Pride (19 page)

That made sense. Werecats have very sensitive noses, even in human form, and she’d be surrounded by my scent if she
wore my clothes, even if they came right out of the dryer. I wouldn’t want to walk around smelling like anyone else.
Except maybe Marc
…

“I can send someone out for new clothes, if you want. And you can wear a sheet or a towel in the meantime. Would that work?”

She tilted her head again, and I frowned. Maybe she really didn’t understand me…

“I need a sign that you know what I’m saying. How ’bout a head nod? Nod your head if you understand me.” Of course, if she didn’t want to do that either, I’d never know whether we were having a communication problem, or she was just stubborn.

The tabby nodded hesitantly.

“Good. Wonderful.”
Now we’re getting somewhere
. “Okay, are my clothes the problem? You don’t want to wear my clothes? Nod for yes, shake your head for no.”

This time she just stared at me, not moving her head in either direction.
Hmm
. Maybe my questions weren’t very clear. She’d responded to the mention of food earlier…

“Are you hungry?” I asked, and the tabby nodded in slow, exaggerated motions.
Awesome
. “Can I send someone to the kitchen for food?”

Instead of nodding, she glanced at the door. In cat form, she could probably hear them breathing, whereas I only heard feet shuffle on carpet as they listened to our one-sided conversation.

“So, no food? Or no
guys?
You want me to get it myself?” I backed toward the door, and the tabby swung her head back and forth vehemently, rising to sit on her haunches. “No? You want me to stay?”

Her head bobbed again, and a smile stole over my face. She liked me. Or she at least preferred me to a group of strange men. Either way, it was a good start.

“How ’bout lasagna? I think there’s some left from supper.”
The tabby shook her head, so I tried again. “Chicken? We had fried chicken last night.”

She nodded again, and the tips of my fingers tingled in excitement. Accepting food from me meant she was starting to trust me. Either that, or she was starving, and the clear view of every one of her ribs told me which answer was more likely. “Okay, I’ll be right back. I’m just going to give your order to the waiter. Okay?”

After a moment’s hesitation, she nodded reluctantly, and I slipped into the hall before she could change her mind.

“What happened?” Carver asked the minute the door closed behind me. He and Lucas stood across from the door, eyeing me eagerly. Marc stood to the left, syringe in one fist, ready to burst in, should I need him. But I was pretty sure I wouldn’t now.

“She’s hungry.” I stuck my hands in my pockets and glanced up at Lucas. “Could you stick some of that leftover chicken in the microwave?”

“Sure. Potatoes too?”

“Nah. I think she wants meat.” He nodded and took off down the hall, and I turned to Marc and the doctor, who was practically humming with excited energy. “She’s still in the corner, but she’s trying to communicate.”

“She ready to Shift yet?” Marc asked, clearly less than pleased with my progress.

“We haven’t gotten that far.” I ran my finger down a groove in the rough wall paneling. “But she’s answering yes or no questions.”

“She’s not violent?”

“Of course not!” I scowled at Marc until he nodded pointedly toward Dr. Carver’s arm, and I had to concede his point.
Damn it.
“She hasn’t lifted a paw against me. She’s just scared and hungry, but I’m sure I can get her to open up.” I was also sure she was listening to every word we said.

“Well, hurry up then,” Marc snapped, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’d be nice to have something concrete to show your father when he’s trying to decide whether or not to skin us alive for this.”

He was right, so I slipped back into the bedroom, pleased to see the tabby still sitting on her haunches, watching the door for my return. “Your chicken’s coming.” I headed for the nearest bed, and her eyes followed my progress. When she voiced no objection to my approach, I settled onto the mattress and tucked my feet beneath me. We were now separated only by several feet of empty floor space.

“Are you cold?” I asked, remembering how frigid the floorboards were against my bare feet.

She nodded, and curled her tail around her body.

I started to tug the blanket from the bed beneath me, but stopped when the tabby started growling. Again. “Sorry.”
You must not be
too
cold.

