Chapter 15 The Cat Rekindles A Passion
The Cat Rekindles A Passion
DELILAH
There are several days until the party, and I’ve started marking off the mornings by the ache in my jaw and the settling weight in my chest. Sometimes I wake up already tense, like I spent the hours of sleep bracing for an impact that never comes.
Taurus calls it event anticipation disorder; he says it with half a smirk, but his eyes linger on me when he thinks I’m not looking, and I know he’s keeping his own tally of the days.
We all are, I suppose.
Despite the bright spots, there’s still a visible fracture line running through the house.
The ‘unified front’ is more aspiration than reality.
Every time we get closer, like one of those puzzles with the magnetic tiles, someone’s polarity flips and we snap apart.
There’s two days of peace, followed by a blow-up, then a day and a half of sulking, and the cycle repeats.
My brain says that I’m being too analytical, but it’s easier to name the pattern than to admit I’m a part of it.
It doesn’t help that I’m being driven insane by the outside forces who will attend the stupid party as well.
On the last call about details I received, Sari’s voice was so shrill it made Taurus wince, and Rafe just curled into himself and waited it out.
Usually I deal with her by writing off the crazy, but this time I walked out and trashed the workout room instead.
It wasn’t even a conscious decision. One minute I was in the kitchen, and the next I was in the gym, destroying everything I could get my hands on.
Of course, my husband didn’t mind because he does the same shit when he’s mad.
The crew Taurus hired to fix the damage I did to the workout room did outstanding work, considering what they were up against. I went down to inspect the next day, expecting to see some meaningful scorn in their eyes.
But the guy in charge, a dark-haired clone from the school named McKuen, just shrugged, said, “I’ve seen worse from classmates,” and rolled with it.
By the morning after, the only evidence of my meltdown was the constellation of scorch marks on the ceiling.
They’d dulled the black streaks, but there’s no paint invented that covers magical residue once it’s set in.
I watched Taurus run his thumb over the soot, his lips pursed, and for a second I thought he’d have a go at me.
Instead, he just scratched the back of his neck and said, “Adds character, Minx.”
My mates only joke about it when they think I can take it.
Taurus said we could start charging rent for the ‘rage room’, and for a while, Rafe would walk in and fake a gasp, clutching his chest like he expected to combust. Talia doesn’t joke about it—she just fixes me with that look, the one that says she’s compiling a mental file, with my name on the tab, and every incident a new sheet of paper.
She never brings it up directly, though, which is almost worse than if she did.
I don’t know how to explain to them that I have to let this shit out somehow or our internal issues will get much, much worse.
The only person who may not survive until the party is my previous, stubbly mate—the black hole at the center of this little universe causing my destructive bent.
It was Sari’s idea to have a ‘quick meet to clarify things’, which is such an insultingly transparent trap that I wanted to both laugh and shove my fist through the drywall.
I told Taurus it was a set-up, and he agreed, but he’s a big believer in confrontation-as-therapy.
He asked if I’d be okay, and I said yes, because what else could I say? If I can’t handle her for a short stint while sober and not in bondage gear, I have no idea what the fuck will happen at this damn event.
So I went.
The first warning sign was when Sari texted she was prepping ‘appetizers’.
When I walked into the kitchen, she was fussing at the oven, and she had a tray of cookies that I recognized—the same kind Taurus brought on that ill-fated visit that sent me over the edge.
She didn’t even try to hide her shitty gambit, holding the tray up and smiling with all her teeth.
I grit my teeth and pretended not to notice, wanting to speed the damn thing up, so I didn’t have to be there longer than necessary.
The conversation started tense and only got worse from there.
If Sari was trying to play nice, she must have forgotten how, because by the second round of drinks she insisted on, she was needling me about Taurus and Talia with every sentence.
I pressed back, at first with a patient, nonjudgmental tone, but soon enough we were both shouting.
Unfortunately, Sari pivoted quickly, slinging an old grievance about Alistair and Rhea.
Before I knew it, my hands were shaking so badly I had to lock them together.
I finally declared that I was needed at work and got out of there to head home in a blur of fury.
