The Cat Demands Answers
Ihave enough presence of mind to grab his arm as I yell, “Wait a minute!”
The look he gives me is almost enough to make me pull my hand away, but I’m too frustrated to accomplish that kind of logical thought. “Alright, Dr. Lechter, you said you had questions, and I said I need answers. You got yours, but what you gave me was not only supremely unhelpful, but ridiculously simplistic. You’re blowing me off and that’s not part of the deal.” My tail twitches in agitation and I try to will it away before he takes issue.
“Fine. Since you’re being so forthcoming…” His calm reply distracts me and I miss his arm shooting out in a blur of motion that I should have expected. I don’t even see it coming until his fist closes around the silky fur. He tugs on it as if that’s a question enough.
Unfortunately for him, he does not know how sensitive that is. My eyes roll back in my head as my hand drops from his arm immediately and my jaw works wordlessly. I try to form words, but a taunting litany of ‘oh fuck’ runs back and forth like a screen saver in my mind as my body locks in place. I’m going to do something embarrassing if he doesn’t stop squeezing it and I will never live that down. I pry my lids open, eyes blazing with emerald fire as I stutter, “L-L-L-Let g-g-go…”
That only seems to amuse him more. I’m losing my shit by the second because my entire body is a raw, thrumming nerve. The only thing I can do is to show my belly and hope that once he has the power back, he complies. I swallow hard, both parts of me almost too stubborn to do this before I look up. “Please?”
He blinks, looking flabbergasted. His fingers uncurl from the fur and his head tilts as if he’s seen something that he doesn’t understand. He stays silent as I hop back on the wall shakily, digging through the pockets of Alistair’s duster until I find his smokes.
I light one and, after inhaling deeply, I close my eyes. My lungs fill and my skin slowly stops feeling like it’s too small for my frame. If my behavior seems odd to him, he doesn’t let on. Suppressing the shudder that threatens to run up my spine, I blow a few smoke rings, then catch his eyes. “Is that your question, or do you have something you want to ask? I want elaboration on my questions and I’m trying to play fair.”
“Fair,” he drawls, “Right. As if you’ve been an open bloody book before now.” When I look like I’m going to huff in indignation, he shrugs it away like swatting a fly. “You plan on dogging—or catting—me until you’re satisfied, so we’ll progress to the third act, fair or not. Since that smooth belly up you just pulled is making me feel generous, I’ll try to act like I’m not pissed that between you and my woman’s insistence on this meeting, I’m not horizontal and happy right now. Or vertical. Or upside down. I’m not picky.”
One thing that I’ve learned this evening is that there is no one in my known universe that can annoy, compliment, and ignite desire simultaneously, like Taurus. All the clones have similar aspects, sure, but his candor about everything amplifies the situation tenfold. “Listen, buddy. I’m not trying to interrupt your naked Olympics, but I need answers.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know what you want to know. Repeating yourself isn’t helping because I’m neither deaf nor profoundly stupid. The problem lies in that your ‘answers’ are guaranteed to lead to more questions. Get comfy, stow the fab fur, and let me talk to my woman for a tick, so I can parse what I’m able to share.”
I sigh heavily. He could have done this twenty minutes ago, but we had to play Pin the Tail on the Kitty. I feel the urge to pace, but that will only let him know how much he’s getting under my skin. I’ve given him enough weapons to work with tonight.
I’m climbing the walls with pent up energy and he’s calm and collected as he mentally converses with Talia. He’s not moved since the tail incident, so he’s also eating into my personal space. The odd intimacy of him having a mental conversation with his mate while standing so close to me is underlining my sucky control. It’s distracting me, and he’s definitely doing it on purpose. Another point to him, I suppose, which makes it seem less than likely that I will come out a winner.
Surprisingly, I don’t hear a sound—not a tickle, a hum, or a buzz. I kind of thought I might, being mated to his brother. The thought of Taurus as a brother-in-law gives me a giggle, and I drop that line of thinking before life gets even more surreal.