“You know, I like to talk as much as the next girl, but conversation really is a two-player game. I’d love it if you could Shift back and talk to me. Maybe tell me your name? You do have a name?”

She nodded again.

“Good. I’d love to hear it. So, you feel like Shifting back?” I leaned forward in anticipation of an answer.

The tabby’s head tilted to one side again, and my fingernails bit into my palms in frustration. What didn’t she understand? These were not hard questions!

“Okay, let’s see if we can figure out where we’re going wrong. ’Kay?” She nodded, so I continued, twisting one corner of the blanket between my fingers. “You have a name. Do you want to tell me your name?”

Another nod.

Good
. She was still trying to cooperate. “You’re gonna
have
to Shift to tell me your name, because I’m really no good
at charades. And honestly, I’d much rather hear your voice. So…do you want to Shift?”

Again she cocked her head to one side, this time following the familiar gesture with a whine of frustration. I knew exactly how she felt.

Hmm. She looks confused when I mention Shifting.
Maybe her Pride called it something different. That was pretty unlikely, if she was born in North America. But then, if she were a North American cat, I’d probably already
know
who she was.

“Do you know what I mean by ‘Shift’? Do you know what I’m asking you to do?” We were close to a breakthrough; I could feel it.

She shook her head firmly from side to side, sitting straighter, as if eager for my explanation.

I didn’t even know I was holding my breath until it burst from my throat. Now
we’re getting somewhere
. The problem lay with the terminology. “I’m talking about your transformation. Changing yourself from cat form to human form. We call it Shifting. I want you to Shift into your human form so we can talk like people, without all this nodding and whining. Does that help?”

The tabby shook her head again, and my own fell into my palms with the dull slap of flesh against flesh. “I don’t know how else to say it. I need you to Shift. Just…turn yourself back into a human.” My hands flailed in the air, in search of a gesture to get my meaning across. “You know…hands, semi-opposable thumbs, articulate tongue, the whole thing. Now. Please.”

Instead of answering, the tabby lowered her head to the floor and curled into a ball. She wasn’t even looking at me anymore. I’d been dismissed. Damn it.

What’s the big deal?
I demanded silently, barely able to hold the words inside.
It’s just Shifting
. Even if she was only fourteen—though that was
waaaaaay
too young to be out on her own—she’d probably already done it dozens of times.
Though she’d likely never Shifted in a strange place, with some strange woman watching her. I, of all people, should have been able to sympathize with those circumstances. Especially if she had some kind of stage fright, like Abby’d had in Miguel’s basement…

Of course. She’s too upset or scared to Shift. Just like Abby.

“Are you scared? Is that the problem?” Without waiting for her response, I rose from the mattress and sank onto my knees fewer than five feet from the tabby.

Her ears perked up when the bedsprings creaked, but she didn’t look up. She was ignoring me like a damn toddler.

“Hey. I’m trying to help you. I have a cousin about your age.” At least, I
hoped
she was as old as Abby. “Several months ago, she and I found ourselves in a very scary situation. We…” I hesitated, unsure how much to tell her. I didn’t want to frighten her further. But then I realized she was watching me, actively listening again, so I continued. “We thought we were going to die. We needed to Shift into cat form to protect ourselves, but Abby was too scared to Shift, and just thinking about that made it worse.” I paused, meeting the tabby’s eyes with what I hoped was frank concern on my part. “Is that what’s happening here? Are you scared?”

Sitting up now, the tabby nodded, but before I could get my hopes up, she shook her head in the negative, just as firmly.

Yes
and
no? Or did that mean she wasn’t sure? Wait, I’d just asked two questions at once. The poor thing was trying to answer them both. “I’m sorry. One question at a time. Are you scared?”

A single, short nod. So far, so good.

“Is that why you can’t Shift?”

She shook her head.

Damn it.
I was running out of yes-or-no questions.

“Okay, you’re scared, but that’s not why you’re not Shifting.” I ticked that morsel of knowledge off on my index
finger, then moved on to my middle finger. “And you know what Shifting is, so…”

Movement caught the corner of my eye and I looked up to see the tabby shaking her head back and forth so hard I thought she’d fall over.