I can’t seem to divest myself of the emotional abuse she lobs at me, no matter what I do.
I locked myself in the workout room as soon as I arrived.
I thought being alone would calm me, but once the door shut, the anger filled the space like gas.
I punched the speed bag until my knuckles split, then hurled medicine balls at the concrete wall, watching them bounce back in wild arcs.
I screamed into a rolled-up mat, but it didn’t help.
When the magic finally kicked in, it was less like an explosion and more like a slow, corrosive burn—my rage eating its way out through my pores, lighting up every nerve.
I didn’t even see the new scorch marks happen.
I only noticed when the smoldering ceiling tile dropped and grazed my shoulder, leaving a black smudge and the faint scent of burnt hair.
Afterward, I curled up against one of the mats, arms locked around my knees, trying to remember how to breathe.
I must have stayed there for hours, because when I came out, the sun was gone and the house was silent, except for Taurus’s heavy footsteps in the upstairs hallway.
I found him in his room, sitting on the edge of the bed with a half-empty glass, staring at the wall.
He said nothing, but he held out the glass.
I sat next to him, and we were quiet for a long time.
We both realized that Sari will never be something we can deal with like adults; she’s going to haunt us forever.
The next two days were spent in the sort of uneasy truce that happens after a forest fire—our emotions charred but not dead, everything brittle and liable to snap.
I worked out at weird hours, and tried not to engage while I was licking my wounds.
Sometimes I’d catch a glimpse of Talia or Rafe, but I avoided them as best I could.
I think they were scared that in my delicate state, our family could come apart at the seams again.
That night, Taurus and I went to the once again repaired workout room.
He tried to get me to talk about it, but I told him I was exhausted and just wanted to run.
So we ran, side by side, our feet pounding in sync on the treadmills, the scorched ceiling above us a kind of trophy to our stubbornness.
Luckily, he didn’t even mention how fucked up it was that I asked to run when I hate it with every fiber of my being.
We finished our laps, showered, and afterwards he found me in the kitchen, handing me a glass of electrolyte water and a protein bar.
We didn’t talk about the party, or how nothing really ever goes back to normal right now.
None of it would go anywhere because Sari will never change, and the community needs the event to get back on its feet after the death of Wilde.
All I could do is survive the best I could, and hope it heals the fracture so it never has to happen again.
This morning, I woke up with the usual dread, but it was thinner now, stretched out like taffy.
I had a headache from last night’s sprints, but I got up and conjured some juice to level out my blood sugar.
I took it to the bathroom and stood in front of the mirror, my hair a wild mat of tangles from sleep.
For a second, I considered hacking it off, but I sat down and started the work to get it back to manageable.
I’m not big on short hair, and my mental health isn’t so bad that I’m going to overreact like that.
Instead, I brush the tangles out of my wet hair and start braiding the tightly pinned crown around my head.
I haven’t done this in a long time, but I might have to find an outlet that doesn’t involve mass murder or destruction of our home to work out some of my anger.
When I finish the braids, I tug on the tights and the tank leotard, looking at the healed spot where the old mating marks used to be.
Rafe was ready long before I was. The exes and the extras are gone now, and the tattoos from everyone else. It’s odd to see only the three sets of marks on me. I didn’t heal any of the ‘lesson’ scars, so the ugly reminder on my collarbone still holds court when you see my bare shoulders.
C’est la vie.1
I sit on the toilet and lace the ribbons, making them tight and firm, and then I don the tiny little wrap skirt.
I’m ready.
Flicking my fingers at the stereo system on the wall, I do a few stretches, getting my feet used to the shoes again so I don’t get a cramp.
The playlist changes as I cross the room, whizzing in turns and leaps and spins as the music crests and falls.
The shrieks of the strings and woodwinds make me move faster and push harder to get all the energy I’m holding inside out.
The feel of my limbs moving, music, entrances me and I keep dancing, letting pirouettes and tour jetés make me feel like I’m flying.
