Page 86 of Love the Way You Lion
Take that, Emma Peel.
Setting the weights and balances, I test the rope, making sure that it’s taut, and that I secured both ends in the concrete. The last thing I need to do is take a tumble and wake the entire Rift to come look at my idiocy. If you are wondering, no, I have told none of my family that I’m here or what I’m doing.
Hell, Rafe is the only one who even knows Clea’s name.
It’s better that way, as my knuckle-dragging husband would rather I birthed a litter of kittens on his duster than let me employ someone who has almost killed me on multiple occasions as a birthing coach. In fact, he’d probably launch a campaign of terror across both dimensions to finish what I started in New York.
Plus, I’m not sure that I want any record of the extranormals filtering into Company records. I don’t know if I trust them enough to believe that they won’t start a Mengele-level program to make an army of their own. Their knowledge of magick and the people imbued with it is nil, and for the moment, I’m fine with that.
Taking a deep breath, I let the beast out. My fangs drop, my tail twitches, and my claws extend as I draw on every preternatural power that I can muster. I’ll need it to do this without having a panic attack. The low rumble that echoes out of my chest is anagreement to work together, and I hop onto my makeshift tightrope, and as I put one foot in front of the other, I let my tail extend as a balance. Slowly but surely, I walk across the rope, stopping with every jerk and breathing through the fear. I was much braver in the club that night with Taurus, but that was because the beams and metal were solid and I didn’t feel like a stiff breeze would send me tumbling to the pavement in a puddle.
When I reach the roof of Clea’s building, I let out a long, quiet breath. My stomach stops flipping, and my tail twitches in victory. I did it. I motherfucking did it, and no one was here to help. I am going to be the biggest badass in the history of the sodding Comp?—
That’s when a slow clapping sound stops me in my tracks.
The Cat and The Witch Parlay
DELILAH
My eyes dart around until the sound draws nearer. Clea emerges from the foliage, her eyes glittering as Argus watches me with a snarl. “Who would have thought all it took for you to get over that ridiculous fear was the need to break into my home?”
Blinking, I jump to the ground gracefully, crouching in a defensive position. “What can I say? I’m a motivated bitch these days.”
We eye one another warily, both waiting for the other to pounce, but it doesn’t happen. Neither of us is likely to be the first to extend a courtesy, so we’re going to stare until someone breaks. It’s Argus, who snorts, tosses his head, and howls at the moon before looking at me dead in the eyes.
“A shifter? Oh, my love, what a wonderful surprise you’ve given me,” Clea coos at the wolf, ruffling his ears as if he’s not terrifying. She turns back to me and laughs, her voice husky with mirth. “Well, well, little kitty. You have been up to no good. What other tricks are up those bespoke sleeves?”
“Cut the crap, Heraclea,” I growl, rising to my full height. “We both know that I’m not here to giggle over a Cosmo.”
Sighing, she steps over to the sitting area, flicking her wrist at me. “Very well. I will find out whether or not you are comfortable sharing, and I am losing beauty sleep by the second. Come, sit, state your case and be as boring as everyone else who finds their way to my garden.”
My nose wrinkles and I huff. “Boring? Boring is the last thing I’m called anymore, Clea.”
Her head tilts as she studies me, and her lips curve. “No, I imagine you are right. Magick, a shifter, and mated to—something I am unfamiliar with. That alone is enough to whet my curiosity.”
I throw up my hands, infuriated that my shields have failed me. That never happens anymore. “What, do I have it stamped on my fucking forehead now?”
“No,” she purses her lips as I walk over to the table. “But you have cat eyes and a tail that I can see now that you are closer, your aura has significantly changed, and you wear a ring and bite marks. One doesn’t have to live at 221B Baker Street to put the pieces together.”
Rubbing my hand over my face, I drop onto the bench on my side of the table. I reach up and yank the cap off, shaking my hair out until I feel more in control. “Subtlety has never been my strong suit, as you well know.”
She laughs again, and Argus pads over to sit at her feet, much like Aradia does. “This is also true, Delilah. You have always been an open book to me.”
I glare, not wanting to rehash history or we’ll end up at one another’s throats. “The past is off limits, Clea. Our detente is for the here and now.” I pause. “And possibly in the future.”
Her eyes widen, and she looks positively delighted. “The future, you say? That is mysterious. Since you have no interest in finding out why I survived your outburst or why I provoked it, I suppose we should carry on with why you are here. I would have thought after evading me for the better part of a decade, you would have stayed under the radar.”
“Damnit, Clea! Not everything is about you.” I slam my fist on the table, and Argus snarls, to which I snarl back. “Sometimes, it’s about what’s best for other people.”
Looking thoughtful, she nods. “Yes. Am I to assume that you are here for something that your many talents cannot assist with?”
I roll my eyes as if she’s mentally deficient for asking, wishing that I had something to distract me from the roiling emotions of this meeting. “Don’t be daft. I’m here because I need something that only Heraclea Titania St. James can give me, if the whispers are true.”
“Spit it out, Delilah Lenore O’Hara.”
Her expression is imperious, and I have to curb the urge to punch her teeth in. Outside my parents, Clea is the only one who ever uses my full name. It’s always been part of our game, and she knows it. “I need your services.”
“That’s not good enough,” she sing-songs, her face breaking into a smug grin.
