by Lexy Timms
“Yes, your Mrs. Petrov. She will be remembered with great honor.” Helga’s look was one of great sadness. “In the meantime, we want to address the two of you. Your father did not inform us of your ability, Mr. Mann.”
“He didn’t know,” Angelica interrupted. “It kind of came on him... unexpectedly.”
Taylor shot a glance at her.
She met his gaze fiercely, without flinching. “I am not risking you. I don’t know what that woman did to you, but I can’t—”
“Stop, Angelica. Just stop.” She’d invaded his privacy. This wasn’t her story to tell. Her eyes pleaded with him to understand, but he wasn’t ready to just pull her into his arms and forget everything. This whole relationship with the inner cat was too new and fragile still—and here it was, thrown out for the world to see when he was still figuring it out.
His eyes went to Sergei. It was all he could do to speak. “I haven’t told anyone but her.”
“It’s a state that few ever enter,” Alexa said, speaking for the others. “In the two hundred years I’ve been alive, I’ve never heard of it happening to someone so young. You are indeed a puzzle, young cub.”
“What about her?” Taylor asked, pointing at Angelica.
“Do tell us more of what happened, please.”
Angelica explained about Africa and Dr. Johns’ experiments. As a doctor, she’d been used to giving reports on patients. For the most part she drew on that skill now, giving the basics without emotional delivery, treating the matter clinically until it came down to the moments when she’d changed for the first time. But it was the things done to him that made her voice waver and break.
She dashed away tears with the back of her hand. Taylor reached for her then, placing a hand on her leg, letting her know he was still there, despite his own anger.
“She has no inner cat,” Taylor said, drawing the attention from her to himself, that she might compose herself.
“This Dr. Johns. Very evil creature,” Sergei said, brows furrowed thoughtfully. “You say she was funded by...”
“An even more evil woman. The head of a drug cartel,” Angelica all but spat the words. This, too, was still a rather raw experience for her. “She saw Taylor shift.”
“Regrettable,” Helga murmured, “but not unique. Such things have happened before. But to address your statement, things are not as you think. All men and women have an inner beast. It lives in us, feeds from us, and we nourish it. The animal needs not be personified as rage or hate. It can be as fine as a housecat, or as friendly as a dog.”
“Bite your tongue,” Alexa said with a smile.
“She just has to find it. Wouldn’t you say?” Sergei said with an eyebrow raised in Helga’s direction.
“Agreed.”
The four elders stood in mute contemplation. Too silent. Too still for a long moment. Taylor began to wonder about the stories he’d heard of the elders holding great magick. Were they communing somehow in the silence? Speaking in a non-verbal way that he couldn’t comprehend?
Maybe they just can’t figure us out. There’s a great big jungle to run in. Get the mate and let’s go.
It was a tempting thought. Taylor was ready to do just that.
“I will take the male,” Alexa said, breaking the silence.
Take the male?
“Agreed. And I the female,” said Helga. She rose gracefully and spoke only to Angelica. “Come, child,” she said, and once more turned her back and walked off, expecting to be obeyed.
Angelica shot Taylor a glance, but surprisingly she obeyed.
I don’t like this one bit.
Chapter 17
By the time Angelica made it back to the room, she was nearly dead from exhaustion. It was an almost anticlimactic day, but somehow the whole thing left her drained and irritable. First Helga had sat her down and interviewed her. They spoke of everything under the sun, right down to grade school drama and high school crushes. She’d found out about all those long nights spent working while in residency. About the insufferable jackass who taught anatomy, and the even more insufferable jackass who taught calculus. When Helga found out that Angelica had taken a great many classes in Latin suddenly Orlan was able to communicate with her, though some of the Latin left her stumped. It had been a long time, and she was rusty with the concept of speaking it. Still, they’d managed to communicate fairly well, all things considered.
But she never forgot this was an interrogation as much as an interview.
Angelica had been forced to say the same things over and over, rephrasing things, rehashing key points. She was pushed, verbally if not physically. It didn’t seem to matter how many different ways she’d already said something, they’d ask again. Looking for lies, she realized. Traps. They didn’t trust her. Maybe she couldn’t blame them for that. Their entire existence was predicated on the idea of their society being kept secret. She likely wasn’t the first to try to infiltrate this inner circle. Somehow, she only needed to make them understand that she was there for help.
Even if she was getting peeved all the same.
Look, they can’t help me if they don’t understand what’s going on. And to do that they have to understand who I am. And even more that I’m worthy of that help.
But even knowing that didn’t make things any easier. She had to physically remind herself often that the old woman was trying to help. And if they didn’t know what to do with her, they at least had the best educated guess on the planet.
So she found herself with her temper flared most of the day. She needed something she could latch on to as she admonished herself to stay calm. The only thing she had anymore was Taylor, and he’d been none too pleased with her when they’d parted. Maybe she’d been a little eager to get away, recognizing the anger in every line of his body that had flared the moment she’d opened her big mouth.
But she’d needed to. He required help right now every bit as much as she did. It killed her inside to think that he had been altered, too. He never should have even been in Africa. It had been she who’d brought him there, who’d changed everything, all for the sake of a little girl that no one had even been able to find once the whole mess was over.
