by Jae
A loud chime from the laptop she had placed on the closed toilet lid announced an incoming e-mail. She lifted her other hand out of the water and wiped it dry on the fluffy towel she had placed next to the tub. Slowly, careful not to splash the manuscript, Griffin reached out one of her long arms and clicked to open the new message.
It was from Jorie.
I would have loved to see her face when I just ignored her question about cats' color vision and suggested another meeting to talk about it. She had told Jorie that she wanted to pick her brain about must-see places in the area and that it would be less complicated to meet again than to go back and forth in e-mails.
She skimmed the short answer. "Yeah!" With a satisfied sigh, Griffin slid back down in the tub.
Jorie had agreed to meet her for coffee at the diner again.
With a sigh of regret, Griffin lifted herself out of the warm water. She enjoyed the sensuous feeling of foamy bubbles sliding down her skin for a few moments, then reached for a towel. "Let's set this plan in motion."
CHAPTER 7
THE WAITRESS SET the cup of tea in front of Griffin and fled.
"She's warming up to me," Griffin said. She gave Jorie a small wink, just enough to let Jorie know she was joking but not so pronounced to make her think she was flirting. While even the straightest Wrasa woman was at ease with female flirtation, some human females weren't, and Griffin didn't want to take the chance that Jorie was one of them.
A short smile flashed across Jorie's serious features. She wasn't exactly quick to warm up to Griffin either, but at least she was polite and grateful for Griffin's offer to help with her research. As far as Griffin could tell, she had greeted her a tad more warmly than at their first meeting. The most basic sign of trust was still missing, though: Jorie still hadn't told Griffin her real name.
"So, how long have you lived here?" Griffin asked, determined not to let Jorie direct the conversation this time. Even without the council's dossier, Jorie's lack of the Yooper dialect made it possible that she hadn't grown up in the area. "Long enough to know all the must-see tourist spots?" she added when a tiny frown carved itself into Jorie's brow.
"I know them all — all two of them," Jorie said. She gave Griffin a smile, but no personal information. "With the work you do, what made you pick another national forest for your vacation spot?" Jorie's dark eyes were gently probing.
Hmm, look at that. Here's a human who's a master at the cat-and-mouse game. Instead of her getting information about Jorie Price and her book, Jorie was asking all the questions. She had taken control so smoothly that most people wouldn't even have noticed. Griffin wasn't most people, though. She had noticed, and her cat side was thoroughly enjoying the challenge. Jorie was a worthy opponent, not the easy prey she had imagined. "Two birds with one stone," she answered. "I have family up here." It was true, but Griffin had no intention of seeing them if she could avoid it.
"But you didn't grow up around here?" Jorie asked.
"No. I spent one summer with my father when I was a teenager, but I didn't get to do any sightseeing." Again, it was the truth. She had been sent to the UP to learn how to control the shifting, not to enjoy a vacation.
"So why not ask your father about the sightseeing spots in the area?" Jorie took a sip of her coffee and studied Griffin over the rim of the cup.
She's every bit as curious and as cautious as a cat, and now she's back to asking questions about me. Griffin had to admire how smoothly Jorie directed their conversation. "I'm not close to anyone in my family. If I ask them for advice on the local must-see spots, they'll want to come along." She gave an exaggerated shudder. "I'll visit with them for a little while, of course, but having them traipse along for the whole vacation... no thanks. My family and I get along best at a distance." Again, she didn't have to lie, but it was a calculated answer. Jorie was living alone in a remote area, just exchanging a few e-mails with her mother, so she probably wasn't close to her own family either.
Jorie gave a nod of understanding but didn't comment.
"What about you?" Griffin asked. "Do your folks live in the area too?"
A quick shake of her head was the only answer. "So," Jorie said, opening the notebook at which Griffin still needed to get a good look, "what can you tell me about cats' color vision? Are they really color-blind?"
