Page 13 of Star-Crossed
No such luck.
Scooting Gemma’s nightstand away from the windowsill, Lyra positioned herself as well as she could. She leaned out the window, grabbing the nearest branch within reach to steady herself as she stretched her arm out toward the beast.
“Come on. Come here. Good boy… I promise not to murder you if you come in right now.”
Larry hissed and swatted at her hands, backing away before clinging tighter to the branch.
Lyra hissed back in frustration. He’d retreated too far to even hope of getting him now.
Of course the fucking cat wouldn’t come easily. When hadanythingin her lifeeverbeen easy?
She hauled her thighs onto the windowsill and reached for the next branch up, cursing under her breath. The rough bark scraped her palms as she struggled to lean out even further. Branches creaked under her weight.
Heart pounding, Lyra inched her hands along the branch toward the cat, her legs clinging to the nightstand in a chancy and probably humiliating posture. “Come on, Larry. I’m risking life and limb here to save your fluffy butt. Help me out?”
Larry peered down at the ground far below and let out a pathetic mewl.
Lyra’s stomach lurched as the branch dipped dangerously beneath her weight.
“All right, that’s enough.” She edged back toward the window, her arms trembling. “You’re staying there until morning.”
Larry yowled in protest, but Lyra ignored him. She half climbed, half fell back through the window, collapsing onto the floor of Gemma’s bedroom in an undignified heap.
Her mind raced as she caught her breath, glaring at the cat clinging to the tree branch. She couldn’t leave Larry out there all night, no matter how annoyed she was. But there had to be a way to rescue him without breaking her neck.
A can of tuna didn’t work.
Neither did a saucer of milk.
When a shiver-inducing gust came off the water, almost turning the tree branch into a catapult, Lyra was forced to face her worst nightmare.
She was going to have to ask for help.
Cursing a blue streak, she grabbed her phone and desperately scrolled through her contacts with a scowl.
It was two a.m. Who could she even bother at this time of night? A million movies and TV shows would suggest she could call the fire department.
And in any other town, she totally would.
It was only that… She may or may not have ripped some middle-aged, mustachioed douchebag a new asshole at Sirens, the favorite local pub and grill, before discovering he was Townsend Harbor’s fire chief. (Not to mention best drinking buddies with that tool bag Mayor Spewart—er—Stewart.)
In her defense, old Magnum Mustache had been hassling a waitress who was very obviously new, and then he’d left her coins for a tip. Coins! To drive his insult home, he made sure the poor kid realized she’d made a mistake in front of everyone.
Seeing the waitress that close to tears had sent Lyra into a rampage, where she very publicly speculated at the size of his micro penis and the overcompensation thereof being the cause of his petulant, patriarchal behavior before handing the waitress a twenty and suggesting in front of everyone he was a miser because he couldn’t afford it.
He may or may not have hissed under his breath that she’d better not require emergency assistance anytime soon.
Well…wasn’t the first time her runaway mouth got her into a bind. Wouldn’t be the last.
So who could help Larry?
A familiar name popped into her head. She batted it aside.
Nope. Not going there.
Who else? Townsend Harbor didn’t have an animal control officer, but…
Roman Fawkes, Cady’s husband, was an ex-marine who spent most of his time in the woods, seeing as he worked for the forest service and had an aversion to things like walls and closed doors. Motherfucker was built like a brick shithouse and could probably just shake the ancient tree until it started raining Larrys.
