Cheetahs Never Win

by RJ Blain

“Well, the fruits of my labor didn’t seem to make much of a dent on your floor. Dumped it in the bathtub?”

  “Yep.”

  “Two towels to contain the mess, too, from the looks of it. Heaven forbid you get syrup on the floor. Don’t move,” she ordered, strolling in the direction of my chocolate-decorated bathroom. She peeked inside and laughed. “Well, that will keep you busy for a while. What happened to the whipped cream?”

  “I dumped it down the drain. I figured it’d gone bad sitting out.”

  “Let me see if I understand this. You disarmed my trap, restored your apartment to order, dumped the potentially but probably not spoiled whipped cream down the drain, and waited until I was on my way here to pour it over your head?”

  “That sounds remarkably accurate,” I admitted.

  “You’re even more of a cat than I am.”

  “I don’t think a self-respecting cat would do this.” I pointed at my chocolate-covered hair. “I figured I deserved this for sending you to that party.”

  “It beat my date,” Sassy muttered. “Did you know there’s a group of swingers interested in contracting the virus? I recommended they ask the male cheetahs. They’ll sleep with anything that moves as long as they sign a bloody waiver.”

  Her tone, close enough to a growl I might luck out and see her shift, warned me her date had gone even worse than I’d thought. One day, she’d win, and she tempted me to be the one who won her.

  How would be the question.

  As always, I cursed myself, my professionalism, and my dumbass promise to never cross the dating line with her. If she figured out the truth, what would she do? It amazed me she hadn’t already figured out I’d developed an unfortunate interest in her, one that grew with the same tenacity of a dandelion in the cracks of a sidewalk.

  When we’d first partnered together, she’d been concerned; with her dismal luck in the dating world, I couldn’t blame her for being worried. Her promise of immediate retribution no longer worried me.

  She did things like leave traps of cotton candy and chocolate syrup for her unsuspecting victims.

  I wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the situation, but I faked a sigh instead. “There can’t be many cheetahs left for you to date, Sassy. You might need to start expanding your horizons for a male of another species.”

  Sassy wailed and yanked at her hair. “Maybe if they’d stop kissing each other long enough, I’d go on a second date with one of those loser male cheetahs! Can’t they leave their boyfriends at home for at least a few hours? Mom had the same problem, too.”

  I appreciated Sassy’s mother having found a way to overcome the natural tendencies of unmated cheetah males, but I worried Sassy would follow her mother’s footsteps without it being targeted in my general direction. “How did your mother solve the problem?”

  “She kidnapped him. Then she held him hostage for a while. Once she made it clear he was a captured male she intended to keep, she warned him if he involved his tongue with anyone other than her, she’d geld him after she had at least one litter, cruelly using him as a sperm donor.”

  Having met Sassy’s father, the threats, posturing, kidnapping, and hostage situation likely tripped his trigger, revved his engine, and ensured Sassy’s mother got her way. However, the threat of gelding made me grimace. “Well, I promise I’ve never done anything to deserve being gelded, and I plan to keep it that way.”

  Sassy snorted and waved her hand. “I wouldn’t geld you, but after the day I’ve had, I need chocolate.”

  I already regretted turning myself into a living treat for Sassy’s enjoyment, and she hadn’t even shifted yet.

  At eighty pounds, Sassy ranked in at the lowest of the low on the lycanthrope cheetah scale, smaller than mundane adults by at least three pounds. I suspected her size drove off some suitors, but I theorized she’d bulk up once she picked a mate and settled down for life. The few times I’d seen Sassy’s mother as a cheetah, she could eat mundane cheetahs for lunch, and Sassy’s father was at least thirty pounds heavier than her mother.

  Then again, if Sassy stayed petite, I wouldn’t mind it at all. Eighty pounds was enough feline for any man to contend with, especially when she insisted on taking over my lap at her convenience.

  As keeping her happy topped my current to-do list, I leaned towards her so she could use her tongue to give my face a washing I’d regret for days. Sandpaper had nothing on her, and long after she’d stripped off the top layer of skin, she continued on her mission to enjoy every drop of chocolate syrup she could.

