“Alright. A cat,” I said, with a sigh. “The bundles of rue you put on my doors and windows are meant to keep this being away from you. So it can’t smell you.”
“It’s a black-haired jaguar, actually,” Alexander specified, in a convinced tone. “And yes, I think we already agreed that rue has a very strong smell. You figured out the rest on your own.”
I placed the meat on the cutting board and looked for the salt shaker, then checked the spice rack, searching for Italian Provençal seasoning to give the preparation more flavor. Were werewolves fond of condiments? What an idea. A few moments of stillness passed, enough time to prepare the meat, place it on a tray, and turn on the kitchen oven so it could start heating up.
Until I heard his calm laugh, and his sigh of regret:
“…You don’t beli