“Wait, you don’t know what Shifting is? Didn’t we just cover this? Shifting is what we call the transformation from one form to another. Maybe your Pride calls it something else.” Shit. Was her Pride even called a Pride? Was it possible we were speaking two completely different languages?

Encouraged by the curiosity obvious in her eyes, I edged forward cautiously. “Do you have a Pride?” She shook her head again, so I forged on. “Okay, they probably call it something different. But you live with a group of other werecats, right? Your dad’s the boss—the Alpha—and your mom’s the dam? And you probably have several big brothers? I only have four, but most tabbies have five or six…” My voice faded into silence. She’d been shaking her head steadily through my last few questions.

A weird, antsy feeling sizzled in my stomach, surging upward like acid reflux as I watched the tabby stare at me steadily. She didn’t live with a Pride? How was that possible? Surely I was misunderstanding…
something
.

“You…” I wasn’t even sure how to approach the swarm of questions swirling in my head. There were too many to grasp. “Your father’s not an Alpha?” She shook her head again, once, and I exhaled slowly. That was rare, but by no means unheard of. Jace’s father wasn’t an Alpha; he was dead. And I’d once heard about an Alpha who was deposed for failure to act in the best interest of his Pride, which was basically what Malone was accusing my father of. Though that charge was completely unfounded.

Okay, so her father wasn’t an Alpha. “Your mother’s a dam, though, right?” There was really no way around that
one—once a tabby had children, she was a dam by definition. Yet the tabby shook her head, again, and I steeled myself to ask what was possibly the most difficult question I’d ever had to pose to anyone. “Did your mother die?”

The tabby blinked at me slowly and lowered her chin to rest on one paw. After a moment, she lifted her head and nodded, then set it back down.

Damn.
She was an orphan. The only other orphaned tabby I’d ever met was Manx—who was fully grown—and thinking about Manx made me wonder if
this
tabby’s mother had died in whatever incident removed her father from their Pride. Still, orphan or not, she was born into a Pride
some
where, and no Pride would give up its tabby, even if they’d lost—or over-thrown—her parents.

She’s a runaway.
I should have realized it earlier. I’d done enough running myself to recognize the signs, and she had obviously been on her own for quite some time. But the immediate question, at least as I saw it, was whether we had any right to turn her over to a Pride she clearly wanted no part of.

“Honey…”
Damn, I wish I knew her name!
“I’m not going to let anyone hurt you. We won’t send you anywhere you don’t want to go. I swear on my own life. You’re safe here. Do you understand?”

She lifted her head long enough to nod one more time.

“Good. Do you want—” A knock on the door preceded the aroma of fried chicken, and my mouth watered instantly. The tabby wasn’t the only hungry girl in the room. “That’s your food,” I said, already headed for the door.

As I let Lucas in, I kept one hand on the doorknob, prepared to shut it quickly if the tabby freaked out at the sight of another tom. But she made no sound as the door creaked open and didn’t even growl when Lucas stepped past me into the room, a huge plateful of chicken pieces in one hand. Evidently hunger superseded any residual fear and misgivings.

“She still hasn’t Shifted?” A frown marred Lucas’s curiosity as he brushed a red ringlet from his forehead. He’d probably been hoping for the first glimpse of our guest in human form.

I followed his gaze to the tabby, who sat watching us alertly, her eyes on the food in his hands. “Yeah, there seems to be a bit of confusion on that point. I don’t think she understands what I want her to do.”

He handed me the plate. “Like, she doesn’t know how to Shift? How is that possible?”

“It’s not. She can’t possibly—” I froze, the plate hot in my hand. “Son of a bitch!”

The problem wasn’t that she didn’t know what I wanted her to do, but that she didn’t know
how
to do what I wanted.

Somehow, as impossible as the concept seemed to me, the tabby didn’t know how to Shift.

