Page 9 of Love the Way You Lion
“Easy, girl. I just need my wife to be calm enough to transport us to your house,” I murmur.
The tiger looks up at me, her eyes glowing embers in the dark. For a moment, I see the intelligence of the familiar and her devotion to my spouse. She’s a mere breath away from being something wholly other, and it chills my blood. Until my wife, I’d never witnessed such a thing as a real ‘shifter’—never even considered that even though I’m a vampiric clone, there might be other supernatural beings running around the planet.
It shouldn’t surprise me that my witchy, furry woman’s animals are truly connected to her, like the stories you see in the movies or on TV.
My heart hammers against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat as I wait for the beast to soothe my wife enough to leave. As the furry companion growls and grumbles with my woman, the tension in her recedes slowly, and she rises from the crouched position reminiscent of the feline she has inside. Her features and tail don’t go away, but she’s standing like a human, which has to be better. Right?
That notion is fleeting when our curtains suddenly flap wildly as a gust of wind forces its way into the room, carrying the scent of impending rain. I freeze for a moment, watching as dark clouds amass outside the window, suffocating the stars. The shadow play of the storm promises violence, and I honestly have no idea if that’s because Deli is funneling her power from the shifter side to the witchy one.
With a sharp intake of breath, I spin around, looking around our bedroom. Clothes lay scattered on the floor, remnants of our playearlier in the evening. My gaze lands on the bag she left on the chair when she arrived home. I grab it, stuffing it with a change of clothes, her favorite boots, and the oddities Philomena insisted on.
Jar of newt eyes? Check. Vial of moon water? In it bloody goes.
“Okay, ladies. We’re heading to your place to figure out how to handle the lot of you,” I announce, trying to infuse my voice with more confidence than I feel. My hand touches Aradia’s fur, then I find my wife’s shoulder, grounding her jitters with my touch. The air is humming audibly, a testament to the magick that simmers beneath my woman’s skin. I know she’s doing her best to hold it back, but this is an awfully inconvenient time for her to unleash with more vigor than I’ve ever seen before.
“Time to sort this shit out,” I whisper as I grip them both. I’m ready to face the tempest that awaits us beyond the walls of our home—or as ready as I can be.
Gritting my teeth, I prepare myself for the utter insanity that will be the house where over a dozen people are losing their shit simultaneously. A sigh escapes me, and I shut my eyes briefly, seeking a moment’s respite in the darkness. If only the Company hadn’t rewarded that floppy haired writer with transformation after the War, perhaps he and his mate wouldn’t have been able to get such an iron grip on the members of both the Cabal and the Resistance. Maybe both of my mates wouldn’t have ever gotten involved with him in ways that I’m certain have always been detrimental.
Maybe whatever happened tonight wouldn’t be making people lose their goddamn shit at four a.m.
Opening my eyes, I glance at the feline duo before me, their agitated states painting a surreal picture amidst the mundane setting of our bedroom-turned-battleground. “This should be interesting,” I say, a wry note of sarcasm threading through my words.
With one last look at our formerly serene home, I steel myself for whatever lies ahead. We’re about to leap into chaos, and it’s anyone’s guess what awaits at The Maison.
Time to take a leap into the hurricane.
Internal Company Memo: Eyes Only, Clearance Level Alpha
DISTRIBUTION: OPERATIONS DIRECTOR (MIKHAIL, 004); TRAINING DIRECTOR (TIBERIUS, 005); Oversight, ANALYSIS DEPARTMENT, INTEL DEPARTMENT, TEAM X1501, ALL Project Reality TEAMS
SUBJECT: DEMISE OF WILDE (056)
This is the clone that came into being after the conflict. X001 was heavily involved in that decision, though she is not aware of all aspects of our involvement in the solution.
This affects a multitude of subjects and rather than post updated profiles for all affected that will clutter team inboxes, we will update this information on profiles one by one as other events influence the need for a profile update.
002 is demanding an investigation of the crash and circumstances of it. He seems to suspect the incident, and having a mate romantically involved with 056 and a wife who mated to him has made himeager to resolve the question. His fear is that this was a pre-arranged plot used to harm x1501, her family and x001.
He believes it is possible that 056 is alive and being hidden—everything was staged. He believes that 056, x260, and others are using this to gain support for some plot to overthrow the Resistance leadership or undermine their relationships with his family.
Though it sounds like paranoid rantings, we have seen behavior that would support this theory, and 002 has displayed good instincts throughout his career when rooting out deep-seated plots in rebel groups.
We will send an investigative team across the portal to the hospital and mortuary. On this side, to the area of the crash (he was not in the Resistance Quarter). We will have all operatives in the Cabal Quarter keep their eyes and ears open for random chatter that could develop leads.
Intel department will work on the intelligence angle from the cyber perspective. We have assembled a task force to work on this, and that team will handle all inquiries and present their findings within three weeks’ time.
The Cat Gives and Gives
DELILAH
Icradle the warm mug between my hands, the rich aroma of coffee mingling with the sharp scent of bourbon. The liquid’s heat seeps into my weary bones as I take a slow, deliberate sip. “It was a lovely service,” I murmur, more to myself than anyone else.
Roman stands across the room, his back to me, but I can feel the weight of his disapproval like a physical thing. When I’d asked for the alcohol, his eyes had narrowed into slits of judgment, that dirty look painting his face. But my reserves were scraping bottom, and I needed the burn of bourbon to make it through another minute. “Talk to Philomena,” I’d said, deflecting his silent rebuke. She knew about the delicate balance of my magickal barriers, the intricate web I wove around my psyche to keep from unraveling. I wasn’t inclined to offer Roman an explanation, or anything else, for that matter.
Considering how much I’ve done in this house since he died, jumping up my tail pipe about shit he couldn’t possibly understandisn’t a welcome occurrence.
The past three days have been nothing but a kaleidoscope of chaos and despair, images and sounds swirling together in a maddening dance. Hospitals with their antiseptic smell and the mortuary’s chilling silence have become my reluctant sanctuaries. My ears still ring with the echoes of crying, the guttural sounds of sorrow that no one should ever have to hear. I’ve witnessed Sari’s grief manifest in screams that tore through the air, her tears mingling with snot as she clung to whatever scrap of reality she could find.