All of this is my fault. And yet, somehow, I think I have the right to cling to Taylor, to focus on him now, to cling to him when everything gets overwhelming? Maybe I need to learn to stand on my own two feet.
And so the mantra of, ‘Taylor is here. Taylor is with me’ gradually morphed into something more along the lines of, ‘I can do this. I’m strong. I’m capable. These people don’t scare me.’
Which worked for a while. At least up until Helga brought out the exercises Angelica had been suffering through for the last month, culminating with that trip to Minnesota.
It was too much. In that moment she snapped and informed Helga exactly what she could do with her exercises. Of course, Angelica apologized right away and she was very sorry for losing her temper like that. After all, Helga didn’t deserve it. But the damage was done and Helga seemed withdrawn after that, becoming cold and distant.
Angelica spent the next hour trying to be all happiness and contrition, but Helga seemed more aloof with each passing moment. When the old woman finally called an end to their day, Angelica trudged back to their assigned room with a heavy burden on her shoulders—one she could only bear by thinking of the one who was likely already waiting for her.
Thank goodness for Taylor.
But the room was empty. She’d hoped he would be there, hoped he could soothe her wounds and salvage the rest of the day. Instead, she fell into bed alone and stared at the ceiling fan as it made its maddeningly slow rotations.
She must have napped because the slamming door shattered her nerves and shook her awake. Taylor stood in the doorway, seething and growling from deep within his chest.
“What happened to you?” she asked, sitting up in bed, shoving her hair back from her face and blinking sleepily at him.
“I’ll tell you what hap
pened,” Taylor growled, his face a mask of dark clouds as his fingers clenched and unclenched. “Turn your right hand, NO! The other right. Just one claw, not two! I probably would have changed all four of them at once and then where would we be? The whole damn world depends on if I can keep them happy.”
Angelica sighed. He’d had a bad day, too. Here she’d wanted to curl up in his arms, to feel again that incredible intimacy they’d shared after the bath, but he was too worked up for that.
“What now?” He looked at her sharply. He must have heard the sigh and identified it for what it was. Frustration. Irritation.
“Nothing...” Angelica rearranged herself against the pillows, sitting cross-legged as she watched Taylor pace around the room. She hated this. Hated the tension that came between them so easily ever since she’d become a lion. It was the same tension she’d felt ever since they’d returned to the States from Africa. Here it was again, the same distance she thought they had finally bridged, all the resentment that they’d tried so hard to deny, to suppress.
He stopped suddenly, and threw up his hands. “Why the hell did you tell them about me? We came here for your problem. I don’t have a problem.”
She didn’t know what to say initially. She met his gaze squarely, not cringing, not running away. He’s not his father. Look at him, so angry, so frustrated, and trying so hard to keep it under control. You know he’s not going to hurt you, so why is it so damn hard to speak?
It was because she wanted to choose her words carefully. Each one mattered so much right now. “You’re sharing headspace with a large predator, but you don’t see that as an issue?”
Whoops. That hadn’t come out quite as well as it had sounded in her head.
“Not compared to... to Tigra! Or whatever she is, half-human, half-tiger. Do you know why she stays halfway like that? This is a keeper. It’s because she has arthritis. She still has arthritis in the cat form but the human and the cat have it in different places, so if she’s half and half, she cuts down the pain. She’s in mid-shift because she can’t take a damn Tylenol!”
He pushed past her and stalked to the bathroom. The door banged behind him, hard enough to make her jump. A second later she heard the water run. Angelica sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the dresser, trying to calm herself. But, truth be told, she was pretty mad herself right now. She’d only been trying to help. She’d only ever been trying to help.
Taylor walked out of the bathroom, drying his face with a towel. She got to her feet, feeling disadvantaged in sitting down. She needed him to hear what she had to say.
He stopped in front of her, arms crossed. Not in the most receptive of moods.
“I’m sorry I mentioned your issue with the voice in your head. I hadn’t seen Alexa then and I was worried, especially when I saw your face at the airport. You remember, I’m a doctor. Faces are not supposed to do that, and I was afraid for you. You’ve been different since Africa. But I’ve made things worse for you. I’m sorry.”
“It’s not you,” he said, tossing the towel to the floor in frustration. “It’s those damn exercises! I don’t know what I have to prove; it’s not like we’re losing our personalities, we’re just getting closer together. Why is that such a bad thing?”
Angelica didn’t look at him. “Because then you’ll have no inner cat?” she asked. “Then you’ll have to do your exercises to try and find him again.” She chuckled, but the sound rang hollow. “But at least you will have had one.” The last word came out on what suspiciously sounded like a sob. She cleared her throat, pulled herself together. “Taylor.” She placed a hand on his arm, curling her fingers around his bicep. He was so large and muscular and powerful. She loved that arm. Loved him. More deeply than she’d even realized before today. “I’m sorry I spoke out of turn. Your development is your issue and none of mine. I shouldn’t mess around in your life and I’m sorry.” She rose and kissed his forehead. Taylor’s brow was still furrowed, and he was still breathing hard. His eyes were wary.
Distrustful.