E
ager to explore my new theory, I ushered Lucas from the room much more quickly than he wanted to go, without updating Marc or the doc. I closed the door on them all and turned back to the tabby, the platter of chicken cradled in both hands. “Do you mind if I join you?”

She made no response, which I took as consent. Honestly, though, by that point, I would have taken anything short of an outright attack as consent.

I made my way to the tabby slowly, giving her time to warn me if she got cold paws. But her eyes didn’t leave the plate until I set it on the bare floor between us.

The tabby glanced from the chicken to me, asking permission to eat. In a hunt, the highest-ranking werecat eats first, like the male in a pride of lions. But something told me that wasn’t what she had in mind. She was using plain old human manners, taught by someone who cared about not only her physical well-being but her upbringing.

How had she gone from that to this? From loving parents who taught her manners, to eating leftover fried chicken in cat form on the floor of a rented lodge with a perfect stranger?

I nodded toward the food as I sat cross-legged on the floor,
across the plate from her. For several minutes, we ate in silence. In the time it took me to eat a single breast, she polished off a breast and two drumsticks, skin and all, licking the last of the flesh from the second leg bone with one end of it pinned to the floor by her front paw.

She definitely
ate
like a werecat, even if she seemed to know nothing about us.

Three wings and a thigh later, when the tabby started to slow, I drew my knees to my chest and wrapped my arms around them. “I have some more questions, if you’re up to it.” I rocked back and forth slowly as she licked her right front paw, then used it to clean her muzzle. “Is that okay?”

She nodded, and a small bud of satisfaction blossomed in my chest—pride in myself for earning her trust, and a little edge of confidence. Or maybe that was heartburn from the chicken…

Inhaling slowly, I crossed my mental fingers, hoping I’d truly hit upon the problem with our method of communication. “Do you know how to Shift?” The tabby’s head swiveled back and forth firmly, and I exhaled. “Do you know what Shifting
is?
”

This time the tabby nodded, but very slowly. Hesitantly. Just as I’d expected. She let her paw fall to the floor, abandoning her grooming efforts altogether. I had her full attention now that the food was gone.

“Did you know what Shifting was before tonight? Before I came in here to talk to you?”

She shook her head, and I dared a small smile. I was starting to get a clearer picture, though I couldn’t for my life understand how she could have Shifted into werecat form without knowing what Shifting
was
. Maybe she’d been alone and starving so long she’d contracted some sort of Shifter amnesia. Weirder things have happened, right?

Okay, maybe not.

“Do you remember Shifting into your current form?” I
asked. She cocked her head again, punctuating her confusion with a soft whine. Hmm. “Do you remember being a human? A girl, like me?”

The tabby nodded, slowly at first, then more enthusiastically, as if she’d just discovered the very memories I spoke of.

I sat straighter as an exciting possibility pinged through me, making my skin tingle and my heart beat faster.

“Good. Now…do you remember being scratched or bitten by a big black cat?” She shook her head, but I pushed on because even if she
had
been infected by another werecat, she probably wouldn’t remember the actual attack, or much of what happened next, including scratch fever and her initial Shift.

Her memory loss, while frustrating, was pretty common for newly infected strays and did not, in itself, rule out the possibility that she was one.

But tabbies are
girls,
and though the existence of a female stray hadn’t technically been ruled out, it had never been proven either.

In all of werecat history, the only mention I’d ever heard of a female stray came from Manx, who claimed to have seen one in South America, where they’d both been imprisoned by Miguel and his band of tabby-nappers. But the Territorial Council was no more willing to believe Manx’s unsubstantiated claim of a scratch fevered tabby than they were willing to believe mine about the partial Shift.

But they were wrong about the partial Shift. Maybe they were wrong about female strays too…

“I’d like to try something, if you’re feeling up to it.”
And even if you’re not…
“When my cousin Abby and I were…locked up that time, and needed to Shift for our own safety? Do you remember me mentioning that?”

She nodded.

“Well, she was nervous and had trouble Shifting, so I tried
to help her.” No need to mention the fact that my help didn’t actually
work
. “I can try to help you the same way, if you want.”

