Chapter 7 #2
We'd found partial footprints in two places and vegetation disturbed along an old game trail farther west, but heavy rain had destroyed almost everything useful.
There had been no second snare, no discarded supplies, no hidden camp, and nothing that told us whether whoever placed the wire understood exactly where they were.
I disliked not knowing. I disliked it considerably more now that Evie spent so much time walking these trails. That was one reason I'd started checking the paths around the research station more often.
Only one.
The rest of the reason carried two cameras, argued with birds, and arrived at the creek every afternoon with food she insisted was for my recovery. I'd arranged my days around her visits so consistently that the older capuchin hadn't needed to be particularly observant to figure it out.
I waited for her because I liked seeing her.
Simple as that.
I'd known she was an Omega almost immediately despite the blockers.
Human suppressants were intended for human senses, and mine had little trouble finding the warmer scent underneath.
It had caught my attention from the beginning, and over the days that followed it had become as familiar as the sound of her boots approaching the creek.
I knew how it changed when she was worried. When something embarrassed her. When she was exhausted after spending hours following animals through the forest. When she laughed so hard at something Red said that she forgot to be annoyed with him.
I liked her scent.
More inconveniently, I liked Evie.
She'd been terrified when she first approached me.
I'd smelled it even while she pretended the hand reaching toward my side wasn't trembling, but she'd helped anyway.
She'd sat in the mud, cleaned blood from my coat, removed debris from the wound, wrapped my leg, and argued with me when I objected to being handled.
Then she'd returned.
And kept returning.
She brought food and filled the quiet around the creek with stories about delayed flights, terrible hotels, photographers she'd worked with, cameras she wanted but refused to buy, and countries she'd spent just enough time in to know which places she wanted to visit again.
She complained about humidity while willingly lying in wet vegetation for forty minutes to photograph one bird and had once spent most of an afternoon explaining why a lens that cost more than some humans' vehicles was, apparently, completely reasonable even though she had no intention of purchasing it.
She'd asked before photographing me.
That had mattered.
Evie made her living taking pictures of animals most people would never see outside a screen, yet once she'd understood that I could answer her, wanting the photograph hadn't been enough. She'd lowered her camera and waited until I agreed.
Then she'd called me beautiful and embarrassed herself so thoroughly afterward that I'd been tempted to remind her of it every day since.
The storm had changed something else.
She'd trusted me enough to sleep beside me.
Evie believed I was a wild leopard. An irritatingly opinionated one, perhaps, but still a predator capable of hurting her if I chose.
She had curled beneath those roots anyway, let exhaustion take over, and slept deeply enough to tell me she was tired of leaving without even realizing she'd spoken.
I'd thought about those words more than once.
She talked about travel with excitement, but there had been something different in her voice while she slept. A weariness she rarely admitted while awake.
I hadn't decided what it meant.
I wasn't sure Evie knew either. What I did know was that, somewhere between the first bandage and that storm, she'd stopped being the human who'd found me injured.
She was Evie.
I looked forward to her footsteps.
I liked making her laugh. I liked listening to her talk about things I knew nothing about simply because she became animated when she cared about something. I even liked the ridiculous nickname more than I intended to admit.
And I wanted to court her.
Leaves shifted behind me before I could follow the thought any farther.
I didn't turn.
Tavian had been waiting beyond the creek for nearly twenty minutes, which meant he'd somehow survived approximately nineteen minutes longer than usual without moving somewhere I'd explicitly told him not to.
She's gone, I told Tavian, rolling my shoulders before starting toward the narrow route leading deeper into our territory.
I noticed, Tavian replied as he pushed through the ferns, his lean golden body emerging from the vegetation while his amber eyes remained on the trail Evie had taken.
His whiskers twitched as he drew in another breath, and then his head turned slowly toward me.
I also noticed she smells even more like you today.
I stopped and stared at him. Tavian's tail moved lazily behind him.
You've been waiting five days to say that, I told Tavian, watching satisfaction spread across his face now that he'd finally broken whatever promise he'd made to himself.
