Page 41 of Of Socialites and Prizefights

“Have you tested that?” Deepa asked sceptically.

With a grin, Roz reached over to open the passenger side door for Deepa, whose stomach swooped delightedly when Roz's arm brushed across her midsection.

“She’s like us,” Roz said. “She knows how to keep a secret.”

Like us. Not just like Roz, but the both of them. Deepa could hardly object. Roz might be the one going out with girls on the regular, but Deepa couldn’t deny her own interest in women. Compared to her feelings for Roz, she wasn’t sure she’d ever been interested in men at all, apart from their wallets. With a thoughtful hum, she unbuckled her heels and shimmied out of her stockings, peeling them over her toes one leg at a time, shifting from one hip to the other in her seat to make room. Roz watched like it was a strip tease.

“Come on,” Roz finally prompted, exiting the driver’s side and circling around to pull Deepa’s door open and usher her out.

As soon as Deepa set foot on solid ground, she changed, the leopard rippling over her as she dropped smoothly to all fours, stretching into a yawn and flicking her tail back and forth before looking up at Roz expectantly.

“Don’t look at me for instructions,” Roz said amusedly. “Go stretch your legs. Run. Hunt a rabbit or something.”

Deepa had never hunted anything before in her life, and didn't relish the thought of making such a mess. She wrinkled her nose at the prospect, and Roz laughed.

“Go on, go be a cat! If you’re going to spend every night like this, you might as well lean into it.”

As much as Deepa shrank from the thought of losing all her future nights to leoparddom, she had to admit that Roz had a point. The cottage grounds were lovely, and the night was crisp and fresh. If her transformation were voluntary instead of cursed, she would have no objection.

With a growl she could only hope sounded playful, she launched herself at Roz, all four paws colliding with the woman’score. The impact knocked a laugh out of Roz, her arms coming up to hold Deepa around the shoulders, catching her in mid-air. Rumbling, Deepa rubbed her face against Roz’s cheek before licking a broad stripe over her chin and nose.

“Creature!” Roz laughed, shoving Deepa’s face away. “Get off me, you great bloody minx. Go find something for supper that isn’t my face.”

It was a straightforward suggestion, and a sensible one, but Deepa had a better idea. Mindful of her fangs, she opened her mouth and pressed the flat fronts of her teeth to Roz’s neck, a pantomime of a threat. Against her, Roz froze like a rabbit for just a second. Ever so carefully, Deepa exhaled, a hot rush of breath fanning Roz’s skin.

“Deepa?” Roz asked carefully.

Without words, Deepa replied by opening her jaws and very gently catching Roz’s throat between them. She did it with the utmost caution, applying only the barest pressure to that delicate skin and strong muscle, not nearly enough to risk a single drop of blood. Then, like the paintings of those legendary man-eaters back home, she held herself perfectly still and waited to see what Roz would do next.

“I know you’re not going to hurt me,” Roz murmured. Deepa could feel the vibration of her voice through her throat. “You want to play?”

Deepa growled, wishing she could purr instead.

“Alright. Let’s play.”

By unspoken agreement, each simultaneously released the other. Without Roz to hold her up, Deepa dropped gracefully to the ground. She thrilled at the promise of a challenge in Roz’s expression, before, with a grin, Roz turned and ran. The darkness enveloped her within yards, but Deepa’s eyes were keen, and she could track Roz’s movements as easily as if it werebroad daylight. Tense with anticipation, she waited until Roz was out of sight before bounding after her.

Her paws were silent against the soft earth, and she moved like a golden ghost. For the first time since the curse had been laid, she didn’t feel bespelled to take a feline form against her will. In that moment, she was a cat, and it was joyful, and that was all there was.

The cottage grounds were of a good size, but Roz could hardly outrun a leopard. Though Deepa had never tested her senses outside the flat before, she found herself instinctively honing in on Roz’s location, every sharpened scent and sound easily tracked through the trees and flowerbeds, around the little stone walls and wooden fences that shaped the gardens.

As she drew near to Roz, she slowed her pace, dropping to her belly to slink along, stalking her as a huntress stalks her prey. Roz, too, had stopped running, trying instead to find a hiding place, unable to catch sight of Deepa with her poor night vision even when she was so close, with her dappled coat camouflaging her amid the leaves.

Deepa felt at home in a predator’s skin. Though she played the part of a doe-eyed innocent for the men, entreating them to provide for her as if she were a soft and helpless thing, she had always been a huntress. She was too hungry — for money, for power, for status — to ever think of herself as prey. Perhaps Phillip, despicable worm that he was, hadn’t read her so wrong after all.

Three yards away, Roz clung to the trunk of a sweet cherry tree, peering out into the darkness. Roz might be playing the prey’s part for Deepa’s entertainment, but it didn't suit her any better. She carried herself too confidently, every movement strong and self-assured, broadcasting just how capable she was of looking after herself. The moonlight found every strand ofsilver in her dark hair and made them glitter like precious metals.

Crouching low under a stand of lion-headed dahlias, Deepa wrapped her tail around herself, paws pressed together as primly as any housecat, and drank in the sight of her. Roz was even more handsome by moonlight, with her strong hands and her boxer’s stance, braced for anything. The silvery gardens lent her a delicate aura, like one of England’s Arthurian knights in shining armour, proud and brave and capable.

Watching her, Deepa was not occupied by chivalrous thoughts. Though she wouldn’t mind playing the part of a lady in need of Roz’s rescue, she didn't particularly care for her knight to be chivalrous. Deepa was more interested in being whisked away in her knight’s strong arms, without care for propriety, and laid out on a down-filled canopy bed with silk sheets and velvet covers. To be quite honest, she would rather like to be ravished by her knight in silver armour. Oaths of fealty and loyalty and dedication were all very nice and perfectly romantic, but the men in her clubs were full of such words, and she knew them to be little more than hot air. Instead of men of words, she wanted a woman of action.

“Here, pussycat,” Roz called in a low voice, still shielded behind the cherry tree. “Come here, kitty. Come and get me.”

Deepa obliged her. Giving in to every feline instinct, she stalked out from under the dahlias, winding around the cherry tree to approach Roz from behind. She was silent and all but invisible, and Roz had no idea where she was, still staring through the moonbeams as if Deepa would magically materialise before her. With her gaze fixed between Roz’s broad shoulders, Deepa pounced. The press and release of her muscles as she leapt was like a tightly coiled spring set free.

Roz sensed her a bare instant before they collided, turning just in time for Deepa’s forepaws to touch her shoulders. Everthe athlete, Roz moved with the impact rather than try to brace against it, and they tumbled to the ground in a harmless roll of limbs. Deepa landed on top, teeth bared in a victorious smile, adrenaline flooding her as she pinned Roz flat on her back.

“Never heard you coming,” Roz panted up at her through her smile.

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