by Jade White
“But once it’s all past us, I kind of want to talk more about making you a kept woman.” Cynthia mock-scowled at Nick, half-heartedly attempting to tug her hand free of his hold.
“I will not be a kept woman, no matter what,” she said firmly. “I will let you pay me as your contractor, and within the bounds of the contract I’ll let you do something like help me move. But if we have a personal relationship, we are going to have some firm words about you giving me money.”
“Fair enough,” Nick said, inclining his head towards her. “For now, though—you’re okay if we keep things the same? With maybe a few more security measures?” Cynthia considered the question for a moment.
“I’m okay with it,” she said finally, nodding. “For right now, we’ll table the discussion of being together as anything other than surrogate and—whatever you call the person impregnating the surrogate.”
“Sperm donor?” Cynthia snorted.
“You’re more than a sperm donor. You’re not just giving me sperm.”
Nick chuckled. “That’s the important part though, right?” He grinned at her, and his hand tightened around her fingers. “Let’s get out of here, speaking of that. I need to make several ‘donations’ to make this evening worthwhile.”
Cynthia rolled her eyes at the surprisingly crass euphemism, but nodded her agreement. There had been a point in the evening when she would have enthusiastically begged off of her duties as a surrogate mother but now that she understood a little bit more, now that Nick had worked his indefinable charms on her, she could feel the warmth spreading out from the pit of her stomach to her extremities. It didn’t hurt that she knew that Nick would be more attentive than usual in his efforts to bring her to a fever pitch.
Nick paid the tab and they stepped out of the restaurant a few minutes later, talking about the play. They compared the parts that had appealed to each of them, analyzing the way that the story line had developed.
“Man, the woman who played the lead was amazing,” Cynthia said, shaking her head as she remembered one of the woman’s soliloquys. “She just—she was so clear, so absolutely vulnerable and transparent on the stage, even though it was just some very high-price dinner theater.”
“Well she’s a pro,” Nick pointed out, grinning slightly. “Even in a tiny venue like this, for a tiny audience, she’s going to go to the hilt, right?”
Cynthia began to reply, but Nick stopped in his tracks, his hand closing on her shoulder. “What’s wrong?” She felt a ripple of tension work through Nick; he turned to look at her and she saw his eyes had taken on a golden hue that she typically only saw in odd moments when they were having sex together.
“Stand very still,” Nick murmured. He tilted his head back slightly and Cynthia watched in fascination and confusion as Nick sniffed at the air, turning his head one way and then the other. A sound like a low, guttural, clicking growl left his throat and Cynthia felt a new chill work through her spine. What was going on? “Stay right here, and don’t scream. Okay?” Cynthia frowned as her confusion deepened. Why would she scream?
As if to answer her question, she heard the sound of heavy steps on the gritty sidewalk. When Cynthia turned to see the source of the noise, she caught the first glimpse of a large, slinking lion. It was male, with an enormous mane, unusually dark brown. Cynthia’s heart pounded in her chest and her throat closed in on itself as she realized that the lion was moving towards them, watching both her and Nick with unmistakable intent.
She was so transfixed by the sight of a lion in the downtown restaurant district that Cynthia barely noticed the fact that Nick’s touch on her shoulder had disappeared. She heard—vaguely—a gloppy, thick, liquid sound, with crunching mixed in.
“Nick,” Cynthia started to say. She turned to look at him, but in his place she saw some kind of mist, and a creature that was most definitely not a human. Cynthia staggered back two steps as the figure in the mist began to change and transform; orange and black fur appeared from nowhere, starkly striped and intensely vibrant. A pair of arms became forelegs, with huge, blunt-clawed paws at the end of it. The churning sound, like hard bits of something in a thick liquid, intensified, and as Cynthia watched, the space that had held Nick only moments before suddenly held an enormous tiger.