Back to business. She's still not very interested in friendly chitchat. A sip of her tea made Griffin frown. It hadn't gotten any better since her last visit. She preferred her tea freshly brewed from leaves, not from a bag. "Color-blind?" she repeated. "Oh, no, cats do see colors. Cats are dichromatic. They have two types of color-sensitive cones, not three like humans do. I guess you could say they see things similar to people with certain kinds of color blindness. And they have more rods and fewer cones, so they see colors less intense, more washed out."
Jorie's pen eagerly scratched over the pages of her notebook. "So a tiger would be able to see the color blue?"
Griffin took in the light blue color of Jorie's blouse. "Yes. Cats have no problem with blue and yellow, but red and orange would appear in shades of gray to them."
More notes were scribbled into the ever-present notebook. Finally, Jorie looked up and grinned. It was a smile that crinkled the edges of her eyes, not just a polite gesture. "So I guess trying to woo my tiger with red roses would be a waste of time, huh?"
Laughter rumbled up Griffin's chest. This time, she didn't need to act. "Well..." She had never received roses of any color and had never wanted them. Bringing flowers to a date was a strictly human tradition. To the Wrasa, flowers belonged to meadows and clearings, not into vases and flower shops. If you wanted to impress your date, you brought food.
"Especially since tigers are carnivores and wouldn't even be interested in eating them," Jorie said. "Actually... that would make a funny scene." She scribbled furiously into her notebook.
Shaking her head, Griffin watched a writer's mind at work. Great. I'm supposed to stop her from writing this book, and what do I do? I jump-start her muse. "Wooing a tiger with flowers... These are not normal animals in your story, are they?" Griffin asked, interrupting the scribbling.
Jorie looked up. Her thumb played with the end of the pen for a moment before she called her hands back to order. She took a deep breath. "My main character is a shape-shifter who can turn into a tiger," she said matter-of-factly as if human-looking creatures turning into tigers were nothing out of the ordinary.
And maybe they aren't for her. That's what I'm here to find out. "Ah," Griffin said. "I noticed that these stories are getting popular. I've read a few of the werewolf romances." She hadn't, but she could bluff as well as any of the poker players in Jorie's past. If nothing else, the passionate glow in Jorie's eyes told her that she could keep her talking if she asked about books and writing in general.
Jorie shook her head. "Werewolves and shape-shifters are not the same thing."
"They're not?" Griffin feigned ignorance.
"No," Jorie said. Passion colored her features when she was talking about her writing. "A werewolf is basically a human that has been bitten by a werewolf and turned into one of them. Shape-shifters aren't human at all and never have been. They have their own culture, their own language, their own physiology."
Yes, they do, Griffin silently agreed. Or more precisely, we once had our own language. Since most Wrasa spent their time pretending to be human, their children grew up speaking English, Spanish, French, and other human languages. Their old language was nearly lost. The rest of their culture wasn't too far behind. Griffin shook off the depressing thought and forced her attention back to the present.
What Jorie described weren't the clichés she had hoped for. Jorie's story world wouldn't be inhabited by creatures that were howling at the moon once a month. "So your character is a tiger-shifter, not a weretiger? They're a different species, not turned humans?" she asked, just to make sure.
Jorie nodded. "Exactly. They might look human, but they're not," sh
e said but didn't offer more information than that.
"Why a tiger? Why not a wolf?" Griffin asked. "Wolves seem to be more popular in fiction." She had never understood the human fascination with wolves and dogs when cats were so much more interesting. Not that I'm biased or anything, she thought with a secret grin.
"I don't know." Jorie shrugged. One corner of her mouth lifted up to form a disarming half smile. "I know most readers find an alpha wolf irresistible, but I've always had a soft spot for cats."
Is she flirting? Griffin thought but then shook her head at herself. She doesn't even know you're a cat... hopefully. And she writes boy-meets-girl romances. Jorie's smile wasn't really directed at her. She was probably thinking about the three cats she had at home. "So that shifter thing," Griffin began, making it sound as if the mere idea was absurd to her, "was that why the weight of a tiger seemed to be a problem for you?"
Reluctantly, Jorie's head tipped up and down. "It's hard to find a scientific explanation for how a slender human can turn into a 250-pound cat," she said.
