“Uncle Gweg! Why didn’t you call?” He was just two minutes late. Even so, heaviness settled in his stomach. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I lost track of time. Had a good day today?” A moment of silence passed before Enora’s whisper rang through his ears, “I shot Lionel MacDonald today and ran. He doesn’t know who did it.” Although Greg could hear the smile in her voice and his animal howled in pride, his human’s eyes snapped shut. Shit. As an afterthought, she added, “Don’t tell Mommy.” “Sweetheart,” Greg exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This call is recorded.” “What’s recworded?” “It means everything we’re saying now will be on your Mommy’s phone and she can replay what we’re saying like how you watch cartoons over and over again.” A stretch of silence followed before Enora innocently asked, “So I should thwow away Mommy’s phone, Uncle Gweg?” “What? No! Just…” How was he going to resolve this? “Alright, Enora. Lesson one: never tell secrets through a phone, a computer

Greg locked his phone after replying to her message, sighing to himself, wondering why she was suddenly shutting him out. He thought they were getting along well. Better than well, even. Why the sudden change of behavior? Where was the playful sass, the ease that was there whenever they were together? How did something like that get flush out overnight?  And honestly, why did he care?  In his defense, it would’ve been easier not to care if she didn’t draw him in like a fucking magnet with everything she did: the way she talked, walked, ate, drank, puzzled over a task at hand. Goddess, especially the way she puzzled over a task at hand: the way her brows arched, the manner her body stilled, the way her eyes got lost into the page or on the screen. It was mind-consuming. 

Greg walked into the headquarters the following week mentally rehearsing the way he was going to phrase the question of asking Sush whether his presence was impeding her peace of mind. The question then arose as to when he should ask it. Sooner would be more appropriate, more gentlemanly, more respectful.  But he knew himself.  His track record did not display a good line of appropriate or gentlemanly behavior. Respect was another matter, unless someone pissed him off. He decided that - unless Sush flinched, jerked, or outright said that he was making her uncomfortable - he wouldn’t raise the matter.  It was a dirty way to buy time, he knew. But he only had three month

The mention of Enora got Greg on high alert. His pupils dilated, his claws underneath the innocuous nails ready, and his shoulders stiffened. It was common knowledge that the king and queen had pups, but it wasn’t common knowledge that Greg shared a bond with their youngest. “How do you know about my sweetheart?” his voice dropped to a deep baritone as his eyes darkened. Trying to sound bored, Sush looked out the windshield and uttered, “You took a call last week after work and rushed out after that, like you’ve been caught cheating on her.” There was one word in that sentence that smothered his defensiveness and splattered perplexity on him instead. For a brief second, he wondered if they were referring to the same person. Then, the waters of amused comprehension washed over him. So that explained

“Your Grace. This is a surprise.” Ferdinand finally yielded. “I can tell, seeing that your shock impeded your visual and auditory perception,” Greg replied monotonously, still disregarding the man’s title and position. The gears in his head continued to turn. They’d never met. He’d seen the man’s photo, but that wasn’t where Greg recognized… parts of him. This person - his energy and scent were as new as they were foreign, but segments of his features reminded Greg of someone. He just couldn’t figure out who. Ferdinand’s frown forced itself into a superficial smile as he straightened himself in his seat. Dropping the ball next to a paperweight, he stated, “I can see and hear you, Your Grace.”