Blind Tiger
Page 28

In theory, I had no interest in censoring my enforcers’ language, but I’d already come to understand the logic behind the “no cursing at your Alpha” rule, which was standard in the officially recognized Prides. An Alpha who lost the respect of his enforcers would soon lose the respect of the rest of his Pride members.
Then he’d lose the Pride itself.
Morris groaned through clenched teeth as his jaw began to ripple, taking on an even more feline shape. His ears seemed to twist as they were re-formed, migrating slowly from the sides of his head toward the top. But the visible part of that transformation barely scratched the surface of the pain he would feel below the skin, where the true change was ripping its way through his muscular and skeletal structures.
“When I was new at this, I found it easier to lie down.” But the frustration in Morris’s eyes said he couldn’t figure out how to make his muscles obey that command. He wasn’t in control of his own body, possibly for the first time in his life, and I knew as well as anyone how terrifying that feeling was.
Especially the first time.
Soon, he’d learn to control his shift. To bring it on at will. But for now…
“Try to let the changes roll over you. Give yourself up to the process. As cheesy as that sounds, it’s the best advice I can give.”
Finally, as fur began to sprout from follicles all over his body, Corey Morris either figured out how to relax his muscles or lost control of them entirely. He fell over on his side with a solid thud. A choking sound rattled in his throat, as his larynx and esophagus began to shift.
“Just breathe…” I felt like I should put a hand on his shoulder, or make some other comforting gesture, but I knew better than to touch a stray during his first shift. Or right afterward, before he’s gained his bearings. Before he realizes he can still access his human thoughts—and boundaries—while in cat form.
That’s what had gone wrong with Robyn, according to Jace. Abby had done her best to help her roommate through the transition, but she was brand new to the process—they both were—and she didn’t expect Robyn to live. Though there’d been vague rumors of female strays surviving in Central and South America, none ever had in the US, so in the beginning, Abby’d believed that all she could do was comfort her friend as the fever slowly drained the life from her body.
By the time she’d realized her roommate would survive, Robyn had already shifted, in the very cabin her kidnappers had dragged her to. Where she’d witnessed several deaths. Where she was surrounded by the scent not just of the cat who’d infected her, but by the scents of the men who’d assaulted her and tried to kill Abby.
Robyn was born into the shifter world in a violent event as rife with blood and pain as any real birth would have been. It was a miracle she’d come out of it with her mind intact.
Mostly.
The shock and trauma Robyn had undergone—the inability to process or control instincts making demands she couldn’t understand or master—was what strays in the free zone had been enduring for generations. What I was trying to prevent with Corey Morris, and with all the other toms in my territory.
“It’s almost over now,” I said softly, as the river of fur flowed to cover his belly and the lower halves of all four of his legs.
When the transformation was complete, Morris lay panting on the floor on his side, staring at the basement as if he couldn’t see it. I knew from experience that he wasn’t processing anything yet, other than the end to a massive and unanticipated amount of pain. Pain in places he hadn’t even realized he could hurt, like the insides of his elbows and the tops of his feet. The ends of his fingers and toes, and that fleshy place between his thumbs and forefingers.
I stood, and the movement caught his eye. “I’m going to get you some food and water. You might not feel like eating yet, but you’ll be famished soon.” Because shifting burned an enormous number of calories. And because he’d been too sick to eat or hold down any food for the past twelve hours, at least.
Morris grunted from deep in his throat, a sound that could have meant anything from “Thanks” to “Fuck you very much.”
On the other side of the basement, I opened the refrigerator and pulled out a pitcher of cold water and a hunk of raw rabbit, left over from Knox’s hunt the night before. I poured water into a bowl, put the meat on a paper plate, and set them both on the floor a few feet from Morris, so that any initial misfiring of his new arrangement of muscles and nerves couldn’t knock them both over.
I’d just poured myself a fresh cup of coffee when my phone rang, and Faythe Sanders’s name and number appeared on the screen.
“Faythe?” I fought not to yawn into the phone. “It’s been a long night here. What’s up?”
“I spoke to Jace and Abby,” she said, over a background of road noise. “They said Robyn isn’t coming with them.”
“To the wedding?” Another yawn. “Did you really think she would?”
“I think it would have been better for everyone involved if she had.” Something brushed the phone on her end, then her voice was muffled. “Greg, no! Put the straw back in the cup!”
“Are you driving?” I asked.
“No, Marc is. We’re on the way to Kentucky for the wedding.” A child’s laughter rang out over the line, and Faythe heaved an exasperated exhalation. “Greg! Please put the straw in the cup!”
“You sound like you’ve got your hands full. Are you supposed to travel this far into a pregnancy?”
“Don’t even try that ‘go home and rest’ crap with me, Titus. Girls run the world. I believe Beyoncé said it best.”
I laughed. “Then I guess I should let you get back to business.”
“Not yet. Hang on.” Something brushed the phone again. “Greg, put your headphones on. I’m going to play the movie. Just put them… Yes, over both ears.” Then she returned. “Titus, please tell me you’re not having second thoughts about sending Robyn to Atlanta.”
The truth was that second thoughts were the only thoughts I’d had. Robyn didn’t want to go back. “I would have thought that you, of all people, would understand where she’s coming from, Faythe. She doesn’t want the council to run her life. Doesn’t that sound familiar?”