Page 57 of To Kill a Badger (The Honey Badgers Chronicles #6)

W hen Keane trotted back to the chateau’s study, shifted to human, and grabbed his clothes, Nelle assumed he’d get dressed.

She was wrong.

Naked, with his clothes in his hand, Keane Malone stalked through the crowd of rich people enjoying overpriced wine—most of it fake, based on the poorly made labels slapped onto old bottles—and out into the night.

She followed after him, watching how the full-humans gawked at him as he stomped by. Some lusted, some feared, and some men with too much testosterone wanted to fight. Keane ignored them all.

When he went out the ornate, double front doors, past the hired badger security that started laughing—until Nelle slapped two of the closest in the backs of their heads—Nelle quickly picked up speed so that she now walked beside him.

“You’re angry,” she guessed.

“You said this would be quick. You said we’d go and come right back. You said nothing about killing Satanists.”

So focused on getting back to their SUV, Keane walked straight at a middle-aged couple, forcing the pair to separate.

Instead of being annoyed, they stopped to watch him go by; then the woman said to the man in Greek, “It’s that kind of party.

Let’s go!” She held out her hand, the man grasped it, and they ran to the front door to get inside.

How disappointed they were going to be in a minute or two.

When Keane reached the SUV, he put on his clothes. Apparently, he wasn’t willing to slide his bare ass across the leather seats.

“I can’t believe you agreed to any of this,” he complained, tugging on his boots.

“It’s not like we have a choice.”

“You could have said no.”

“And then we get no help, and Rutowski jumps in to make it worse. We at least have to try so that She-badger has no room for argument.”

“All this bullshit for that female to—”

“Talk to all the badger families in Europe and convince them to join us. Do you know how hard that is?”

“You mean sending what basically amounts to an email?”

“ I could send an email. Or a text. But she’s not blocked on their phones, and her email won’t disappear into a spam folder because her mother irritated them once!”

Now dressed, Keane stared down at her for a moment before giving a snarl and getting into the SUV.

Holding the door open, Zeus smirked when the tiger passed him, but Nelle quickly told the bear, “Don’t.”

* * *

As they headed back to Paris, Keane kept his gaze firmly focused out the window until the SUV finally stopped in front of the Llewellyn Arms du Paris and they both got out. Zeus followed them into the hotel and to the elevator.

As soon as they reached their penthouse, Nelle went to the bar and began doing something behind it, while Keane and Zeus made sure all the rooms were clear from any more “visitors.”

Once done, Zeus went back to the elevator, and Keane asked, “Think you can manage to keep people out this time?”

“Leave Zeus alone,” Nelle chastised, not even looking at him.

As the doors closed, and with Nelle’s back turned, the bear gave Keane double middle fingers.

Keane’s tiger form hit the doors just as they closed shut, slamming him back into the room to sprawl out on the floor.

When he looked up, Nelle stood over him with two glasses of liquor.

“Feel better after that?”

He shifted back to human and, naked, stood in front of her.

“I hate him,” he said, taking the cut-glass from her hand.

“That appears to be mutual, so I’m not too worried about it.”

“I can’t believe we have to do this,” Keane said, staring down at the brown liquid in his glass. Smelled like scotch. “This dog-and-pony show.”

“It is the way of my people,” she said, sipping her liquor.

Annoyed, trying to understand, he grabbed the glass out of Nelle’s hand before she could take another sip and took both to the bar, dumping them into the sink.

“I was going to drink that.”

“I need you sober.” He placed the glasses on the bar. “Just so we understand each other . . . I’m not killing Satanists.”

“You were there. You heard me tell her you weren’t killing anyone.”

“I don’t like the idea of terrorizing this guy either.”

“He launders cult money, and you’re protective of him?”

“I don’t know this guy. I don’t know anything about him.”

“You think he’s doing it for his sick mother, who may or may not be a Satanist, too?”

“I’m definitely not harassing Satanists just to amuse a bunch of European badgers.”

“So you’re pro-Satanist?”

“Just because they’re Satanists doesn’t mean they’re horrible people.”

“Seriously, Keane?”

“Freedom of religion, Nelle. As long as they’re not sacrificing babies or virgins—”

“What about goat sacrifice?”

“I’m not killing anyone!”

“I would never ask you to do that. I have no plans to kill anyone either. Especially for Jules. And this isn’t about freedom of religion. These are selfish rich assholes that don’t care about anyone or anything, and being Satanists has little to do with any of it.”

“I just want to make sure you understand what I’m saying!”

“I understand!”

“Good!”

“Good! Now,” she demanded, sounding equally pissed, “do you want to have angry sex with me or not?”

Keane stared at her. “I’m not angry at you . Just your kind.”

“I know.”

“Then wouldn’t having angry sex right now just be me taking my frustrations out on you ? And I have to tell you that smiling at that question is really disturbing.”