The animal growled, the noise so loud and low-pitched that it rumbled inside of Cynthia’s body, and she took another step back. She was so shocked by the transformation of Nick into this creature—and since she had seen it, she had to at least temporarily credit the information she had from her own eyes—that she had forgotten about the lion. But in response to Nick’s low growl, the lion let out a guttural, surprisingly soft roar. Cynthia’s heart fluttered and pounded in her chest, rabbit-rapid, as she took in the sight of a lion and a tiger squaring off, beginning to circle each other.
She noticed that the tiger kept himself between her and the lion, the growl rising and falling, interspersed with chuffs and coughs and clicking sounds. It occurred to Cynthia that she had never actually heard a real, live tiger before. She had had no idea what kind of sounds they made other than roars.
The lion tired of the circling, and Cynthia saw its gaze dart towards her in the instant before it launched itself into the air, powerful hind legs propelling it up and forward. She realized that it was making the terrific leap towards her, that the lion had apparently decided to kill her, as opposed to the tiger. She started to scream and then remembered Nick’s warming and clapped her hand over her mouth, stepping back on unsteady feet and stumbling slightly.
But the tiger was faster. Before the lion could even get over the huge bulk of the tiger, it—Nick—twisted and pivoted, knocking the lion aside. Cynthia watched in confused fascination as the two huge felines grabbled, tumbling around on the ground. Any minute now somebody will be passing through on the sidewalk, and they’re going to see these two. She realized that she was in shock. Cynthia knew that later the issue of Nick apparently becoming a tiger by some kind of force of will would be more important. But right in that moment, she could only be grateful for the fact that the tiger was obviously defending her from the lion.
The two huge cats tumbled and twisted, one on top of the other, writhing around on the sidewalk. Guttural growls and carefully muffled roars filled her ears, and after a few moments, Cynthia didn’t even think to wonder at the fact that they had been attacked by a lion, and that Nick had turned himself into a tiger to fight the lion. Everything seemed completely unreal, so utterly dreamlike that Cynthia thought it was entirely possible that she had never actually left the restaurant, and that this was some kind of continuation of the play—even though neither tigers nor lions had been present in the play. Growls and muted chuffs and roars hit her ears, and Cynthia couldn’t quite make herself look away from the terrible fight happening in front of her.
As the shock began to dissipate, Cynthia began to realize just how utterly strange the scene in front of her was. What the hell is a lion doing in the middle of the city? Why did it try and attack us? The question of a tiger appearing in Nick’s place was one her mind couldn’t quite touch on; it was too bizarre and too troubling to actually consider. But the fact that the lion and the tiger were fighting, struggling there only a few feet away from her, was enough to make Cynthia begin to wonder when the noise would attract attention from whoever else was in the area.
She lost track of what was happening between the two huge felines—for a long moment they looked hopelessly tangled, their hides mingling and their limbs thrashing around on the ground. A sharp, yelping, animal cry cut through the air to hit Cynthia’s ears and she staggered back, looking around to make sure no convenient animal control person was coming or would it be the police first?
A moment later, the lion and the tiger separated. The lion had a long, jagged-looking tear on its hind leg, and a flap of skin on its shoulder hung down. The tiger that had replaced Nick wasn’t unharmed, but a moment’s look told Cynthia that its injuries were minor compared to the lion’s
: a few scratches, jagged enough but shallow, with a tear along the ribcage that made her shudder. No skin hanging down, no bone showing—so clearly the tiger had gotten the better end of the fight she had barely seen happening in the darkness.
The lion let out a guttural, coughing roar and slunk away, looking over its shoulder as it moved into the pitch black between streetlights. Cynthia sagged against a rough, gritty brick wall, her knees like rubber as she slid downward. The tiger looked at her with glowing gold eyes and her heart stuttered with instinctive fear at the sight of it. It let out a groan and she watched a strange mist wrap around the ominous feline. Once more she heard the strangely liquid churning sound, the crunch and clatter of hard bits inside of a thick fluid. The tiger groaned again—and then a third time, sounded bizarrely human. Before Cynthia’s dazed eyes, fur disappeared, and paws elongated, claws sinking away into fingers.