"Hard? Impossible," Griffin said truthfully. Wrasa weighed the same in their animal form as they did in their human form. With her four hundred pounds, Griffin had to avoid scales and cheap furniture. She also couldn't let a human physician take too close a look at her since an expert would immediately notice that her bones and muscles were much too dense to be human. "No living being can gain mass from nothing. You would be better off sticking to wolves." Not that Jennings or the council would be happier about that. "They weigh about as much as a human. Even better, use magic. A magical creature could weigh whatever you want it to."
Jorie's fingers tightened around the pen in her hand, but she didn't write down what Griffin had said, as if she didn't want to use that information anyway. "I want this story based on science, not magic," Jorie said.
Great Hunter, she's stubborn. With the patience of a cat, Griffin grinned down at her anyway. "That's why you're having coffee with a zoologist, not a magician, right?"
Jorie threw back her head and laughed.
The sound was a surprise. Instead of grating on her nerves as some humans' laughter did, it pleasantly tickled her ears like the twittering of birds on that sunny spring day in the forest.
After just a few seconds, Jorie stopped laughing and was back to asking businesslike questions.
Finally, before Griffin could even finish her horrible-tasting tea, Jorie put her notebook back into her backpack and laid some money on the table.
"Let me pay this time," Griffin said. She had lived among humans long enough to know it was considered the polite thing to do. Had she been here with a Wrasa, there would have been no fighting over the check. The higher-ranking Wrasa always took care of the check. Just the parwese, the Kasari's high king, was never expected to pay for anything — he took the lion's share without asking and let his people work for him while he was busy ruling the Allied Prides.
"No, I have it," Jorie said. It was clear that she didn't want to owe Griffin anything. "I can't thank you enough for helping me with my research again, so at least let me pay for your tea."
Griffin gave in. "Then I'll pay next time should you have any more questions."
Jorie tilted her head in a vague nod.
"Oh, before I forget, I have one of your books in my car. Would you mind signing it for me?" Griffin asked as they stood.
For once, Jorie's iron self-control slipped a little. One of her eyebrows arched up until it brushed her shaggy bangs.
What? Griffin thought, suppressing a grin. I don't look like I read hetero romances? Her gaze wandered down, over her big body, then up again to study Jorie. "I loved 'A Vampire's Heart,'" Griffin said. She had never met an author who didn't like hearing that from her readers.
Now Jorie smiled, but it was not the pleased expression that Griffin had expected. Instead, it was an indulgent, almost self-mocking smile. "That's kind of you to say, but it was the first book I published, and I know it has its weaknesses."
Great Hunter, she doesn't make it easy. What am I supposed to say to that? Griffin looked her right in the eyes, a gesture that humans interpreted as sincerity. "It had its strengths too. I liked your main character and her wicked sense of humor." Don't let it be said that a cat can't be charming.
Finally, Jorie nodded and accepted the compliment with a more relaxed smile.
* * *
Griffin glanced left and right as they left the diner. Nothing moved. The small side street where she had parked her rental car was empty. Good.
The awareness of being watched made her skin prickle, but Griffin ignored it. She led Jorie over to her car and opened the trunk.
A hulking figure stepped out from behind the car next to Griffin's. He took a threatening step toward Jorie. A knife flashed in his hand.
Jorie froze.
"Your wallet," he said to Griffin. "Hand it over if you don't want me to hurt your friend."
It wasn't easy to give up something that was hers, but Griffin did as she was told, encouraging Jorie to do the same.
"Now you." The man waved the knife at Jorie. "Is your wallet in the backpack?" The wallet wasn't really what he was after, but Jorie didn't need to know that.
Biting her lip, Jorie nodded.
"Give me that," he rumbled and reached for Jorie's backpack.
Jorie's fingers clutched the strap she had slung over one shoulder. "No!"
What? Griffin couldn't believe it. Is she stupid? She forced herself to stay where she was.
