Pride

by Rachel Vincent

“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 t
he 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.

  Still, she had the makings of true beauty, and I had no doubt that once she’d put on a few pounds—like, twenty or so—she was going to break tom-hearts all over the world. And, if she was half as fierce as the gleam in her eyes suggested, she might break a few heads, too.

  I liked her already.

  Sixteen

  I smiled at the now-human tabby and rose onto my knees, extending one hand to help her up. But as soon as I moved, she scuttled away from me on all fours, hair trailing the floor, eyes wide and frightened.

  As she moved, I caught fleeting glimpses of the front of her body, and the enforcer part of my brain kicked in, looking for wounds or scars that could have come from an initial infection. She was almost certainly not a stray, but I didn’t want to overlook any evidence in what could turn out to be a landmark case.

  Unfortunately, she had no such marks. Other than odd scrapes and several deep bruises, the most serious injury I saw was the medicated gash on her hand, exposed because the bandage had fallen off during her Shift.

  When her back hit the corner, the tabby hugged bare legs to her chest and stared at me over a pair of dirty, bony knees. Her focus roamed from my face to my tee, then to my faded jeans, as if seeing them for the first time. She’d seen them before, of course, but not with the full range of colors the human eye dealt with.

  Then she twitched, as if with sudden understanding, and her gaze flicked back to mine. Her cheeks flushed, and she looked away, hugging her legs tighter.

  She was…embarrassed.

  My Pride—all Prides, as far as I knew—paid little attention to nudity associated with Shifting. And even some nudity not associated with Shifting. But there were some exceptions. My mother, for instance. As with humans, levels of comfort and acceptance varied widely, most of us falling somewhere in the middle of the spectrum, with the odd few on either end.

  So it was possible that the tabby’s entire Pride was more conservative regarding gratuitous nudity than we were. But this wasn’t unwarranted bare skin. She’d just Shifted. There was no way to do that with clothes on. At least, not without ruining them.

  “It’s okay.” I edged closer on my knees. “You did it! I knew you could.” I didn’t play cheerleader for just anyone, but I was hoping the pride and enthusiasm in my voice would be contagious.

  The tabby said nothing. She only stared at me with those huge eyes, her chin resting on her knees. She looked shocked. Terrified. And not just of what she’d done. She looked horrified to find herself naked in front of a stranger. That was not the typical werecat response. Not even after a first Shift, though that couldn’t possibly have been her first. She’d had to get into cat form somehow.

  I knee-walked a step closer, and my leg came down on something sharp. “Ow, shit!” I looked down to find a cocklebur stuck in the denim over my knee. What the hell? I plucked it out and dropped it on the wood floor, where it landed next to another just like it. Glancing around, I found several more, and only then did I understand. They’d fallen from the tabby when the fur tangled around them receded into her skin.

  Huh. Look at that.

  Wary now, I scooted around the litter of cockleburs. As I drew closer, the tabby squeezed her legs tighter to her torso, her fingers going white under the strain. Her gaze skipped to my left, and I followed it with my own.

  The bed. She was looking at the bed. She wants the blanket.

  Of course she wanted the blanket. She was naked, and probably cold. I stood slowly to keep from frightening the tabby with sudden movements. As I pulled the top blanket from the mattress—fortunately not the one Colin had slept on—I deliberately turned my back to her, hoping she recognized—at least subconsciously—the demonstration of my trust. A werecat almost never turns his back on someone he doesn’t trust. To do so can get you killed.

  I held the blanket high as I turned, showing her I meant no harm. She let me approach, but her eyes didn’t leave mine until I draped the blanket over her and left it for her to arrange it as she saw fit. The bulk of the quilted material pooled on the floor around her, and she huddled beneath one small section, looking impossibly small. Impossibly young.

  “Are you warm enough?” I sat cross-legged on the floor, several feet in front of her. The tops of my feet itched, and I rubbed them, surprised to find the imprint of the wood grain still there from when I’d sat on them.

  The tabby nodded, even as her teeth started chattering. I wasn’t cold in the slightest. But then, I was neither underweight nor naked. “Just a minute. I’ll send one of the guys to get something of mine for you to wear. We’ll get you something new as soon as you decide what you want. Okay?”

  She nodded again, and I smiled, trying to set her at ease as I crossed the room and opened the door just wide enough to slip through the crack, to keep from frightening her with the sight of several strange men. The guys were lined up against the opposite wall, Dr. Carver clutching his clean, bandaged arm to his chest.

/>   Jace had joined them, and he looked irritated, probably because he’d woken up alone in an empty bed. I knew exactly how he felt. Usually I was the one left out of the action.

  I closed the door behind myself as I stepped into the hall, and the eagerness in Jace’s eyes died with the click of the latch sliding into place, but Lucas looked annoyingly smug. He was tall enough to see easily over my head and had clearly gotten a glimpse of the tabby. Suddenly I was glad I’d covered her. Seeing her naked would mean nothing special to Lucas—his curiosity was completely innocent—but it would probably mortify her.

  “She Shifted!” Lucas’s excitement was practically palpable, but Marc rolled his eyes. They already knew that, having heard every word we’d said for the last forty-five minutes or so.

  “Yes.” I glanced from face to face, and my words came out rushed with my own excitement. “I need someone to go get clothes for her from my suitcase.” My gaze stopped on Marc first, because he knew where most of my stuff was and what I wouldn’t mind lending out. But the steel-edged glint in his eyes told me his answer. I should have known better. He wouldn’t go, not because he was worried about my safety—he trusted all the toms present—but because he wouldn’t risk running into my father and having to explain what we were doing.

  We’d be in enough trouble once they found out on their own.

  But Jace would go. He’d go because Marc would make him. And because I would ask nicely. “Please?” I pinned him with my eyes.

  “What? You leave me out of all the fun and now you want me to fetch clothes for you like some kind of fucking gofer?”

  “Please,” I repeated. “I’d do it myself, but I don’t want to leave her alone.”

  “Whatever.” Jace huffed, his eyes never leaving mine. “What do you want?”

  I smiled my thanks at him. “Um…my black pajama bottoms, I guess. The ones with the drawstring. And a black T-shirt. And that soft, cream-colored sweater. She’s in there shivering.”

  “Socks?”

  “Yeah. Get the fuzzy ones.” Something told me she’d like those. “My shoes won’t fit her, so once I get her sizes someone will have to go shopping.” Until then, she’d have to go without underwear, because I was not sharing mine. There was a limit to my generosity, after all. Fortunately, she didn’t have enough up top to need a bra for comfort.