  To make it clear I was a treat she intended to enjoy, she pressed the tops of her claws into my leg to make certain I stayed put and didn’t attempt to escape her not-so-tender grooming.

  I consoled myself with digging my fingers into her fur and pretending I groomed her. While her fur was coarse compared to most dogs and cats, I enjoyed petting her, something I refused to admit to anyone. Adhering to our typical routine, I kept my mouth shut.

  No matter how perky and lively Sassy behaved, she needed silence sometimes, something few others understood. When she was ready to talk, she’d wander to my bathroom, shift, come out, and talk. How she dressed would determine how the rest of my evening went. If she claimed my bathrobe, I’d dig out the pint of ice cream I kept in the freezer and pretend I didn’t require sleep to function. If she wore her clothes and headed for the door, I’d pretend nothing had happened.

  When Sassy lost her spunk, I worried. Some days, I worried enough I considered breaking a glass in such a way we both bled. It didn’t take much blood to crank the risk of infection, and infection with lycanthropy would change all the rules of engagement. According to my observations of the local cheetah coalition, I’d have no more than ten years to convince her to pick me before I became an insufferable male cheetah like the rest of them.

  It would be a challenge.

  Two hours after beginning her assault using only the powers of her tongue, Sassy retreated to my bathroom, emerging a few minutes later wearing her clothes. “Call me tomorrow about the contract. I have a date at four with a wolf. We’ll fight, but at least he’s not a damned cheating cheetah.”

  “How does twenty after four sound?”

  “About right. He suggested fast food to meet up and get to know each other.”

  Ouch. He could’ve at least suggested a family diner. “I guess he’s expecting a fight, too.”

  “It is what it is. Thanks for the chocolate.”

  I chuckled and waved her off. “I’d say any time, but I need at least a few layers of intact skin.”

  “I’ll give you a week. I’m thinking peanut butter and chocolate mousse next time.”

  She’d need a lot longer than two hours to lick that mess up. “I’ll keep a stock of lactose-free milk in the fridge in that case. Just no whipped cream left out as a trap. It might spoil. If you want whipped cream, leave it in the fridge like a reasonable adult.”

  “Worry wart.” Sassy headed to the door, hesitated, and then let herself out, mumbling something under her breath.

  I wanted to hit the asshole cheetahs who’d stolen her fire and left her tired, lonely, and worn. Too many promises divided us, and I didn’t know how to overcome them without leaving a shattered mess in my wake.

  Fuck it. Tomorrow, I’d go buy her another pair of shoes, a purse that matched, and pay her parents a visit. Maybe they’d have a solution to Sassy’s lack of a love life that didn’t involve extending me an invitation to a gelding.

  Fourteen thousand dollars, seven thousand for me, seven thousand for Sassy, waited in the company bank accounts first thing in the morning. I checked my clothes for scraps of paper, confirming Maxwell’s tip about the number one and April 10th. The lack of a year frustrated me even more than the ambiguous date and number. Why April 10th?

  The number seemed dreadfully obvious; the pair was only the first of the deaths, an omen I hoped wouldn’t come to pass. Maxwell’s willingness to hire me out of pocket led me to believe the pol
ice wouldn’t catch the killer in time to prevent another murder—or murders.

  Had the mother or child been the real target? If the child had been the target, why? What could a child have done to deserve death?

  The number could mean something else, but until I uncovered more evidence or Maxwell contacted me with additional information, I had no choice but to focus my efforts on the date. I sent Maxwell an email asking if he’d learned any names; he’d be able to guess I meant the mother and child without anyone who might read it understanding what we discussed.

  Realistically, I expected it would take him until afternoon at the earliest to give me enough information to start my part of the work.

  Until he contacted me, I’d make the most of my time and begin my plan to convince Sassy to forgive me when I broke several key promises trying to free her from a future of dating cheating cheetahs and wolves. While I had nothing against wolf lycanthropes, I couldn’t imagine the amount of property damage a cheetah and a wolf might create given more than twenty minutes together. To get the shoes and purse, I needed to venture to Highland Park Village. Daily interaction with Sassy gave me an unfortunate idea of her dream shoe, which was more of a strappy, heeled sandal in red with clear bits of plastics holding it together along with some gold trim. As I couldn’t give her the shoes of her dreams without its matching purse, I’d be getting her the red calf-skin handbag also decorated with gold.