I realize that all the clones are brothers genetically, and it means some odd Kentucky-style triangles are going on in the Rift bedrooms. I tilt my head, trying to pick up on something again, but I get nothing. Damn. I’ve gotten so proficient at mind speech and projection that I thought I might at least pick up whispers if I strained.
Nope.
We are two silent people loitering in a park in the dark of night with crickets for companions. Christ, I hate silence. Maybe I can amuse myself by poking into someone’s dreams. After what feels like forever, movement catches my eye, and I pull out of the dream I was manipulating for one of my mates.
Taurus is fidgeting. He looks like his clothes are too tight and he’s trying to adjust them. I hear a muttered ‘bloody buggering hell, woman’ before he shuts up again, and I chuckle. I respect the hell out of the woman who can make Taurus squirm like that. Talia is doing an amazing job of making him pay for being such an ass. I should send her a ‘thank you’ gift.
Taking a deep whiff, I smirk when I catch his scent. Strictly by accident—that’s my story and I’m sticking to it—my eyes drop lower than his face and the cause of his discomfort is blatantly obvious. I stifle the giggles threatening to erupt when I see the punishment for his contrary behavior. I’m greedily enjoying every second of his torture.
Why not? I’m a vindictive little wench.
“Right then,” he says.
I blink, realizing that he’s talking to me now. Looking up quickly, I try not to look like I’ve been a dirty peeping Tom. Even if I was, he’s spent the past few hours torturing me and I’m damned restless. This has been an awful long time to have my strings strummed with no crescendo.
True to form, he catches me and his grin turns wicked. Not only does he not give a damn I saw, but he’s puffed up. I would have thought it was physically impossible for his ego to swell any larger than it already was, but here we are.
What an infuriating jackass.
He takes a step towards me, crossing the sparse amount of space we have left between us and drops the tickled expression. Good. I feel like smacking it off him, which would put us squarely back where we started. He winks and I frown, wondering if he knew what I was just thinking.
“On to the matter at hand, Sandwich. All the clones were not created from the same DNA. Some of us were—Alistair, Trey, and I. Though, I suspect you know the term ‘brother’ is a misnomer—none of us are actually sibs. Us originals are genetically the same person. The three of us started the brother label as a unity thing and the lab coats adopted it. It helped them tell us three apart from the generations that came afterward. However,” he grins, noticing my flabbergasted expression, “that isn’t the part that’s going to blow your mind, kitty.” He pauses and once again, I ponder letting her kill him. “Most of the clones aren’t created from DNA from the same dimension, much less ours.”
Any thought of killing him flies out the window because he’s got me hooked. I have to look like someone smacked me in the face with a brick. He dropped an enormous bombshell like that and yet he’s acting like it was as normal as saying ‘Hi, my name is John.’ It decimates all my theories and research. The exploration I planned to do is impossible in my dinky lab space. Not only that, but this level of science is far beyond my capabilities.
He winks before he asks, “Quid pro quo: define ‘need’ in relation to ‘I need to know’. This isn’t a science fair project. ‘Need’ is too visceral for a simple brain exercise.”
That question has me cornered because I don’t want anyone to know what I’m trying to find yet.
First, there’s something inside me beyond the kitty part, and I don’t know what it is. I know something is up with this ‘other thing’ based on animal instinct. Second, I may have grown used to the beast, but she’s caused deep fissures in my family dynamic. I want to know what the mystery feeling is, but I’m also looking for a cure.
How do I tell him any of that when I’ve barely admitted it to myself?
My mates wouldn’t understand why I want a cure and they definitely won’t understand a random feeling that something else is hiding within me. At least, not without having total freak outs. My features slide back into normal ‘Deli face’ as I ponder my answer. The only sign of my alter ego is my emerald eyes, but that’s because of the emotion involved in deciding how much I can trust him.
I can feel his impatience radiating off of him in spiky waves, so it’s time to put up or shut up. “You’re right. It’s not a curiosity or idle thought exercise—goddess knows I’m not a scientist. The changes in me are the reason I need to know.” I pause, considering what the next step in my explanation will be. Taurus gives me a look that says he’s expecting more information for his candor.