For years, I danced en pointe in more ballets than I can count. It always helped me get the emotions that roil through a teenager out, and now is no different. The sounds of the Valkyrie follow the first piece, and I imagine an epic battle and a brave Valkyrie fighting for the kingdom.
A little escapism isn’t that bad, right?
I hear the door open and, out of the corner of my eye, I see Talia padding in.
I don’t stop; I just keep going until I’m panting and out of breath.
Clomping over to where she’s sitting, I lean on the barre and breathe heavily, muscles screaming from overuse.
I drop my head, resting my forehead on the wood, and look down at her.
She wiggles her fingers and gives me a quizzical look. “Be honest with me?”
Since I have no idea where this question is going, and it’s been a rough couple of days, I stretch my feet in the shoes while I stand. I may need to push back out there after this. “Always.”
“Is there any damn thing in the universe you can’t do like you’ve trained your entire life for it?
I mean, Jesus Christ, woman. It’s hard not to feel like a second banana when you’re mated to a sorceress carrying a miracle baby that speaks several languages, has a genius-level IQ, sings like an angel, dances like a prima ballerina, talks to animals, and kills like she was born to hunt.
I’m sure I’m leaving some shit out, too. ”
I blink for a moment, not getting that she’s teasing me. I almost downplay everything, feeling like I’ve been a braggart when she laughs.
“Hell, you even take the blame for being talented so I don’t feel bad. You might be the most infuriatingly perfect woman I’ve ever met!”
I hear the humor in her voice, and give her a shy smile. “I rarely let people know all the things I can do. It makes them mad, I find.”
Talia leans against the mirror and laughs. “I’m shocked to hear that all these morons don’t enjoy finding out that they’re trying to squirm into the life of a woman who makes Da Vinci look like he was resting on his laurels. Color me amazed, baby.”
I’ve never been great at accepting praise.
False bravado and swagger, yes, but not praise.
“I, um, never showed the other mates everything. I can’t hide that I’m smart, but stuff like the magick or dancing or gymnastics or knitting or whatever.
That kind of stuff I didn’t share. I mean, it would have caused problems.”
She shakes her head and yells into the air. “Taurus! Get your hands off my husband and come down here, you ego-driven pigeon!”
My eyes widen, and I shake my head, gesturing for her to stop. “Don’t interrupt them… this isn’t a big deal.”
“Hell yes, it is.” She bangs her foot on the floor and screeches, “Taurus, Stoat…I’m not kidding!”
The boys appear, looking askew and ruffled as they glare at us. Taurus wheels on his mate, not even noticing me, growling, “You’re having your time and I’m having mine. What the bloody hell is so damned important? It better be a missing limb.”
Rafe tugs at his elbow, tilting his head at me. “Look, mate.”
My husband turns on his heel, ready to bellow, and stops short. Giving me a slack-jawed look, he looks at me, then at Rafe and then at Talia. “Well, what in the seven hells is this?”
Talia grins. “She’s a ballerina. You've gotta see this.”
My primary sighs, his lips curving up. Of everyone on the earth and in the Rift, he alone knows all my secrets and hidden facts. He’s not a bit surprised I dance, only that I’m doing it again after so many years.
The bird tilts his head again, and I see the love in his eyes as he looks me over from head to toe. “Alright, minx. My primary says we should see the show; give us a show.”
I turn pink again, shooting her a dirty look. I’m not ready to give a show to anyone after not dancing for over five years. “I don’t have a costume, so you’ll have to imagine.”
“But you do! There’s a pretty flowery one in the trunks at—”
My gaze narrows at my primary. “Shut. Up.”
Talia bats her lashes. “Oh, please, can’t you blink it here?”
“I would love to see a minx-style show, just for us, wife.”
I let out a dinosaur screech of frustration. “Fine, fine!”
Stomping like a Clydesdale in the toe shoes, I head over to the corner of the room. I focus and apparate the Sugar Plum Fairy tutu from the production of the Nutcracker I was in so many years ago. Sighing, I flick my hand at the stereo on the wall, switching the music to match the costume.
My lips curve. If I’m going to make a show of it, I might as well wow the audience.
Glitter and flowers and sparkles everywhere, here I come.