That initial flinch, which happened so damned often, even among my family when I showed up without makeup or warning, ruined the whole thing for me.
The only damned man who hadn’t flinched over my scars was the lion I loved to torment into roaring at me. Without fail, his roars brightened my day, pleased my virus, and could get me through just about any shitshow intact.
Flinching followed with guilty adoration didn’t fly with me and never would. I would find a permanent solution to my problems through my hard work, and I’d take pride in accomplishing my goal. That my hard work involved hunting those who’d crossed the line with the law didn’t bother me but would bother my entire family. When Uncle Henry did things like play the bounty hunter system and make good money, they loved it.
The thought of me even breaking a nail induced panic attacks, and some days, it amazed me they only bothered me three times a week making sure I hadn’t done something they’d regret.
My cell rang, and the display showed a private number. Scowling, I weighed the odds between a government contractor or a telemarketer. Had I not just logged into the bounty system, I would’ve assumed telemarketer. Dodging a government call might land me in hot water, so I answered, “Wells.”
“Where are you?” the growly voice of my favorite lion demanded.
Some days, it rained. Today, the sun shined, I had coffee, and I got to annoy the damned lion I loved pestering into roaring for me. Better, yet, I could walk up to him with my scars showing without him grimacing. “Somewhere neither here nor there. Finally getting around to confessing how much you miss me, Sumners?”
“I need to speak with you in person, you murderous little fur-freak.”
Oh, oh, oh. When the lion got feisty, I got my roars early in the conversation. Unable to help myself, I purred. “Did the little lion get the tuft of his tail pulled?”
“Where are you, Wells?”
“Somewhere.”
“Don’t you dare say over the rainbow or out there.”
Next time, I needed to remember to do that, as I could have secured a roar already if only I’d known song lyrics could annoy him as much as my general tail-tuft yanking. “Did you miss me that much, Sumners? Last time, I swore I heard you say you never wanted to see my ugly mug ever again.”
He hadn’t actually said that, but twisting his request for me to ‘go do something productive’ never failed to get him up in arms. The lion’s wordless snarl promised it would be an interesting and rewarding call. “I didn’t say that. I said I wished you’d go in to get an attitude readjustment and to not bother me until you acquired some common sense. I said nothing about any mugs.”
Oh. Right. He had said that, too. I snorted, although I smiled at the lion’s reply. How much of his frustrations stemmed from his unwillingness to admit my face terrified most babies? “I have plenty of common sense. How good is my live capture rate again? And how about that kill rate of mine? Hmm? I’m perfection, little kitty, and you know it.”
Work wise, I did my best to live up to my boast. Personality wise? Once I got off the phone, I’d be roaring from laughter. One day, Sebastian would figure out how I ticked, and he would be all calm and poised, ruining my fun. If he didn’t make talking with him so amusing, I would’ve tried a little harder to be a stoic professional.
He made my job so damned fun.
While he knew I was a single lycanthrope, he had no idea I was a cat out for his roars. I bet he assumed, like everyone did, I was a wolf. Since enough wolves invaded my turf, I often smelled like them, too. And since more cats than anyone could shake a stick at lived near Fargo, smelling of feline was the default no matter what species one actually was.
“Unfortunately for me, that’s why I’m calling you.” Sebastian growled, another good sign I’d get a good roar out of him soon. “I need to meet with you about your work.”
“Will this meeting take more than ten minutes?”
“For my sake, I hope not.”
“And is there a reason it can’t be over the phone? I’m busying registering shit in the system here, Mr. Mane. That’s me, busy, busy, busy.”
“Yes, there is a reason it can’t be over the phone.”
“If you want me to make you cry in person, Mr. Mane, you’re going to have to try a little harder than that.”
“My name isn’t Mr. Mane,” he growled.
“Well, it should be. That hair of yours is just so fluffy. You must make all the single ladies swoon when you walk by.” He certainly did a good job of making me want to swoon—while purring—whenever he strutted his stuff, and my virus was only partially responsible for my interest in him. “Have you tried flipping it over your shoulder?” The lion kept his hair cut short to avoid the mane jokes, but I refused to play by his rules. Or anyone’s rules, really. “It must be hard being pretty enough for the both of us.”
“Damn it, Wells!” The lion inhaled and roared. My poor abused phone buzzed. “Could you take this seriously?”
Sweet victory belonged to me, and I allowed myself a few moments to purr my enjoyment of having nettled him so early into our talk. “Making you roar is very serious business, Mr. Mane. Also, I think you broke my phone with that one. Well done. That was a spectacular roar. Such a manly lion lycanthrope, roaring so impressively.”
“One of these days, you’re going to pull on the wrong lycanthrope’s tail, Wells.”
Knowing how much I avoided lycanthrope men unless hunting them for their bounties, he’d be waiting a long damned time for that to happen. More likely than not, one of my bounties would get me killed, and I’d go to my grave as an eternal virgin. The lycanthrope men flinched—or ran away. “Are you the wrong lycanthrope?”
Challenging the CDC’s pet lion might bite me in the ass later, but there were worse people who could try to bite my ass. Or anywhere else on my person, really.
Damned virus.
Sometimes, I really wanted to put her in the corner and remind her there were other male cats in the world, and that she didn’t have to just have fun with Sebastian. Taunting the lion did classify as an act of reckless and dangerous fun, something I enjoyed as much as my virus did. It helped I pissed him off enough he didn’t flinch when I came around; he was too worried about controlling his damned temper to care about my face.
Then again, the first time we’d met, he hadn’t flinched, which had been all it had taken to convince my virus he was the only one worthy of me. I believed I needed a crown so I could become the Queen of Unhealthy Relationships. Then again, what I had with Sebastian didn’t classify as a relationship.
Then again, maybe it was healthy. He didn’t flinch around me, and he treated me like a person. Well, mostly. He treated me like a person when I wasn’t out for his roar. When I was out for his roar, he treated me like the annoyance I was.
My virus loved it all, and I appreciated she wanted me to be happy, although if she pushed much harder about Sebastian, she’d have me eating out of the lion’s hand while purring.
Personally, I hoped he fed me barbecue chicken with extra spicy sauce I could lick off his fingers. After I finished with the chicken, a steak might be nice—or a taco. Or some form of pasta covered in cheese. When I thought about it, I didn’t care what he fed me.