Page 34 of Love the Way You Lion
“Well,” I say, turning to my friend with a smile, “we didn’t kill anyone, but it’s probably time to get back and see if the bird is home. He’ll freak out that we’re still gone. He wouldn’t know how late we slept today so we had a late start.”
And then I can talk to someone who isn’t a damn tiger people can’t see—I won’t look nearly as crazy.
The Blade Is A Stubborn Woman
TALIA
Istagger, trying to breathe, through the long, dusky hallway. Every step sends a white-hot spike of pain through me, jarring my bruised ribs. Agony gnaws at my side, a rabid dog refusing to release its hold. Each tortured breath smashes against my lungs. I can’t stop muttering curses—at my frailty, at my wounded pride, at every calamity the night dumped in my lap. My left hand clutches the torn flesh as if I could hold it closed through sheer force of will. My right drags a weather-beaten suitcase behind me, its wheels stuttering and protesting across the marble floor.
I could have left it for the morning, but it’s a promise in physical form—symbols matter, damn them.
Outside, Taurus’ low, exasperated roar still thunders in my ears. He’d offered help when I rolled that case to his sleek black car parked under the sickly amber glow of the lamppost. I’d made him regret the offer, snapping at him before flicking the blade his way, sending him off with vivid bruises blooming across his knuckles—bruises Deli’s whispered cooswill erase by dawn.
Because the moment I break, Taurus will storm in with his conjured cat at heel, swearing to protect me—just like he always swore he would when he met her. I refuse that fate. My knees quiver like saplings in high wind as I steer the suitcase toward the private patio entrance. My breath comes in shallow, jagged gulps. I’m fine.
Christ, this fucking ache. It’s my fault, my mess to clean up. If I don’t cry or black out, no one will ever need to know.
It’s not that bad. Just because my knees are weak doesn’t mean I need someone to coddle me. I’m a little pale and it’s making me out of breath to roll this damned thing to the patio entrance to his room.
I’mfine.
At the wrought-iron French doors, I peer inside—no sign of the prone Picasso lounging in the shadows. Encouraged, I ease them open, sliding around the side so the rest of the house won’t hear. If rumor of my injury reaches Queen Kitty’s inner circle, they’d trade me for a barely chilled scotch without a blink. Loyalty here is currency, and I’m bankrupt. Better Rafe stay engrossed in the kitchen games with his family; I need solitude to pull myself upright.
The hidden closet awaits like a secret chapel. I yank it open—rows of hanging coats, stacks of shoes, and at the top, that brand-new bed he’d built for me days ago: carved dark wood, cushioned mattress piled high with pillows. My chest tightens; longing cuts sharper than any blade. There are miles to go before I sleep. Abandoning the hopeless thought of unpacking, I pivot toward salvation: the bathroom.
Shit. I can’t lift this bastard onto a shelf or any perch so I can empty it, which means I can’t put the damnclothes away.
Each tentative step towards those other hidden doors makes my world reel. I fling the door open and warm circulated air greets me. With a mute hiss, I tear off my blood-soaked shirt. A brutal slash yawns from breast to waist, rims slick with darkening blood. Later, the lab-coats will regenerate my flesh.
For now, I gotta stop the bleeding.
I close the door behind me. There are too many predator ears in this house to do anything but tiptoe quietly. Stripping off the bloody shirt, I look at the long, vicious-looking gash running from my breasts to my abdomen.
Christ. I’ll have to let the lab coats regenerate my flesh again.That hurts like a bitch if you’re wondering.
Stepping into the shower’s gentle spray, I let the scalding water and soap sting as they wash across the wound; my teeth grind together. When I reach for the towel, my fingers brush a black cotton hug faintly scented with jasmine and something earthy—Deli’s signature ‘Night Bloom’ detergent, I realize, a private fragrance from the bots she loves.
Even here, the little miracles of this house overwhelm me: cabinets labeled with names, a fridge sectioned like a chemistry lab, laundry washed in bespoke potions, Taurus’ single-malt beckoning from the dining-room bar, soft baroque music whispering from hidden speakers.
Theodora keeps an immaculate house for us , but this place runs like I’d imagine Buckingham Palace does.
My legs quake so hard I reach for the towel rack to steady myself. Vertigo spins the world into a funhouse blur. I blink and find my gaze trapped on a silk robe hanging beside the cabinet: jet-black with blood-red trim, my nickname emblazoned across the back in a jagged, punk-rock script, and a snarling scimitar arching beneath.
Buckingham fucking Palace, I goddamn swear.
It takes everything in me to stay upright and conscious, but I open the medicine cabinet, hoping to see first aid items in there. There’s an actual small field medical kit in it, along with every toiletry a male or female could need. I shake my head in amazement and it gives me a head rush, so I put my hand on the towel rack. The world spins for a second again, but I keep it together.
The door crashes open. Rafe fills the frame, eyes wide. “I felt you trip the sensors,” he exclaims, voice thick with worry, “but I had to scrub the kitchen so Leo wouldn’t skin me alive. It was weird you didn’t come in the front door.” He strides forward, concern sharpening his features. “Something’s off. What the sodding hell happened?”
Goddamn cat-sensors on the driveway—they know every arrival. Magickal perimeter or not, he knows it’s me.
He drops to his knees and inspects the gash as though he graduatedsumma cum laudefrom med school. “You need a doctor. Why aren’t you lying down? How did you even get here?”
I clamp my jaw against a scream. “Damn mating senses. I’m fine. It’s a scratch. I don’t need a doctor.”
“No glossing over this with me. You need a bloody doctor.”
I fling myself at him, defiance burning in my veins—then the edges of my vision fray. My knees give out. I reach for him, and everything goes black.