  My credit card would cry when I swiped it, and I’d spend a long time paying it off when everything was said and done. One hour and over five thousand dollars later, I drove my truck into the heart of cheetah territory to pay Sassy’s parents a visit.

  A wiser man would’ve written up his last will and testament before making the drive across town.

  The last time I’d infringed on his territory, Sassy’s father had kicked my ass so hard I’d needed emergency surgery to repair my teeth. I couldn’t leave the shoes or purse in my truck, so I’d hope he’d delay my beating long enough to put the bag somewhere safe. I gave myself low odds of successfully dodging a second beating.

  Once mated, cheetah males defined overprotective. Toss in the rarity of daughters among cheetahs, and I courted disaster and long-term rehabilitation.

  Her father’s truck and her mother’s car were in the driveway, and to my relief, none of her brothers’ vehicles were parked on their front lawn. Had they been around, I might’ve turned tail and run for the hills. If any of them noticed my departure, they’d chase, as cheetahs enjoyed the hunt above all else.

  I wanted Sassy’s attention, not the attention of her chronically single brothers in search of a good time with anyone who would look at them. If wolves had the same population controls inherent in their species as cheetahs did, the general infection rates would plummet—or be strictly male with a few frustrated females scattered throughout the population.

  Bracing for the worst, I got out of my truck, went to the door, and knocked.

  If anyone asked me to guess Oliver Chetty’s species, I’d pick grizzly bear every time. Made of muscle, taller than me by at least six inches, and prone to lumbering, I struggled to accept he transformed into a sleek, spotted cat capable of outrunning the wind.

  He looked me over, raising a brow. “You’re the last person I expected to see at my door today. What brings you around here without my kitten in tow?”

  I held up my one defense, the bag clearly marked with Sassy’s favorite brand of shoes. “Please don’t get any blood on these. I bought them for Sassy, and I’d like her to receive them unstained.”

  As far as pleas went, I thought mine went over well. Thirty seconds went by without me bleeding at all.

  “Come on in and tell me why you think you’re going to be bleeding today,” Sassy’s father ordered. “Put the bag on the gun rack and lock your weapon up if you’re armed.”

  “I’m not carrying today.”

  I was grateful looks from lycanthropes couldn’t kill; Sassy’s father would’ve had me in my grave in ten seconds flat.

  “Why the hell not? My kitten gets cranky when you don’t carry.”

  “Your kitten also likes scaring me for fun and booby trapping my apartment, making carrying a dangerous prospect.”

  “That’s the honest truth.”

  As ordered, I set Sassy’s shoes and purse on the gun rack. I kicked my shoes off before following Sassy’s father into his kitchen. Once upon a time, the massive room had barely held everyone. The long table with twelve chairs had since been replaced with a round one meant for four. I found the opened space depressing and lifeless compared to my older memories.

  Then again, it meant I didn’t have to deal with Sassy’s nine brothers plotting my demise in some fashion or another.

  “Take a load off and tell me what brings you my way. Coffee?”

  “Please.” I sat at the table and marveled that he hadn’t started tenderizing me yet; last time I’d come over, he’d pounced on me the instant I got through the door and whooped my ass for not keeping Sassy out of trouble—trouble I hadn’t even known she’d gotten into.

  Surviving the Chetty family would be my second challenge, especially once Sassy’s father found out I meant to break a few promises to catch a cat by her tail and keep her around.

  I was so damned doomed I had no idea how I’d make it through the day.

  Drawing in a slow breath to steady my nerves, I announced, “I have to call Sassy later this afternoon to rescue her from a date with a wolf. Since she’s desperate enough to try dating a wolf in the first place, here I am. She’s sworn off dating the uninfected, I promised I wouldn’t think about her in a romantic fashion, and it’s gotten to the point I’m bailing her out of bad dates at least three times a week. I’m at a loss of what to do, and the only feasible solution I’ve got involves contracting an incurable disease.”

