mate.”

Ixby stepped back, her muzzle twisted in disgust. “Mate?! Did you lose your mind somewhere between the time we last met? Or is he manipulating you?”

God, how he wanted to say something or do something. This was his mate, but she was her mother. Let them hash it out? Or stand up for your love? At the very least he wanted to toss her ass out and be done with it. Why the hell she seemed driven to piss him off, he didn’t know, but it was working.

“Jack isn’t doing anything to me, Mom. You said you came here to rescue me, but from what? Finally feeling safe? You’re the one who made me afraid of humans, you’re the one who abandoned me after they said we had to leave where we shouldn’t have been, and now you’re picking fights. He’s given me far more than you ever did.” Lys recoiled at her own words, an outburst.

Ixby’s smug countenance fell flat, her eyes darted about her daughter’s face, and the two of them kept glaring at one another past a whole mountain of history, but her features softened and then soured. “How can you say such things to me when I came all this way just to find you? My love doesn’t matter then?” For the first time since she’d stepped inside, her hide of iron looked to have a crack in it, but Jack couldn’t tell if it was part of the show or if she was truly upset. “So I’m not wanted?”

Jack started to open his mouth, but Lys was already turning about with the look of death on her muzzle and a raised claw to her face. Ixby saw enough of it to glare in his general direction, but she seemed genuinely upset by her daughter’s words because she didn’t press the attack. “I didn’t say that, Mom. You can’t…you can’t know how happy I am to see you…” She started to tear up and embraced her again. Jack let out a long, low sigh while he watched them, their tails twining together. When she was happy, he was happy, but this was going to be his greatest test yet: the mother-in-law.

“There were times when I worried you were dead,” Ixby said softly.

“And I might have been, without Jack.”

Now he started to blush.

“Yes, I see he’s rescued you very well.”

And gone, that prickly feeling came back to him, and he reminded himself that there was a firearm in his hand that only minutes ago had been in his face.

“Mom, let it go,” Lys said through a forced, pointy smile. “You don’t even know anything about him.”

“I know he swings a nasty coffee mug. Emerald, I’m still bleeding, and this is starting to hurt nasty. If I’m not a hostage and it’s not too much to ask…”

Eyes cast towards heaven, Jack groaned silently. “There should still be some peroxide in the cabinet.” He shrugged and watched Lys go, stepping over his broken mug. The next minute passed by in silence, with the blue kobold glancing around the apartment, taking time to rub her head in an exaggerated manner, smearing some of the blood. Jack snorted, trying to look as disdainful. She’d spent all the guilt he had to offer. Lys bolted in, looking between the two of them while holding a bottle and a clean washcloth. Looking relieved.

“Here, take a seat.”

“Thank you, my emerald.”

Jack spread his arms out in mock welcome. “Sure, take a seat. I don’t mind.”

Lys narrowed her eyes and barely stopped her tail from striking the floor, not amused.

Ixby sat down and took the rag from her daughter. “I wouldn’t have shot you, not unless I had to.”

He looked at the pistol. “That makes me feel so much better.”

Lys popped over the end of the couch, arms resting on the cushion. Still no shirt on, he might have liked to stare at her green hide, but she bore down on him. “Can I talk to my mom for a moment without you two fighting?”

“Yeah.” Jack shook his head and gestured at the floor. “I guess I’ll clean up this mess.” Wincing at the gun, he stuffed it into his pocket along with the magazine and went for the broom. He’d be the one to sweep up his own mug, his favorite mug, the giant mug his mom had gotten him before he went away to college, the mug his best friend had used earlier that day before she’d left for good, the mug that always made the coffee taste better, the mug he’d never drink from again. The stiff bristles scraped in a way that made every fragment of shattered mug bounce or fly, dragging out the process of getting it all into the dustpan, making each shard personal. Lys and Ixby chattered among themselves, and Jack was so distracted in his own rising ire that he could only catch fragments; there were times he swore they were speaking a different language.

Neither of them even bothered to look his way while he walked past; no respect for the remnants of his morning fuel line as it went off to its final resting place. There would be other mugs, yes, but no more giant, blue novelty gift mugs. He upended the dustpan and then thrust it downward. Both kobolds sprang up from the couch. “What was that?” Ixby glanced over the top of the seat, rag still pressed to her head.

