Page 14 of Blind Date with a Werewolf
Asil found an unbroken stool and carried it to the lioness’s cage because unlike the tiger, the old lioness, still restless from her captivity, took comfort from his presence.
The empty space between the two big cages had held the cages of the three smaller cats. Sebastian’s people were taking them—an ocelot and two servals—to the cat sanctuary in Spokane. Asil was lucky there were local werewolves—the Belt Mountain Pack had only been formed about six months ago, when Sebastian had moved to the States. If Asil’s pack had had to play cleanup, he’d have been stuck with the mess for several more hours.
He leaned his head against the cage and pulled out his phone, sending a terse email to his Concerned Friends expressing his displeasure at the disastrous ending of his second date. The lioness extended her tongue between the bars and licked his ear. It was gentle, but a big cat’s tongue was designed to tenderize meat.
“Stop that,” Asil told her, but he didn’t put any force behind his words.
She wiggled, and he could feel the heat of her through the bars and hoped she could feel his warmth, too. She’d had a rough day.
On the other side of the barn, the tiger’s eyes flashed iridescent green in the dim light as she looked at him and then away when she couldn’t hold his gaze.
Unlike the lioness, she was young and fit. She paced back and forth a few more times, then curled up as far from him as she could get. Her orange stripes did their best to help her blend in with the shadows, echoing the lines of the bars of her cage. But it was impossible to disappear in a cage. As she well knew.
His wolf recognized her as a danger and was unhappy that they had allowed her to live. But Asil’s wolf was not him, and Asil felt only respect for the big cat’s fierce heart.
“ ‘Tyger Tyger, burning bright,’ ” he murmured. Blake was a favorite poet of his because he knew how to make music with words.
Behind him, the lioness grumbled, and he smiled.
“I don’t know if he wrote anything about lions,” he said. “And ‘The Tyger’ isn’t about tigers really anyway.”
He checked his messages and got an update.
To the tiger, he said, “Your people are well on their way. They should be here in a couple of hours. Even money can’t teleport them from California to Montana any swifter. Be happy—they could have had to send someone all the way from India or Pakistan.”
He glanced over his shoulder at the lioness. “You were a lot more trouble.”
She chuffed, unimpressed.
Lions, it turned out, were easy to acquire in this country—something he had not known—and expensive to feed—something he had assumed. An old lioness, who would need special care, was even more expensive. A mature male lion, he’d been told, was an attraction, a draw for zoo-goers. Lionesses were less of a draw, even in good shape. The lioness at his back was notmuch more than age-blunted yellowed teeth and ribs covered in hide.
Asil had turned to his Alpha for help with her. Just before Sebastian and his pack of youngsters had arrived, Asil had been informed that the Woodland Park Zoo in Seattle, promised a significant donation (from Asil), had agreed to take her.
On the other side of the bars, the lioness leaned against Asil, as if she enjoyed his closeness. She rolled half on her back and emitted a sound like the contented engine of a largish motorcycle.
“You cannot purr,” he informed her. “I am told on good authority that lions do not purr.”
The purr stopped for a moment. Then the bars rattled as if batted by a large paw. In the silence that followed, the rafters made a soft sound as the wind continued its unceasing assault on the barn.
The cage wiggled and the lioness began her not-purring again.
“My phone’s connection is better than we have any right to expect out here. How about a movie?”
She not-purred louder.
“The Lion King?” He raised an eyebrow. “I suppose it’s as good as anything else.”
He moved to the floor and used the chair to hold his phone. He pretended not to notice when the tiger, seemingly comforted by the iconic music, closed her eyes and dozed restlessly.
It was full dark when the helicopter came. They made better time than expected, because the ending credits were still running. Asil shut the movie down but otherwise didn’t move.
Outside, the helicopter settled on the ground and the soundof its engine changed, though it was left running. The tiger had raised her head at the first sound of the rotors, and now her tail twitched uneasily. He didn’t think he’d hurt much more than her dignity when he’d driven her back into her cage—the reverse had certainly not been true.
He rubbed his thigh, which was still showing an annoying tendency to cramp, but the long wait had given it—and various other wounds—time to heal completely.
“It’s a good thing I had spare clothes in my car,” he told the lioness. “Greeting people of power and status clothed in rags is a good way to ensure that I would have to demonstrate why they need to listen to me.”
The lioness sneezed, possibly in agreement.