And that was what finally did it. If he didn’t trust her, what was the point in staying?
So Angelica turned, and calm as she could manage, despite the fact that her hands were shaking, she turned and walked out of the building.
And Taylor, that bastard, let her go.
IT WAS LATE AFTERNOON. The communal meal would be served soon enough, but Angelica didn’t exactly feel hungry. What a freakin’ waste of time! Why had they thought coming here was going to fix anything? There was too much stress, too much anger, too much change, and now she and Taylor were at each other’s throats instead of working together. It wasn’t just him starting the fights. She was equally guilty of being on a hair trigger. And right now, she needed him more than ever. She suspected that he needed her, too. And the way things were going, they both needed a babysitter to make them shut up and play nice.
Despite all that, she needed the time alone. A walk seemed like a good idea, especially as it would give her a chance to not only get the lay of the land, but maybe gain a little better understanding of this new world she’d found herself in. Angelica took to the trail that ran through the camp and beyond with something that wasn’t exactly eagerness, but was an interest and curiosity that took her outside of herself for a while and allowed her room to think about other things.
The compound sat in the embrace of a mountainside where the jungle crept on its never-ending quest to spread as far as the rains would let it. The leafy world she wandered into was life burgeoning with more life, plants that slowly overtook the impatient animals and men, and ran past them both over the rocks that littered the hillside.
At the end of the drive, a small set of ruts cut through the verge by the tires of infrequent cars and trucks. Here she found a rusted gate with a new chain barring the entrance. It was meant to give the impression that there was nothing along the rutted road worth the effort of trespassing, nothing but old jungle and a long-forgotten sanctuary left to rot in the sultry heat.
The chain was a shining contrast, the padlock one of the best money could buy. She looked at the back of the old, rusted, useless gate and wondered if it ever actually fooled anyone. Behind the time-worn metal and the cheap paint that might once have been a shade of green, bright shining steel beams reinforced the gate with an unbendable will. The dilapidated barbed wire fence that led away from the gate was concealing a high-voltage wire, and there were security cameras nestled in among the trees, one actually in a constructed nest that looked so real that for a moment she thought it was.
Indeed, this group was very skilled at hiding.
She gingerly tested the gate. It wasn’t wired. The voltage, apparently, did not include the rusted metal. She stood at the end of the drive, watching the sky begin to bleed—first red, then orange as the sky exploded with deep vibrant colors, the sun giving a final good night to the earth.
She turned back toward the compound, not quite ready to go back, and leaned on the gate, watching the sunset, breathing in the noises and stories of the jungle. As she had been able to smell cancer in the waitress, so could she now smell the stories of the little ones that roamed this jungle. A rabbit crouched nearby, hoping for her to leave so he could finish eating. A fox scurried off, frustrated that she stood there so close to the rabbit, depriving the vixen of her dinner. Birds sang sleepily in the heavy trees. And the man behind her stank of whiskey.
Wait...
She pushed off the gate as hard as she could, panic already trapping the scream within her throat. But he had a hold of the back of her shirt. She thrashed at him, finding her voice as the fabric parted, the easy opening designed for quick removal in shifting, leaving her skin exposed and bare in the twilight shadows. She stumbled into the road, hands coming up to cover herself, and dared a glance back.
He was a local, or at least had the look of a Nepalese, not one of Taylor’s misplaced Vikings. He grinned and started to climb the gate. Angelica ran.
She was movin
g even before she realized she was in motion. There was no way she could outrun him. Her shoes weren’t suited to the jungle, and she’d never been particularly fast to begin with. But she had enough time to shift if she could only find a place...
She turned off the road and dove into the underbrush, running down the side of a hill into a trough cut through the ground by a small stream, and there found a thick grouping of trees that would shield her from view.
She shucked off the pants and bent over, thinking, Be a cat. Think like a cat. Move like a cat. Become the cat.
“I see you,” the man called from nearby in very broken English. “I know you are there. I can smell the fear. Do you know you’re mine?”
The intruder—no—the predator circled around the trees, looking for an opening. He reached into his pocket and produced a knife that was more machete than pocketknife. Finding his opening, he thrust the blade blindly into the greenery. Angelica only just barely dodged one such thrust and rolled in desperation, to throw herself further back in among the ferns, praying for invisibility, or at the very least to find the cat that was so far eluding her.
Be a cat. Be a fucking cat.
Withdrawing the blade, her assailant took a step back. Was he searching for movement? Or perhaps just traces of her blood.
If it’s blood he wants...
The lioness roared. The would-be predator cried out as the lioness leaped on top of him, knocking the knife from his hands and sending him over backward into the stream behind him. The lioness’s full weight came down on his belly, claws raking his skin and forcing the air from his lungs in a giant WHOOSH.
Sanity returned.
I won’t kill again.
The lioness twisted and ran, leaving him there. Leaving him to hopefully drown on his own, leaving her own conscience clear of his death. She bolted for the road, stretching out and streaking for the compound as fast as her legs could carry her.
The panic was short-lived. It was one thing to be told there was a lion in Nepal, another to see one running full speed toward the community. Parents gathered children in close, sharp exclamations of surprise greeting her. Suspicion.