“Just trash,” Jack said as the last of the bits hit the bottom of the can. “Nothing for you to worry about.”

Lys made a low, churring sound. Far worse than a sigh, far more expressive, but he didn’t care; he was pissed again, and now he had another problem. “I’m going out.”

“What in the world for?” Lys asked, cocking her head.

“For a smoke.” Or five.

Her forked tongue poked out at just the tips. “Fine.” He’d be hearing about it later, but with her reluctant blessing secured, Jack went to get his smokes. He’d tucked them away under some shirts in the upper drawer where Lys wouldn’t be tempted to search and destroy. He put the gun away while he was at it, hiding the thing where the pack had been while keeping the magazine.

“Now where’s my damn lighter?” He checked the top of the dresser and the nightstand and shuffled through his pockets to make sure he didn’t already have it, but it was MIA. A worn book of matches sat on the nightstand, half-used and well past their prime. He stepped back into the living room, pocketing them as he went. The two of them were already back to talking.

His sweater was still soaked from this morning, but he wasn’t about to be denied, not after all this bullshit, and if he stayed inside, he was going to find more unhelpful things to do. Tossing aside half-empty boxes and who-knows-whats, he found a small blanket, a throw for the couch, really. Something chucked away for reasons long forgotten.

It’ll do.

He wrapped it around his shoulders and tried not to think about the flowery patterns stitched onto the fabric. Avoiding all eye contact, he ducked outside and closed the door. The cold had enough bite to make him hate every minute. Standing at the threshold of the porch light, he rested a hand on the guardrail and looked out into the dark. The half-moon poked out of the passing clouds, an accusing eye looking down on him from above. Jack glared back, taking it personally. Who was the universe to judge?

“Thank God for hard packs.” The box looked half-dented, but the cigarettes were safe and snug. The leathery book of matches was ready to fall apart, riding around in countless pockets before being tossed aside for a lighter. The sticks were so abused that they bent like straw, forcing him to press the heads down against the striker with his fingers.

“Damn!” He jerked his finger back before the flame nicked him. “Come on.” Another match, another chance. He shielded it as best he could, but the wind took it right before it lit. Jack waited for the breeze to take five. Three times was the charm; the cigarette lit up, and he took a long, steady draw. The cold didn’t seem quite so bad. He enjoyed his blend of Turkish tobaccos and tried to keep his mind clear, just him and the smoke, his private temple.

One cigarette became two, three, and then who cared? To be alone with his thoughts and to put all that nonsense away, even for a short time, was all that mattered now. The cold went from being chastising to comforting, filling him with resolve to deal with all the inevitable drama he was sure to walk back into when he finished the pack. It became a game, not thinking, just smoking.

He heard the front door opening. Lys, come to check on him. How long had he been out here? Ixby stepped out and closed the door. Jack’s face screwed up in surprise, and then he turned back around, scorned.

“Aren’t you talking to your daughter?” he said, after a long wait.

The floorboards ticked and tapped to her steps until she stopped nearby. “She needed to use the bathroom, so I slipped out for some fresh air.”

“Fresh air?” He scoffed and took another drag, letting the smoke speak for him. Out of the corner of his eye he could see her staring, but he went right on puffing and gazing out into the nothingness, content to let her hang all night long.

“I…was wondering if I could get one.”

That got a raised eyebrow out of him. Her orange eyes focused on the lit cigarette in his mouth. As much as he wanted to snub her, he was curious. Digging into his pocket, he pointed the open pack at her, and Ixby pinched one of the cigarettes out with her claw, clamping it between the front of her jaws. Jack was already digging out the matchbook; now he had to see.

She took it from him and tore a matchstick out. “I hate matches, and these are crap.”

“All I got. Need some help?”

The kobold shook her head and struck a match with the practiced ease of a veteran smoker, shielding the flame from the wind. Her face lit up in an ember-orange glow while she drew on it, and her tail came to life, wagging almost like an excited puppy’s. She paused, like she were trying to hold it in for as long as possible; she let it out slowly between her teeth and out her nose, like a dragon. “Thanks.” She handed the matchbook back and brushed the ash off with the tip of her claw. “I needed that.”

“I can tell.” His amusement faded; even if they were united in nicotine addiction, he kept seeing the barrel of that gun. His own smoke needed attention, brushing away the ash before taking a small puff.

“Don’t like me, do you?”