* * *

He was just so adorable, wasn’t he? Where did he come from? How was he like this? She didn’t know a lot of men who were this earnest. About goddamn everything !

“I’m sorry,” Nelle told Keane. “I just find you so cute.”

“You make me sound like a puppy.”

Nelle walked toward him. “You sound exhausted.”

“I am exhausted. I have jet lag, I hate Zeus, and badgers have us dealing with rich Satanists. It’s been a long day.”

She motioned to one of the bedrooms. “Go get some sleep. I’ll wake you up in the morning, and we can make plans.”

“So that’s it?” he demanded, scowling. Although she no longer heard real anger in his voice.

“That’s what?”

“I don’t deliver angry sex, and you just turn on me?”

“I am not doing that,” she said on a laugh.

“I see how it is,” he continued, in a grumbling tone. “Just here for your amusement.”

“Go to sleep, foolish cat,” she ordered.

“Fine.”

Keane was so clearly tired, she felt bad for teasing him. He really did need sleep after what would be a long day to anyone who was not a honey badger.

Nelle, however, was a honey badger, and not ready for bed.

So, once Keane disappeared into a bedroom, she made her way over to the bear-sized couch one could only find at shifter-owned hotels.

Pricey, fabulous furniture made of only the best materials.

Created to be big and sturdy enough for a full-sized polar bear to sleep on.

Grabbing the remote off the coffee table, she kicked off her heels and sat down on the very corner of the couch so that she had the support of the armrest. Without being so deep inside the giant couch, she would look like a three-year-old girl waiting for her parents to get home.

She turned on the wall-covering, high-resolution TV and immediately flipped through the available channels. Thankfully, there were many, and she had lots of options.

What she apparently had no option about was the eight-hundred-pound Amur tiger that settled on the couch right beside her. She was going to say something to him—like “move your ass off my couch”—but when his big, heavy head gently landed in her lap, what could she do?

Apparently, she could only stroke her fingers against the fur covering his head, neck, and under his chin. She also scratched his ears and down the part of his chest she could reach.

Keane was asleep in seconds, and Nelle found even his growling snores and twitching limbs adorable.

Goodness! What was wrong with her?

* * *

Charlie sat on the stoop of her home and stared out over the neighborhood. A few locals were lumbering back to their houses for the night, nodding at her as they passed.

She glanced at her phone. It was late here, but it would be dawn in Europe.

When Max had told her that’s where Nelle and Keanehad gone, Charlie had been surprised.

Not about Nelle taking off, but Keane? That man was not a traveler.

He may be descended from nomads on both sides of his family tree, but he was a cat that liked one home and one place to live.

She, however, was thinking about leaving. Just running away. Her hope was that Paolo would follow her. Come after her. They could meet face-to-face and end all this between them. She felt bad about what she was doing to this whole neighborhood. To these lovely people. To her sisters. To everyone.

“No.”

Charlie looked up to find Lisa Malone standing in front of her.

“No?”

“No.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Whatever you’re planning . . . no.”

“I wasn’t planning—”

“Don’t lie. I know that expression on your face. My husband used to get it all the time when he was about to disappear on me or do something crazy. It’s how he looked just before he was killed. By the de Medicis.”

“Mrs. Ma—”

“You can lie to my boys. I don’t care. But you promised me you’d work with Nat. And I need you to do that. I never thought I’d say this, but . . . she might be a little more than I can handle.”

“She does love you,” Charlie wanted the woman to know. “She loves her family.”

“Oh, I know. I don’t doubt that. But she is . . .”

“Honey badger.”

“Yes. And I’m used to cat logic. I don’t know how to get in her head, in order to protect her when she needs it. But you do. So, whatever you’re planning, it better take place here. In New York. In case you need my help. But if you run off like my Keane—”

“Nelle is very persuasive.”

“Yes. I’ve noticed her legs, too.”

“They are amazing.”

“They really are. My boy didn’t stand a chance.” She shook her head. “So you stay. We stay. And we figure this out together. Understand?”

“No offense, but I really don’t—”

The cat was suddenly right there. Face-to-face. Nose-to-nose. Gold cat eyes relentlessly boring into Charlie.

“Understand?” the She-tiger pushed.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. Glad we talked.”

Then she was gone. Just walked off, went around an RV, and didn’t come back.

Charlie didn’t realize she had been holding a breath until she felt a strange vibration that kept going off every few seconds, would stop for a moment or two, then start again.

Letting out that breath, Charlie stood and went in search of the vibration.

Stopping at the edge of the yard, she squatted down and began to dig.

She didn’t have to go far to find the box.

She used her claws to rip it open and took out the phone.

She didn’t recognize the brand or why someone had buried it, but it began to vibrate again. A call from . . . someone.

Curious, Charlie tapped the screen to answer and listened.