The tabby hesitated, and I could practically track her thoughts as her gaze flitted from me, to the plate of mostly eaten food, to the soft, warm bed, back to my very human-shaped clothes. The temptation was there. Now to sweeten the pot…

“How long has it been since you walked upright?” I asked, knowing she couldn’t answer with a wag of her head. “Don’t you want to talk? Take a shower, and wash your hair? Maybe play some video games? Do you like PlayStation?”

She nodded, less hesitantly this time, and I wondered if she was a Rock Band player, or more the God of War kind of gal.

“If you Shift back, we can get you some clothes, and you can eat your next meal at an actual table. Where you can sit on a
chair,
and still reach the floor with your feet. How ’bout some shoes? Whatever you want, we can get it. You say the word and I’ll send Lucas into town.” Her eyes were glued to my face, and I could see longing in her still-feline features. “You interested?”

This time she nodded her head firmly. Eagerly.
Good girl
.

“Great. Let’s get started.” I set the empty plate on the nearest bed and stood, facing the cat, who still sat on her haunches. “Now, I know you don’t remember Shifting into cat form this last time, but do you remember Shifting
at all?
” Might as well cover all the bases, just in case.

The tabby shook her head. I’d expected that. She truly had no idea what she was supposed to do, or what it was going to feel like. Poor girl. “Well, I have to warn you that this is gonna hurt. But I promise it’s worth it. The pain is temporary, and it’s nothing compared to regaining the use of your fingers and your voice box. You still up for this?”

She nodded, and while she definitely looked scared, she also looked eager. She was ready to Shift. Probably even overdue.

“Okay, the first thing I need you to do is stand up.” I
dropped onto my hands and knees to demonstrate, reminding myself
not
to go through the transformation myself, as I’d done when I tried to help Abby. If I wound up as a cat while she Shifted into a human…well, she probably wouldn’t like being defenseless and at my mercy.

The tabby stood two feet away facing me, and I realized with a jolt of alarm that she could now kill me easily with the swipe of one paw. If she wanted to.

She won’t do it
. I had little doubt about that, because if she killed me, I couldn’t teach her how to Shift, and her eagerness to reassume human form was obvious. So I shoved my own fear to the back of my mind so I could concentrate on hers.

“Good. Now, the rest of this is mental. Whether you realize it or not, your body knows how to do this, and
all
you have to do is relax and let it take over.” After all, she hadn’t been
born
in cat form, so she’d clearly Shifted at
some
point in the recent past, whether she remembered it or not. The details were buried in her brain somewhere. They had to be.

“But just in case, we’re going to give your body a little nudge in the right direction. I usually start with my feet.” I wiggled the bare toes of my left foot for effect. “Or back paws, in your case. Concentrate on only that one part of your body. Feel your toes. Move them if you want. Sheathe and unsheathe your claws.”

Her eyes closed, and I knew without looking that she was doing as I’d suggested.

“Good. Now, instead of your cat paws, picture your human feet. Remember what they look like. If you have any scars on your foot, think about them. Where are they? What are they shaped like? How did you get them?”

Her eyes were scrunched shut in concentration now, and I couldn’t help smiling at her honest effort.

“Your toes…” I continued. “Are they long and thin, or shorter and thicker? Is your big toe the longest, or your middle toe? Picture the fine, thin hairs on your big t—”

The tabby sucked air in sharply, and it came back out as a hiss of pain. With the next breath, she mewled, deep in her throat.

Her Shift had started.

I sat on my feet, my fingernails scraping the hardwood in excitement. “It’s happening, isn’t it? Do your feet hurt?” For a moment, there was no answer but more mewling, with her eyes still shut tight. “Wait, now, look at me.” No change.

“
Look
at me.” I demanded, firmer that time. I was emulating my father now, and doing a damn fine job of it, in my own estimation.

Whether surprised into compliance by the change in my tone or desperate for more instructions, the tabby opened her eyes, staring straight into mine in pain and in growing fear.