“Whatever gave you that idea?” He took a long draw, wiping out what was left of the cigarette. His hand was already going for his pocket; he needed more, and his supply was dwindling. “I’m sure everyone loves meeting their in-laws at the point of a gun.”

Her laugh had a low, raspy tone, and her voice came on thicker, scratchy; even if she wasn’t mocking him, that’s how her chuckling sounded. “’In-law.’ Never would I have imagined in all my years. You’re taking this seriously.”

“Yes, deadly.” He lit up, no trouble from the wind this time.

“Not some kind of game you’re playing with my spawn?”

“’You say it like she divided from you.”

That raspy laugh again. He didn’t know if it was because he didn’t like her or if it was the sound itself, but it got his back up.

“Let’s see you lay and tend an egg, and we’ll see how possessive you become about the thing that hatches from it,” she said, taking a drag. “Especially when all you have is some abandoned trailer to live in. Ah—!”

She jerked a claw to her head and winced. Even in the dark, Jack could see the ruddy, swollen gash. He’d hit her harder than he meant to—or so he told himself. Guilt crept up the back of his throat.

“Are you alright?”

“Stings is all.” Her voice was flat. Dismissive. She subbed at the spot with more caution. “Don’t act like you care now,” she added, though it lacked the edge she’d had a moment ago.

Another cold gust pressed into his face. “I don’t know what you think, but I’m not in the habit of smashing kobolds in the head with coffee mugs, especially not my favorite.”

She kept at the wound, hissing when her claw brushed the edge.

“Are you alright?” he asked again.

“Fine.” Short. Tight.

He sighed. “Okay, I tried.” Shrugging it off. He had tried, right? Not wanting to let the conversation rest on that note, he tried to move it along. “By the way, I’m pretty sure every hospital is legally required to have hatching facilities now.”

She snorted, smoke curling through her snout. “The day a human touches an egg of mine is the day I’m dead.”

“How about the contents?”

She laughed at that one, loudly. “You have a clever mouth, smoothie.” She started sizing him up. “What does she see in you? No horns, no tail, and all that hair on top. But I guess there’s some symmetry underneath all those daisies you’re wearing.”

Jack rolled his eyes.

“I never would have taken my own to go after a human, though. I thought I raised her better,” she added.

“If this is your way of apologizing, you’re doing a shitty job.”

“I never apologize.” The smoke laced through her grin. “Those flowers look awful.”

“That isn’t what I—” he stated, but she was already chuckling. He’d walked right into it. The extra-long draw seemed to wash the embarrassment out along with the smoke ring he blew. It drifted off into the dark. “And for the record,” he said, “she likes my hair.” A lot.”

“Oh?”

He didn’t answer. Just took another puff.

“I’m not your enemy, you know.”

“Right," Jack huffed. “You just thought it was a good idea to show up waving a gun around?”

“Not going to let that go, are you?” She flicked the cigarette butt out into the dark. “I acted with what I knew.”

That made him nervous. “About that, who is this friend of yours, and how long have they been spying on me?”

“That’s none of your business, and it wasn’t spying; it was a favor from coincidence.”

Off in the distance, a dog started barking. “Right, I really believe that. How many of these ‘friends’ of yours are there, and when are they going to show up on my doorstep?”

“Believe what you want, smoothie. Nobody is coming. A friend owed me and paid me back, and now, here I am.”

“Yeah, here you are. Show up to a populated area and almost shoot someone in their own home over a picture. Smart move. Even people around here don’t take kindly to shootings.”

“I already said I wouldn’t have shot you—unless I had to." She patted her pockets and frowned.

“Got another?”

Jack stared. “Wouldn’t be the first, huh?” He didn’t like that. Not how she said it. Not the way she looked when she did, either. Still, he handed her another. His hand lingered while she took it. Roddy’s words echoed in his head.

The front door opened again, sending a beam of light into the dark.

“Jack, did Mom—” Lys started. She froze when she saw them.

“Yes, Emerald?” Ixby said, all sugar. “Just catching fresh air. Glad to see you finally put on a shirt.”

Lys’s expression curdled into a twisted frown. “Fresh—“ Her claws clenched. “Not you too.”

Ixby blinked, cigarette in hand. “What is it? Oh—this?”

“Yes, that! I hate smoking. The smell, what it does to people—how can I talk to anyone if they’re always outside sucking smoke?!”