  “I’m not sure how contracting lycanthropy could possible help with this train wreck that’s my kitten’s dating life. Bless her heart, she’s determined, but she’s got the worst luck I’ve ever seen.”

  I doubted Sassy’s luck could get worse even if she tried. “I thought I’d blame the virus—and whoever infected me with it—when I breached my basic promise to never mix my work and private life. I’m also supposed to be the one man she can trust. I figure it’d be a hell of a lot safer for her if she stopped dating dead-beat cheetahs with mature viruses. From my understanding of the situation, I’ll have ten years following my infection to convince Sassy to take pity on me before I join the ranks of dead-beat cheetahs.”

  Sassy’s father chuckled and brought me a mug of black coffee with a high risk of being toxic sludge thinly disguised as coffee. All asking for cream or sugar would do was increase my odds of suffering through an even worse beating later. “Thank you, sir.”

  “I see you’ve put some thought into this. When was the last time you were tested for lycanthropy?”

  “I’m tested every two years when it’s time to renew my private investigator license.”

  “And when’s your next renewal?”

  “I just renewed. Two months ago,” I admitted.

  “Good. Here’s the deal. If you want the virus, you gotta fight like you mean it. I’ll find you a donor with a spiking virus of our strain, but you’re the one who has to make him bleed. I don’t care how you do it. Sock the brat in the face for all I care, get overly enthusiastic with power tools doing errands around this place, whatever it takes. You’ll be putting your license on the line, but that’s not my problem. You’re right about my kitten, though. She won’t bend, so you’ll have to. That you’re here tells me you’ve done figured that out already. What happened to you swearing off women for life?”

  As Sassy’s father referred to his sons as brats, I expected the ‘fight’ would be more accidental in nature. While cheetah males preferred each other over the rare ladies among them, each and every one of them went to extremes when it came to trucks, power tools, and recreational vehicles.

  My futur
e looked like a dark, pain-filled place for the next little while.

  “Sassy happened,” I confessed. “I just spent several thousand dollars on three pairs of shoes for her since yesterday. Don’t ask how much the purse cost, please. I’m trying to forget about it for a while.”

  “Cheetahs enjoy offerings. My wife tried to bribe me into marrying her, but she ultimately had to get bossy with me.”

  I supposed a kidnapping and hostage situation counted as bossy. I waited for her father to continue, biting my tongue so I wouldn’t start the tenderization portion of my day prematurely.

  “Sassy’s virus is an odd one. She’s all cat in her genetics, but she’s all wolf in her behavior. Her momma? Her momma went around the block before becoming contagious and her virus matured enough to make her monogamous. Sassy’s never been with a man because cheetah males disgust her. Don’t ask me about her opinion on the wolves, as I won’t have that language in my house.”

  “Cheetahs never win, according to her, and she can’t tolerate it.” I sighed and shrugged. “Letting the cheaters win, that is. So she plays it the straight and narrow way and won’t bend. So here I am. I’m going to toe the line and hope she views my efforts as bending the rules rather than cheating. If she thinks of it as cheating, I’m sunk.”

  “Unless you get together with another lady while the virus matures so you skip the ten-year dive into the main coalition.”

  The truth sucked, especially when Sassy’s father bludgeoned me with it. “Exactly.”

  “So, you have more than a few problems on your hands. Sastria’s stubborn, but you know that. Your first problem is broaching this to her. What’s your plan?”

  “First, I’ll blame her brothers, their power tools, recreational vehicles, or trucks for my status as newly infected. That’ll be the truth, so I won’t be lying to her. That I’m willingly putting myself in harm’s way will annoy her, but she never said I couldn’t. If anything, she’ll like that I’m trying to get along with her brothers. Anyway, after it’s been confirmed I caught the virus from one of them, I’d blame them and propose an expansion of our current partnership to include full benefits and responsibilities. In part, I’ll beg so I don’t become yet another dead-beat cheetah male a few years down the road. I’m probably going to have to promise she can geld me if I cross her lines.”