Chapter 5: The Morning Surprise
Isaac woke to a strange, pinpoint pressure on his chest. Not the warm, pleasant weight of Emily, but something smaller, concentrated. And a feeling of being watched.
He cracked one eye open.
A pair of large, judgmental green eyes stared back from about eight inches away. A calico cat, with a splotch of orange over one eye like a misplaced patch, sat squarely on his sternum, its tail twitching just once at the tip. It didn’t blink.
“Uh,” Isaac said, his voice sleep-rough.
The cat’s only response was a slow, deliberate blink. It then began to knead its paws against his bare skin, claws sheathed but the pressure firm and rhythmic, as if it were testing the durability of his pectoral muscle.
Isaac turned his head on the pillow. Emily was sitting at her cluttered desk across the room, a thick textbook open in front of her, a highlighter poised in her hand. She was dressed in one of his discarded t-shirts, her hair a chaotic, beautiful mess. She was very deliberately not looking at him, but the corner of her mouth was twitching.
“Hart,” he said flatly.
She hummed, pretending to read.
“There’s a cat on me.”
“Mhm,” she said, underlining something with exaggerated care.
“Why is there a cat on me?”
She finally looked over, her expression one of pure, feigned innocence. “A cat? Are you sure you’re fully awake? Maybe it’s a stress-induced hallucination. You did have a pretty rigorous night.”
“It’s kneading me. I can feel its little toe beans. It is a biological entity.” The cat, as if on cue, increased its tempo, a rumbling purr starting up like a distant engine.
Emily gave up the charade, setting the highlighter down. “Oh, that’s just Truffle.”
“Truffle.” Isaac didn’t move, afraid to disturb his new overlord. “You have a cat named Truffle. That you’ve never mentioned.”
“She’s shy. And you never asked.”
“She’s currently conducting a physical exam on my thoracic cavity. She doesn’t seem shy.”
“She likes you,” Emily said, shrugging. She got up and padded over to the bed. The morning light from the slatted blinds cut across her legs, highlighting the faint bruises his fingers had left on her hips the night before. The sight sent a possessive thrill through him, quickly followed by a softer, more vulnerable ache.
“You secretly own a pet,” he accused, watching her sit on the edge of the mattress. Truffle, displeased with the shift in attention, gave one final, emphatic push with her paws before hopping daintily off Isaac’s chest and onto Emily’s lap, curling into a perfect circle.
“I don’t own her. We have a symbiotic living arrangement. She manages the local rodent population and provides judgemental staring. I provide kibble and a warm futon.”
“You’re a cat lady. A clandestine, 22-year-old cat lady.” He propped himself up on his elbows, the sheet pooling around his waist. The scene was so deeply, impossibly domestic it made his chest feel tight. The rumpled bed, the soft light, the woman in his shirt with a cat in her lap. It was a peace he had no blueprint for.
“Says the guy currently covered in cat hair and…” She leaned closer, squinting playfully at his shoulder, “…what appear to be very enthusiastic claw marks from a non-feline source.”
He caught her wrist as she pretended to examine the scratches she’d made. He pulled her gently, and she came, shifting Truffle aside with a murmured apology. The cat gave a disgruntled mrrp and leapt to the floor, stalking off with offended dignity.
Emily settled against him, her head on his shoulder, her hand splayed over his heartbeat. He wrapped his arm around her, his nose in her hair. It smelled like lavender soap and sleep and her. They lay like that for long minutes, the only sounds the distant hum of a refrigerator and the soft sigh of her breath against his skin.
“This is a problem,” he murmured into her hair.
She stiffened almost imperceptibly. “What is?”
“This. You being… nice. And quiet. It’s unsettling. I don’t know how to operate.”
He felt her smile against his chest. “Shut up, Lahey. Just enjoy the moment before I remember I have a criminology midterm and a profound regret about letting you stay the night.”
He chuckled, the vibration passing from his chest to hers. This was it, he thought. This terrifying, quiet space between the banter and the hunger. This was what he’d been deflecting for years. And it wasn’t soft or weak. It was solid. It was like finally stopping after running for miles, feeling the ground firm and sure beneath your feet.
His phone, buzzing violently on the nightstand, shattered the silence.
Emily groaned. “Ignore it. It’s the capitalist overlords demanding your architectural services.”
He reached for it, his fingers brushing a half-empty water glass. The screen glared in the dim room: SCOTT.
He answered, keeping Emily tucked against him. “Yeah?”
“Isaac? Where are you, man?” Scott’s voice was tinged with background noise—the sound of a car engine, the faint chatter of a police scanner he never turned off. “I didn’t see you after Derek busted up the party last night. Everything okay?”
Isaac’s body went very still. He felt Emily’s observational shift, her keen attention focusing on the sudden tension in his arm around her. She didn’t pull away, but she was listening, her forensic psychologist’s mind undoubtedly cataloging the change in his breathing.
“Yeah,” Isaac said, his voice carefully casual. “I’m fine. Just… stepped out early. Needed air.”
“You stepped out? Into that monsoon?” Scott paused. Isaac could almost hear him thinking, his Alpha senses reaching down the phone line, probing for a lie or distress. “You didn’t answer your texts.”
“Phone died,” Isaac lied smoothly. He felt a sharp, unexpected pang of guilt. Lying to Scott was like lying to his own conscience. “I’m good. Just laying in bed.”
Another pause, longer this time. “Okay. If you’re sure. Just… check in later. We need to talk about what Derek was looking for. It wasn’t just a noise complaint.”
“I will.” Isaac’s gaze drifted to the window, to the peaceful, rain-washed street outside, a world away from the simmering supernatural tensions of the pack. Emily’s finger was tracing idle circles on his skin, a steady, calming rhythm. “Later, Scott.”
He hung up and dropped the phone back on the nightstand. The room felt different now. The morning light seemed thinner, the shadows in the corners a little deeper. The scent of lavender was still there, but underneath it, his own heightened senses could detect the subtle, metallic edge of Emily’s curiosity.
“Everything alright?” she asked, her voice carefully neutral.
He looked down at her. Her blue eyes were watching him, not with pressure, but with that fierce, quiet observation that saw so much. She didn’t ask who Derek was. She didn’t ask about the party. She just waited.
He tightened his arm around her, pulling her closer, burying his face in her hair again as if he could hide in the scent of her. “Yeah,” he said, the word muffled against her skin. It wasn’t entirely a lie. Here, with her, he was more than alright.
But the call had been a door cracking open, a sliver of his other world leaking into this perfect, fragile one they’d just built. And he knew, with a cold certainty, that it wouldn’t be the last time.