“Emerald, wait…”

Too late. Lys spun about and slammed the door.

Ixby’s tail lashed the air. “Hmph! She always gets too upset. Not all of us have had it so cozy that we can relax just by lazing about.”

“She’s passionate,” Jack muttered.

“She cried too much as a hatchling. That hasn’t changed.”

Jack groaned. “She could use a thicker skin, yeah. But she cares. Not a bad thing.”

The blue kobold exhaled through her nose. “And I suppose I don’t?”

“I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to, smoothie.”

He held up his hands. “Now who’s getting worked up?”

She glared. The tip of her cigarette glowed like a hot coal.

He exhaled in her direction. “I see where she gets it from.”

“Oh, be quiet.” She tugged her hood over her eyes, but not before he saw something tired in them, weary.

Jack allowed himself a quiet grin, one for his side. “What was she like back then? Besides crying too much.”

Ixby sighed. “She couldn’t decide how she wanted to make my life difficult. Brave one day and skittish the next. Cling to me until I couldn’t breathe—then vanish for days without warning.”

“Days?”

Her tail thunked against the railing. “Never said where she was going. Never told me or her father anything. So I’d search, and every time she got in trouble, she’d grow quiet again. Then bold. Then quieter. There was no winning.”

Jack studied her face. “Doesn’t sound like her.” But he thought about her recent misadventure with the street thugs. Maybe there was still some spark in her yet. He shook the thought off before it could carry him away.

Ixby leaned against the rail, her hoodie pulled tight around her. “I thought she wouldn’t want me here at all. Humans—I don’t care if they like me. But if I came all this way, did all this, only to have my own daughter spit me out because of some smooth-faced idiot who turned her head…” She didn’t finish. Her tail had curled in again.

Dead silence. Even the breeze stopped.

“Why don’t you smoke in your own house?” she asked.

Jack didn’t blink. “Because I know how much she hates it. And if you think you’re going to come in and start running her life, you can take your tail down those steps right now. I’m not going to let anyone hurt her. Not even her own mother. I love her too much.”

Ixby’s eyes sharpened. For a moment, she said nothing. “I guess you do.” Her tail uncoiled with a twitch, and she knocked ash from her cigarette. “These are good, by the way.”

Truce. Or however close they were going to come. “I’d walk a mile for them.”

“What?”

Smirking, he shook his head. “Never mind.” Opening the pack, he looked inside and frowned. “One left.”

Ixby eyed the box. Her jaw twitched. She tugged at her hoodie, fidgety.

He held it out. “Want it?”

She hesitated. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

The pack switched from hand to claw. “I’ve had my fill of death sticks. Where were you headed after you rescued her?”

She lit the last one. “Away.”

“So…nowhere.”

Smoke curled from her teeth. “Didn’t matter, so long as she was safe.”

“Well, she’s safe.”

“I can see that, smoothie.”

Jack turned to head inside and paused. The cold bled into him, and he stank of cigarettes even if he couldn’t tell. Lys would be waiting, upset. And there would be questions. He exhaled—not smoke, just one last chilly breath. Then he opened the door.

Inside was quiet. No music. No TV. Lys sitting on the couch, arms crossed, tail curled like a question mark. She was upset, all alright.

“Done ruining your lungs?” She asked without looking up, and then she noticed he was alone. “Where’s Mom?”

“Still out there, finishing the last one.”

“Better be the last one.” She leaned over and glanced at the door behind him. “Did she say anything about staying?”

“No.” He tossed the throw blanket back into the closet. “But that’s probably what’s coming next, and I think it’s a bad idea.”

Lys rose up off the couch, slowly. “Why?”

“Because there’s no way she has a place. She came here to snatch you up and take off into the night.”

“You don’t know that, and so what if she does? She’s my mother, Jack. I haven’t seen her in years. I’m not turning her away.”

He opened his mouth—but didn’t. She saw it. Her eyes narrowed. He didn’t need to say it. His place. His say. She’d killed that argument before he could load it.

His jaw clenched. “Grrrr.”

“Don’t growl at me.” Her voice came low. “What do you want? To throw her out?”

Rubbing at his face, he squinted. “What if she’s got a warrant?”

Ixby stepped in, trailing cold air and the thick stink of smoke. “Worth it,” she said, shutting the door behind her. “Thanks for the cigarettes.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Jack nodded.

