“I don’t.” He frowned. “And why are you always naked when I find you?” Vic folded his arms over his chest. “Tell me you didn’t eat your way into my house again.”
“Of course not.” Livy licked honey off her thumb. “I burrowed my way into your house. There’s a difference.”
“Dammit, Livy!”
Vic went in search of the hole Livy had created as his sister placed her son on the ground and tapped his butt. “Go watch TV, Igor.”
“But I want to see naked Livy!”
“Igor . . .”
The little boy ran off before his mother could get really terse, and Ira Barinov walked over to the cabinet. She was shorter than her brother by nearly a foot but that still made her over six feet tall. Ira held her arms up. “Come on, cranky badger.”
“But I’m comfortable.”
“You already have him freaking out about holes. You don’t want him to think too much about your naked ass rubbing against the cabinets storing his food.”
Livy knew Ira was right. Vic was quite mellow most of the time, but sometimes he could get surprisingly obsessive over the strangest things. And once he locked on, he just never let go. She really didn’t want to be on the receiving end of that, so Livy waved Ira’s arms away. “I can get down on my own.”
“Not without your claws, and you already left scratches in the wood where you climbed in. Let’s not make it worse.”
Deciding not to argue, Livy placed her hands on Ira’s massive shoulders and let the hybrid lower her to the floor. She ignored the pat on her head that followed.
“So what brings you to my brother’s territory?” Ira asked.
Livy walked around the kitchen island and grabbed the clothes she’d left there the night before.
“I thought he was out of town.”
Ira chuckled. “Not why did you choose his house. I just assumed you couldn’t find an open window anywhere in the City. I’m talking about why did you feel the need to burrow into his honey cabinets.”
“Oh, nothing. Just my entire life is falling apart.”
“It couldn’t fall apart at your own place?”
Livy heard no vicious tone in her words. It was just a question. So she answered while grabbing her clothes, “I couldn’t stay at the apartment. Not with her there.”
Ira leaned against the counter, and pulled a bowl of fruit close. “Who?” she asked after choosing a few grapes and popping them into her mouth.
“My cousin.”
“If you didn’t want her there, why did you invite her?”
Livy pulled her head through her sweatshirt. “I didn’t invite her.”
“Oh.” Ira shrugged. “Then throw her out.”
“It won’t matter. She’ll just come back.” Livy finger-combed her hair off her face. “We always come back.”
“Like a chronic illness,” Shen offered around a mouthful of cake. And when Livy and Ira stared at him, he shrugged and added, “It felt like you needed an analogy there. At the end.” The women kept staring, so he suddenly dug his laptop out of the bag resting against his chair. “Forget it.”
Livy pulled the straps of her backpack over her shoulders. “Well, I’m out of here.”
“You’re leaving?” Ira asked.
“Since your brother’s home now—”
“Oh, come on. Stay. We have cake.” She glared at Shen. “Stop eating the cake!”
“I’m hungry!”
“I appreciate the invite, but once your brother finds that hole—”
“Dammit, Livy!”
Livy pointed at where the yelling had just come from. “Yup. I’m out.” She went to walk around the island, but Ira reached across and grabbed Livy’s arm.
“Stay. Please. We can chat!”
Livy couldn’t help but frown. “Chat?”
“She’s looking for a girlfriend,” Shen explained, his gaze locked on his laptop screen. Two big fingers quickly moved across the keyboard.
“I’m not really girlfriend material.”
“Have you ever thought a pair of shoes were cute?”
Livy shrugged. “Yeah. I guess, but—”
“Good enough!”
Ira yanked Livy over to the table, removed her backpack, and forced her into a chair. “I’ll make breakfast!”
Vic walked back into the kitchen. “You keep putting holes in my house,” he rightfully accused.
“I don’t want criminals to see any broken windows when I’m not here. The holes are harder to spot.”
“Now isn’t that nice of her?” Ira asked, her head in the refrigerator. “Oooh. There’s bacon.”
“Stop siding with her.” Vic sat down opposite Livy.
“If you don’t want her breaking into your house, then give her a key.”
“I offered.”
“I don’t like keys. It implies . . .” Livy thought a moment. “Permanence.”
“I’m not asking you to marry me. I’m asking you not to break into my home.”
“Yeah,” Livy replied. “I know.”
Vic did not understand this woman because she didn’t seem to understand the most basic things. Like how it made more sense to take the keys he’d had specially made for her rather than burrowing expensive and not easily repaired holes into his house so that she had a place to crash for the night. Vic had finally had to hire a shifter contractor to take care of the hole problem because he’d run out of lies to tell the full-human one he normally used. And the shifter contractors? They overcharged! Thieves! All of them! Especially the bears.
Yet the strangest thing about it all? Vic strongly felt that if he’d asked Livy very seriously not to come back into his home, she wouldn’t. Out of some Livy-only-understands-it sense of honor. But he couldn’t bring himself to do that—he just didn’t know why.
Livy’s phone went off and she pulled the device from her back pocket. But one look at the screen had her dropping her head to his thick wood table—hard. The sound was so loud, Ira turned away from the stove, where she was busy putting bacon in one of the pans he never had time to use.
The phone stopped ringing, but then started up again a few seconds later. Livy lifted her head, took several deep breaths, and answered.
“Yeah?” Livy’s mouth set in a hard line. Strange. It wasn’t like she smiled much, but her mouth was usually quite relaxed . . . wait. Why did he know that? How often was he staring at this woman’s mouth? “Yeah. She’s there. Yeah, I did leave her alone. She’s not a child.” Livy paused, dark eyes narrowing. “Because the little twat is not my problem,” she snapped into the phone.
Livy winced and the yelling from the other end of the phone reached Vic. Most of it at this point was in Mandarin, but Vic could tell by the tone and what he knew of the language—which was enough to successfully get around China when necessary—that Livy was getting her ass reamed . . . by her mother.
“You are a spoiled child! Undeserving of the Yang or Kowalski name if you can’t do one thing for your family!”
“Melly is—”
“Your cousin! And an important part of this family! You are so selfish!”
“Fine! I’ll—”
“No, no! I wouldn’t think of asking the princess to lower herself to help her family. I would never dare to tread on her oh-so-important artistic life! I sent your cousins over to watch out for Melly. And they went. Because they understand family! Unlike you!”
Livy sighed and said in English, “Whatever, Ma.”
There was a long pause. Dangerously long. Then Vic heard her mother scream, “I no longer have a daughter! My daughter’s dead to me!”
But at the hysterical words, Livy only crossed her eyes. Vic sensed this was not the first time those two sentences had been hurled at her.