In a matter of moments, where the tiger had been, Nick reappeared, utterly naked. Cynthia saw that his clothes had become ripped, but were still partly intact on the ground where he’d stood. The man in front of her—so familiar until only a few minutes before—had wounds matching the ones the tiger had had. There was only one answer that Cynthia’s confused brain could come up with: Nick had turned into a tiger… and then had turned from a tiger into a human. That can’t be right. That’s not a thing that exists. That’s… that’s something out of cheap fiction. She swallowed against the tight, dry feeling in her throat and stared at Nick soundlessly as he gathered up his clothes and dressed, occasionally hissing as a movement strained one of the scratches.
After a few moments, Nick was fully clothed—if in ripped clothes—and Cynthia watched as he turned and moved towards her. An instinctive groan of dread left her lips. “I’m not going to hurt you,” Nick said firmly. “I won’t even touch you if you don’t want me to, but we need to get out of here.”
“Wh-wh-what… who… what the hell just happened?” Cynthia looked up the street, in the direction that the lion had gone. Nick took a deep breath and exhaled.
“Remember when I told you earlier that you might be in danger?” he asked. Cynthia, still feeling oddly numb and cold at the same time, her brain foggy with shock, nodded slowly. “You’re definitely in danger now. Come on, Cynthia, I’m taking you back to my place. If you need help getting up…” Cynthia shuddered, remembering the hand that had become a blunt-clawed paw, and shook her head, gathering her momentum and slowly working her way onto her feet.
“Just…” she licked her parched lips and closed her eyes a moment to try and gather her composure. “I know it’s mean of me, but please, just—don’t touch me just yet, okay? I’m still…” she shook her head.
“I understand,” Nick said quietly. “Let’s get in the car, okay? I can explain everything, but it’s probably best to get somewhere before the cops arrive.”
“How do you know the cops are coming?”
“There was just a lion and a tiger fighting in the street,” Nick said blandly. “Anyone who even just heard us would call the cops to investigate the noise.” Cynthia considered that for a moment. She nodded, accepting the logic.
“Okay then,” she said, taking another deep breath and trying to find something in the strange environment to cling to as an anchor, something to keep her firmly in reality. “Let’s go back to your place.”
Chapter Five
Nick hesitated in the kitchen of his townhouse, able to hear the slight movements—breaths, the occasional shifting—of Cynthia in the living room a few yards away. Nick sighed, pressing his forehead against the cold, hard fridge door. Well, now she’s good and spooked, he thought. He clenched his teeth, balling his hands into fists. The pain from the injuries the lion had given him had receded to a dull throb, and the wounds would heal in a day or so but he wished that he hadn’t had to change in front of her. Everything had started to look up. I was even going to get laid tonight—and then that asshole…
He had known in an instant that the lion approaching them was a shifter. Nick had known that the only way to safely fight the attacker was to go into his other form; even a supernatural human was at a disadvantage when it came to fighting off an enormous lion. As much as he wished it could have happened a different way, the way that the lion had started towards Cynthia—doubtlessly identifying her as the weaker opponent—meant that he’d had to take action.
Nick took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. He ached all over. Beyond the injuries throbbing away, he was exhausted from changing between his two forms so rapidly, and from the skirmish itself. Should have killed the fucker when I had the opportunity. The fight was a blur in his mind—all he could remember definitively was the lion coming after him, the feeling of the fur and skin giving away under his paws, the jolts of pain crackling through him when the lion landed a swipe. He’d been so worn out after the fight that he hadn’t had the time or the energy to kill the lion, no matter how vulnerable he’d been. And now he lives to fight another day—and maybe the next time he’s around, he kills me. Or Cynthia. Nick groaned.
He pulled himself away from the soothing cold of the fridge and turned towards the living room. Cynthia was still there. He half-suspected that she wanted to bolt, but didn’t quite know where to go. Nick opened the fridge door and took a bottle of wine out off of one of the shelves. He’d opened it the last time Cynthia had come to see him. They’d managed to drink a glass of wine each before retiring the bottle. Nick gripped the neck of the bottle tightly in one hand, opening the cabinet next to the fridge and retrieving two glasses.