Six, Luca corrected from across the creek, his darker coat appearing beneath the trees before he stepped carefully onto the first wet stone. He's been waiting six days.
Tavian swung his head toward Luca.
You counted? Tavian asked Luca, his ears tipping forward while Luca crossed through the shallow water.
You complained about not being allowed to ask every morning, Luca reminded Tavian, stepping onto our side of the creek before shaking one damp paw.
Tavian considered that.
Fair, Tavian conceded to Luca, entirely unashamed.
His gaze returned to me and then his ears twitched. The satisfaction on his face changed. I knew exactly when he'd remembered what Evie had said before leaving.
Tavian's mouth opened.
I narrowed my eyes.
He lasted less than a second.
Cat? Tavian asked me, the single word coming out strangled as his entire body began vibrating with suppressed laughter. She calls you Cat?
I kept walking.
Behind me, Tavian lost whatever remained of his composure.
She does, Tavian said, bounding through the leaves to catch up while laughter continued breaking through his voice. You refused to tell us anything about the mysterious Omega for nearly a week, and the entire time she has been calling you Cat.
I refused to give her my name, I told Tavian, stepping over a thick root as Luca followed several paces behind us.
Then you earned Cat, Luca told me, his quiet contribution delivered with enough satisfaction that I turned my head toward him.
Luca met my stare calmly. Tavian made another choking sound.
Neither of you is amusing, I told my packmates, continuing down the path while Tavian walked almost close enough for his shoulder to hit mine.
I disagree, Tavian replied, looking more delighted than I'd seen him in days. This may be the best thing that has happened since you got caught in that trap.
I stopped so abruptly Tavian nearly walked into me.
Choose the rest of that sentence very carefully, I warned Tavian, turning my head until we were nearly nose to nose.
Tavian blinked.
Since you survived getting caught in the trap, Tavian corrected himself, lowering his voice while his ears tipped backward.
Luca moved past both of us.
Better, Luca told Tavian, his tail brushing briefly across the leaves as he continued along the trail. Tavian waited until Luca was several steps ahead before looking at me.
Still Cat, Tavian added under his breath.
I snapped my teeth near his ear. Tavian bounded sideways laughing.
We traveled deeper into our territory for almost twenty minutes, following a route most humans would never recognize as anything more than gaps between trees.
Moss covered the remains of worked stone beneath layers of damp leaves, and thick roots had broken through sections of the old path until only scattered edges remained visible.
Vines brushed over our backs as we passed, while the heavier forest noise near the creek faded into the quieter interior of our territory.
The temple lay farther east.
Instead of going home, I turned toward one of the smaller springs we used when we needed somewhere private to shift. Dense vegetation and broken stone surrounded the clearing on every side, but I still checked the nearby trunks, branches, and the darker gaps between roots before stepping inside.
Since meeting a wildlife photographer, I'd become even less fond of unattended cameras in the forest. A researcher photographing one of us in human form somewhere humans weren't supposed to be would create questions.
Someone capturing a shift would create considerably worse problems. Our communities had remained hidden because generations before us had been careful, and one careless image could undo far more than anything affecting just the three of us.
Satisfied there was nothing nearby, I stepped behind a broad section of fractured stone and shifted.
The change came easily. Bones and muscle rearranged beneath my skin, fur receded, and paws became human hands against the damp ground.
When I straightened, humid air settled over bare skin and the scar along my side pulled faintly as I rolled one shoulder.
Tavian shifted several feet away with the same impatience he brought to nearly everything.
His human form was leaner than mine, built for speed and climbing, with deep bronze-brown skin and dark hair that never remained where he put it.
By the time he retrieved his clothes from the dry compartment beneath the stones, the humidity had already started curling the longer strands across his forehead.
Luca changed beside the spring with considerably less unnecessary movement. His long dark hair fell around his shoulders until he gathered it loosely at the nape, and his green-gold eyes went directly to my side as soon as he'd pulled on a pair of loose trousers.