“There is something a bit off inside of me; I don’t know what, but I know it’s there. I don’t know what that is yet. As for the furry, my assumption was that it is because of DNA strands and mutation. There’s obviously more than what I showed you—the kittyness gets more intense—but before you accuse me of holding back, I can’t exactly control most of it. Some things only happen if I get into a real tussle. You’ll need to back off if you want me to show you those things. To clarify, it’s not because you make me nervous; it’s because this part is dangerous.”
He snorts as if the thought that anything I could ever do would put him in danger is so far outside of the realm of possibility that it is grounds for laughter. I take the high road, ignoring the urge to scratch his eyes out.
See? I’m a much better person. Imagining choking him under my boot heel isn’t the same as doing it, right?
“Oh! I have a request: please don’t flip out when I do this. The last clone I showed nearly had a coronary.” I know he’s thinking how very superior he is to the other clones, and rather than get irritated, I wait for him to back away.
Flicking out a single claw, I slice a deep cut in my forearm. What he doesn’t know is that this is exactly where I’ve sliced the last three times I gave this demo. My blood wells quickly and from the moment it hits my skin, I feel a stinging tightness as the cut inches its way closed. Within seconds, the scratch seals with a distinctive pop, leaving completely unmarred flesh from my elbow to my wrist.
Just like it has every single time I’ve done this.
“I picked up this tidbit during an enthusiastic romp in which I got rolled with my claws out and skewered myself by accident.” I pull up my shirt enough to show him the deep gouge between two of my ribs. I could have healed it, but it was a lesson, and I appreciate reminders of important lessons.
“The boys think I punctured a lung because I couldn’t breathe. Blood was gushing everywhere, and people were screaming. Suddenly, the damn hole just closed. It’s been knitting closed inside ever since. I guess internal wounds need more time to heal than external ones. The whole thing has been a giant fucking buzz kill in the sack.”
I pull out another smoke, deciding to be decadent tonight. Lighting it, I exhale slowly as I watch his reaction. “Do you see why I’m so damned curious? The mutation isn’t only effective on me, by the way. My blood works on others; I’ve tried it. It cures what ails you, and I don’t have a clue why. I learned that one thing it does not immediately fix is these.” I point to the bite scars on my neck and shoulders. “They scar unless I push at them; it must be the clone saliva or something.”
My skin itches again, and I know that it also happens when I feel defensive. Laying out all of that personal information for someone who hasn’t given me any sign that he’d care if I’m a magickal cure for injuries is not as easy as it sounds. I expected a bigger reaction to her, and I didn’t get one. I figured this part would make him scoff and shrug me off. He’s a clone; rapid healing is nothing new to them.
His eyes meet mine with an intensity that’s almost scary as he reaches out to touch my skin like my arm is going to separate from my body and fly away. It would amuse me, but something tells me his wonderment is important. When he looks up at me, his expression turns to one of anguish. It kills my mirth, and I don’t know why I do it, but I close the gap between us and lay my other hand on his arm.
“Taurus, are you okay?” I watch his mesmerization and try to lighten the mood. “It’s just a Presto Change-o healing thing like you clones do. I didn’t give birth to a litter of kittens on your coat. That might actually be possible—all things considered—well, except for the ‘your coat’ part.”
When he doesn’t respond to threats to his precious duster, I know there’s a problem. It shocks me when his fingers close around the arm I diced up and he lifts it close to his face for inspection. He runs a finger over the unblemished limb reverently, and his touch sends shivers of concern down my spine. I picture being trapped in a cage like a lab rat and my blood pressure rises as I panic. He hasn’t said one goddamned word yet. This has to be a record for Taurus, and it’s wigging me the fuck out.
“What’s wrong?” I whisper. I don’t know why I care, but I do. There’s too much grief and torment in his expression to not respond to it, even if I am scared.
“She got shot,” he croaks.