Cynthia looked up—her face going pale and then red as fear and then embarrassment worked through her—as Nick padded into the room.
“Let’s talk,” he said, sitting down in a chair across the coffee table from the woman he had come to feel so strongly for. That was the worst part of that evening’s events: he hadn’t quite realized the degree to which he was attached to her.
“Talk?” Cynthia glanced at the bottle of wine in his hand. Nick smiled wryly.
“Yes. About what you just saw, and about what it means for our contract.” Nick set the glasses down on the coffee table. He uncorked the bottle, wincing slightly as the movement sent a ripple of pain through him. Nick filled the two glasses, sliding one towards Cynthia. “Drink. You’re in shock.”
Cynthia laughed dryly. “I suppose I am,” she conceded. She leaned forward and picked up the glass, bringing it to her lips and taking a small sip. “God, my mouth was so dry.” Nick watched as she took another sip before setting the glass down in front of her once more.
“Okay,” he said, drinking a little of his own wine and sitting back in the chair. Make yourself as non-threatening as possible. “You saw me turn into a tiger.”
“There’s not really any other explanation for it,” Cynthia said, giving him a weak smile.
“I’m a were-tiger, Cynthia.” Nick watched her closely. Her bright green eyes were starting to clear. She closed them for a moment and then opened them again.
“That implies that there are other kinds of… were-creatures,” she said slowly, hesitating before the noun.
“There are,” Nick said. “Lions, wolves—of course—bears…”
“Lions and tigers and bears, oh my!”
Nick chuckled softly at Cynthia’s interjection. “There are many kinds of shape-shifters,” Nick continued. “A lot of the different types live in… sort of—groups. Packs, in the case of wolves. Prides for lions.”
“Tigers are solitary though, aren’t they?” Cynthia frowned.
“More or less,” Nick said, nodding. “We have elders—older shifters of the same kind—but we mostly leave each other alone. We’ll pass the word if something might affect tigers at large, like a pack or pride trying to muscle other kinds of shifters out of a territory but we keep to ourselves and our families.”
“So if you’re—a were-tiger…” Cynthia picked up her wine glass again and took another sip of its contents. “Then your parents are—or were
, I guess, for your dad—too, right?”
Nick nodded again. “See? You’re on the ball with this!” he smiled wryly. “That is actually why I was insistent on—ah—‘natural’ conception for the child you were going to carry for me.”
“Huh?” Cynthia choked on her sip of wine.
“The characteristics—whatever it is that lets us change shape—can’t be passed on in artificial insemination or IVF,” Nick said. He took a long drink of his wine, willing the wounds on his body to heal faster.
“But wouldn’t there be an issue with me not being a—a shape-shifter?” Cynthia looked down at her hands, at her body. Nick shook his head.
“Not as much as you think,” Nick said. “There’s a very good chance that if you’re still willing to carry my child, as long as we continue the way we’ve been doing the past several weeks, you could become pregnant… and bear a were-tiger child.” Nick fought back the urge to groan when he saw Cynthia shudder.
“I think—I kind of want to take a break on that. If—if you can understand that?” Her bright eyes looked almost desperate. “I’m sorry, I know it shouldn’t matter, but…” Cynthia shrugged.
“I understand,” Nick said, smiling wryly as he finished off his glass of wine. “You just saw someone you’ve slept with about a dozen times turn into a tiger. Not the most… comforting thing you could see.”
“I need some time,” Cynthia said. She peered into the glass of wine, and Nick could see that she was embarrassed at the fact that she wasn’t completely okay with his status as a shape-shifter. “I just need to adjust to the fact that I know you can become a tiger whenever you want.”
“If it helps,” Nick said tentatively, reaching down to pick up the bottle of wine and refill his glass, “I swear that I will never turn into a tiger while we’re having sex. Or in bed together. I’d promise not to ever change in front of you, but…” he shrugged.