“Do your feet hurt?” I repeated, and this time she nodded. “Good. I know this part sucks, but it’s supposed to feel like that. Really. That means this is working.”

She shook her head, and I sighed silently. “No, don’t try to stop it. You want to be human again, don’t you?”

She nodded and closed her eyes again, this time in concentration. She was trying so hard to deal with the pain, and the poor thing now had my respect, as well as my sympathy.

“You’re doing great. Seriously. The next step is to push it forward, instead of pulling it back. Picture your legs, like you did your feet.” Her eyes were still closed, so I leaned to the side to check her progress. There was no visible change in her yet, but I could hear the muted popping as her bones began to rearrange themselves.

To keep the pain to a minimum, she needed to Shift evenly—put each part of her body through the same stage at the same time. In short, her top half needed to catch up.

“Okay, you’re still doing very well. Now let’s work on your hands. Do you have long, pretty fingernails, or short stubby ones like mine?” Not that it mattered. If she’d been in cat form for a matter of weeks, rather than hours, her nails were going
to be long, and likely ragged in human form. But for the sake of the imagery exercise, picturing them the way she liked them would work just as well.

Movement near the floor caught my eyes; the toes on her front paws were wiggling. She was really trying. I had a soft spot for people who did what I wanted without questions or complaints. I got that from my father, too.

Another tiny joint popped, and the tabby’s right front leg buckled beneath her. Before she could shift weight onto the other leg, she overbalanced, toppling to the ground on one side.

Oops. Forgot to warn her about that part.

“Are you okay?” I stamped down the urge to pet her, to somehow comfort her—I knew better than to touch a cat in mid-Shift. As long as her cat jaws were still in place, she could take off my hand with one good bite. Even if she didn’t mean to.

When she didn’t answer, shaking all over now that the changes were visible, I tried again. “Hey! Nod your head if you’re all right!”

She nodded, an unstable up-and-down motion in the grip of the full-body tremors that ushered in her human skeletal structure.

As I watched, her tail seemed to shrink into her spine—easily the most amazing part of the process—and the fur across her back began to recede in a broad arc, as if the follicles were sucking each hair back into her skin. I’d done it at least a thousand times, but it was still amazing to watch. Riveting. Though the tabby probably wasn’t enjoying it quite so much.

Fortunately, by then she was past the point of needing my guidance. And past the point of no return, at least for such a young werecat. A more experienced cat could probably have reversed the Shift at such a late stage, if he was willing to put up with the extra pain and extended duration. But the tabby was over the hill and on the way down, with nothing to stop her progress now but completion of the transformation.

A few minutes later, her bare paws twisted and stretched into hands, and her claws thinned into fingernails, long and dirt-caked, as I’d expected. Then she went still, lying on the floor on her stomach, one leg out straight, the other bent at the knee. A long, matted mane of thick brown hair covered her head, shoulders, and much of her back. When it was clean and healthy, she would probably have one of the most beautiful heads of hair I’d ever seen. A true mane.

For several moments, she didn’t move, other than the rising and falling of her chest as she panted beneath that blanket of hair, winded from the most strenuous and unique exercise she’d ever endured. I thought back to my first few Shifts, trying to remember if I’d been so exhausted, or looked so incredibly frail. I didn’t think so. But then, I’d known what to expect. And I’d never in my life been as weak as she had to be, nor half as thin.

Between matted strands of hair, I saw bony shoulders stretching into a pair of arms so fragile-looking and thin that her elbows had actual corners. Her waist was impossibly tiny, and her hips so narrow I would have assumed she was prepubescent, if it wasn’t impossible for a werecat to Shift before puberty sent hormones raging through a body, triggering much more than just breasts and menses.

But that was impossible. She was probably just petite, like Abby.

Or so I thought, until she lifted her head, pushing tangled strands of hair aside with one arm while she supported her slight weight with the other. Huge hazel eyes stared up at me, a little browner than they’d been in cat form, and much larger than they should have appeared because of how thin her face was. Her cheeks had more hollow than bone, and her chin looked sharp enough to draw blood.