“Yeah.” Lys scowled at them both. “Thanks for taking days off your lives and stinking this place up.” She scrunched her snout up for effect.

Ixby raised an eyeridge.. “Oh, Emerald…”

“Hmph.” Lys flicked her tail. “Do you have a place to stay?”

“Are you offering?” Ixby asked, voice turning syrupy. “That would be very kind.” Her gaze drifted towards Jack, expression unreadable—except for the slight upturn at the corners of her eyes.

“Wouldn’t it though?” he muttered.

Lys’s head turned, slow and sharp. She looked him dead in the eye. “You’re okay with her staying on the couch, right?”

He saw where she got it from, alright. Testing him. Two small dragons, orange and yellow eyes watching him for weakness. He looked down at them both and then just at Lys. Her strong gaze was already starting to wilt. Her claws curled together, silently pleading.

“…Yeah,” he said, pressing his palms into his temples. “Sure.”

Lys let out a breath that took all the tension with it. Even Ixby’s shoulders slackened, and something resembling peace began creeping back in.

“I’ll get some spare blankets. I think there’s a pillow somewhere…” Lys said, already halfway into the bedroom, leaving the two of them alone again.

“I almost didn’t think you’d say yes,” Ixby said.

“You could try saying thank you.”

She leaned against the couch, smirking. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He wasn’t delusional enough to think this was just for the night, but that battle could wait.

Lys returned, dragging a pillow and two blankets.

“Here. It’s a comfortable couch. I should know.”

Another kobold on the couch. Maybe he needed to start charging rent. Lys laid down the sheets with cheerful efficiency.

“Speaking of bed, it’s late, and I got work.” He didn’t love that.

Ixby climbed up onto the couch and peeled off her hood. Beneath, a shirt as black as her jacket. Jack glanced at the fabric, wondering how long she’d been living out of a single outfit. His shirts were about to get a lot more lived in, he was certain.

“Thank you, Emerald. It’s been a while since I had a warm place to sleep.”

“Help yourself to the fridge. Glasses are up there.” He gestured at the cabinet. “There’s a stool by the kitchen—please use it. I don’t need more claw marks on the counters.” He rubbed his face again. “And if that’s all, I’m heading for bed.”

“Don’t let me keep you. I’m sure I disrupted your day.

You don’t know the half of it.

He stepped into the bedroom and dropped onto the mattress like a corpse. No hesitation. No ceremony.

Allison gone. Ixby here. And tomorrow will be worse. He was sure of it.

“Goodnight, Mom. We have a lot to talk about tomorrow,” Lys remarked before she closed the door. She turned to look at him, her smile still shining. She walked over and climbed up next to him, giving him a deep nuzzle.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “I know you didn’t want to.”

“Unnnnnghh.”

She rested a claw gently on his chest. “It won’t be that bad.”

“Unnnnnnnghhh!”

She laughed and climbed partway onto him. “I love you.”

“Unn-hnnn.”

“Tired?”

“Yeah.” He met her eyes. “But we were in the middle of something earlier.”

“My mother is here. We can’t do that.”

“Who says? Your mom?” He reached for her, and she swatted at him, giggling.

“I thought you were tired. And you have work.”

“Yeah, yeah. My face has an important meeting with your—well.” He glanced towards her hips and then shifted his eyebrows.

She had to stifle a laugh with her claw. “Stop.”

“Then start undressing. I almost took a bullet for you today.”

That sobered her. Her laughter paused. “You would’ve gotten shot for me, wouldn’t you?”

“I told you it’s my job to protect you. I wasn’t going to let some lunatic come in here and hurt you.” He stroked her scaly thigh. “Besides, they’re small bullets.”

Her smile crept back. “Don’t joke. If you’d gotten shot—and by my mom—I don’t…”

“But I didn’t. The worst that happened is she got clocked and I lost a mug.”

“That scared me.” Her tail shifted across his legs, and her breathing picked up. “I was worried you killed her. That wouldn’t have been any better than you being shot.”

He pulled her claw towards him and kissed it. “But it didn’t.”

“No, it didn’t.” Her smile returned.

He grinned. “Now, where were we?” His finger traced a slow zigzag pattern up her leg.

“I think you had an important meeting.” Her claws hooked into the waistband of her shorts.

“Yes,” he said, already reaching for her. “We better get to it."