The mugger clamped his fingers around the strap and pulled it away from Jorie's shoulder, but Jorie refused to let go. The much bigger man wrenched her forward with a jerk of his arm. His other hand shot up. The knife's sharp tip trembled against the skin of Jorie's throat now. "Give me the backpack," he said again.
Jorie stood still. The scent of her fear hung in the air, but her confident posture didn't show it. Her fingers didn't let go of the backpack. Jorie looked him right in the eye. "No."
Griffin didn't know whether she should admire her for her courage or curse her for destroying their well-thought-out plan. "J.W.," she murmured, reminding herself at the very last second not to call the writer by her true first name. "Give him the damn thing. It's not worth getting killed over."
"Stay out of this!" the mugger snapped at Griffin without taking his gaze off Jorie.
Heat rushed through Griffin as her anger flared up. She saw the same reaction in the mugger. His predatory instincts came alive in his gaze, and she prayed he wouldn't mess up her plan by letting his emotions get the best of him. Like the bears into which they could turn, Maki were famous for their short fuses. Normally, Griffin wouldn't have involved one of them in a mission like this, but she needed someone with enough bulk for him to look like Goliath and make her look like the heroic David in comparison.
The knife slashed toward Jorie.
No! Griffin took an automatic step forward. No! This is not how this was supposed to go. It wasn't Jorie who was supposed to get hurt.
But instead of cutting Jorie's throat, the knife slashed through the backpack's strap. The Maki wrenched the backpack from Jorie's weakening grasp, shoved Jorie back, and ran.
Griffin exhaled. Her plan was back on track. She would give him a few seconds' head start, then take off after him and heroically try to save Jorie's backpack, getting hurt in the process. Blood rushed through Griffin's veins and sent an explosion of power through her muscles as she got ready to run.
A blur shot past her before she could unleash her hunting instincts.
Jorie was running after the Maki. She was quickly catching up with his lumbering form.
No!
Griffin bolted after them, but the slender Jorie was unexpectedly fast.
One of her hands shot out to snatch the backpack away from the mugger.
The Maki sensed a presence behind him. With a roar, he charged around.
His eyes widened when he realized it was Jorie, not Griffin, who had chased him dow
n. This wasn't part of their plan. Still charged with adrenaline, the Maki stood with the knife suspended in mid-air.
Taking advantage of his hesitation, Jorie reached for the backpack.
Stupid! In his condition, the Maki would interpret it as an attack. Griffin lunged forward to hold her back, but the Maki was faster.
His knife slashed through the air, a natural extension of his hand, as his claws would have been.
Jorie stumbled back and crashed into one of the parked cars.
A hoarse cry of pain made Griffin's heartbeat speed up. Anger threatened to ignite. Blood! Her nose signaled her. Jorie's blood. He hurt her! With two big leaps, she had caught up with them. Her fist, already covered with fine, lengthening hair, drew back. Stop! You're not here to protect Jorie. You're here to trick her, remember? With an iron hand, she shackled her cat instincts that told her to hunt down the Maki.
His self-control wasn't as good. A giant paw smashed into the side of Griffin's head.
Pain exploded. Her vision blurred. Adrenaline pounded through her. Her skin burned, and she fought against the need to shift or fight back. No! she firmly told herself. This is not an attack; this is what you wanted. She let herself sink onto one knee.
The sound of the Maki's hurried footsteps made her hunter's instincts flare again. She shook from the effort to control her urge to shift.
Jorie!
The thought made her get to her feet.
Jorie was right next to her. She was bent over, and for a few horrifying seconds, Griffin thought the knife might have hit her in the gut. Then she saw the blood soaking her left sleeve. The coppery scent of it was almost drowned out by the biting smell of Jorie's pain, fear, and shock.
Age-old instincts boiled through Griffin's blood, telling her to hunt down the weak, cornered prey, but years of training allowed her to ignore the impulse and the tempting scent of fear. "Hey," Griffin murmured. "You okay?" She heard her own voice shaking and hoped Jorie believed it was just the shock, not guilt or the effort it took not to shift. "Let me see."
"It's okay," Jorie said through gritted teeth.
