Page 8 of A Cock and Bull Story
I imagine that they’re well-hung for anyone not understanding me.
“What are you thinking about? You have the funniest look on your face,” Jude wonders.
“Elf sex,” I blurt out and Jude’s face goes blank.
Then, he—and everyone else—busts up laughing.
“I never know what you’re going to say. I can’t tell if that’s an ‘American thing’ or a ‘Jezebel thing’.”
“Definitely a ‘Jezebel thing’. Please, please,pleasedon’t judge my fellow Americans based off your perceptions of me,” I lament.
“Why?’ Theo asks in genuine confusion. “You’re sexy, funny, nice—what’s not to like?”
My smile splits my face at his words. I’m used to compliments—but that doesn’t mean I still don’t enjoy hearing them. Also, I totally forgive him for not sending me a real dick pic like I wanted, but Theo is a better friend for it. He clearly doesn’t want me straying down a very dangerous andcock-eyed path.
Bad pun?
I’ve got more, don’t worry.
We all chat amicably as we eat. I sample a little of everything and find—to my delighted astonishment—I like it all. I haven’t really branched out much culturally since moving to England. I used to think we were similar. Hell—I used to think we spoke the same language, but I was w-r-o-n-g. Coming to Oxford was like entering a whole new world.
But, even for our differences, I feel at home with these four men and two women. Maybe it’s our sexual deviancies and struggles that bring us together but, for the first time since moving here, I actually don’t consider myself a pariah. I mutter this around a mouthful of bread pudding and the others look at me with soft eyes. My heart kind of melts like butter at their understanding gazes and I realize that they’ve been shunned, too.
For once, I don’t lament my horny neediness—because it brought me to some of the best people I’ve met yet.
Itry not to stare at the captivating new shifter. We still don’t know what she’s a combination of entirely. Is it just two animals or more? Jude is certain that she’s half-human, too, as if being mixed weren’t enough. In all my years, I’ve never heard of something so strange. It’s like an angel and demon having a child. I’m sure Jezebel would call it a ‘demgel’ or ‘angmon’.
I smile as I watch her tuck into my mum’s haggis. She’s certainly a quirky one, but she seems to have the purest heart of gold. Throughout our meal, she asks us all where we live, what we do for a living, what our favorite hobbies are. . . she never even once mentions anything about our shifters. It’s refreshing not to have to think or worry about my horny toad—I can just be Arthur.
I learn that she’s studying modern literature at Oxford. I can’t help the shocked expression that crosses my face at her words, but Jezebel doesn’t take any offense. She explains how she even has their top scholarship to study, but she worries about how her image might tarnish that—that’s why she’s so excited for tonight’s meeting.
I shoot Jude a confused look.
Did Oxford specifically have a program for shifters?
Our kind mingles with humans—but that didn’t mean that theyknowabout us. It’s a strict rule in the shifter community that no human can know about our existence because of their penchant for being ‘scientific assholes’, as Jack calls them. Basically, if humans were aware of our existence, they would use the knowledge to exploit our differences, study us, and—eventually—run us extinct.
Shifters don’t procreate like humans, the lucky bastards. Our mating process is a little more animalistic and follows specific periods for rutting and when our females go into heat. Some shifters lay eggs and produce more offspring that way but, generally, every animal is bound by some bestial rule.
For example, insect shifters might lay copious eggs, but only every so many years and only so many will survive. Mammal shifters generally tend to have only one living child in their entire lives. Aquatic and aviary shifters have to be in water or nesting—not something exactly conducive in the modern world—and so their numbers are low, too.
Jude shrugs at me and I read his body language perfectly—shifters areeverywhere, how should he know? Shifters at Oxford, sounds like something pretentious and douchey that a Tertiary would do. I’m not trying to sound bitter, but I’ve lived my whole life being inferior—aPrimary, or the lowest rung of shifter. Tertiaries are the apex shifters—think lions, tigers, wolves, and bears.
A horny toad really isn’t that impressive in comparison.
Why couldn’t I have been born a poison dart frog at the very least?
I pause my internal moping to tune into the meeting that Jude is now starting. Since no one is new, we skip the formalities and dive right into tonight’s purpose:how to become respected by Tertiaries. Jezebel pulls out a notebook and a pen, and I think she is the cutest thing ever. She certainly takes our meetings seriously and who can blame her? She’s considered a Secondary because of her cat blood, but I assume the other animal mixed-in is a Primary. Oh,andshe’s parthuman.
Even if one-third of her wasTertiarycat shifter, it still wouldn’t negate the mutt-human mix.
“Tertiaries. . .” she sounds out slowly, writing down the word. “I’m assuming that’s the higher ups?”
Jude exchanges a look with all of us.
I’m beginning to think that Jezebel really has no knowledge of our world.
“Jezebel,” Jude starts.
