“You haven’t seen her in years.”
“You didn’t even raise her yourself. How attached could you be?”
“And she’s a MacKilligan now.”
“Hardly even that. The MacKilligans don’t want her any more than the aunts do. They don’t want any of Freddy’s girls.”
Renny studied the cousins who had spoken. “So you want me to hold that against my own flesh and blood? Our flesh and blood? ”
“If you think you can bring her into this life—our life, you’re wrong.”
“I have no plans to do anything but see her.”
“Renny—”
“I just want to see my daughter. That’s all.”
Her cousins moved away from the car and Renny got in. She started the vehicle and lowered the window.
Renny leaned out. “I’ll let you all know when I’m settled.”
“Just . . . be careful.”
“With my own daughter?”
The cousins exchanged glances until one finally said, “She’s not alone, Renny.”
“And she’s not normal,” said another.
Renny looked through the windshield out onto the field, where she saw a hyena rip off one of Dev’s arms and go running into the trees with several of its clan mates following.
She returned her gaze to her cousins. “You’re kidding, right? ”
* * *
They were given a private room in the back of the famed Fifth Avenue Van Holtz Steakhouse. Zé’s grandfather had never had much money so Zé had never considered eating at any of the Van Holtz restaurants in this city or any other around the world that he had been to over the years. If there had been a Van Holtz Steakhouse next to a Sizzler in Taiwan, he would have gone to the Sizzler. His appetite—and the appetites of his teammates—made eating at an overpriced tourist trap an unacceptable move in his opinion.
But here he was. At a Van Holtz Steakhouse on flippin’ Fifth Avenue, no less. This wasn’t the flagship restaurant, though. That was in Seattle. When the server handed him the menu, Zé already knew what he wanted, a T-bone with a side of broccoli. So he put the menu aside.
Max, who sat catty-corner from him, smirked. “You need to look at the menu.”
“I already know what I want.”
“Trust me,” she said, her focus already on the offerings. “Look at the menu.”
Rolling his eyes, Zé picked up the menu and opened it. The first page was a list of wines that, even on someone else’s dime, he would never order. Wines from the 1800s? Who would willingly pay for that at a chain restaurant? He knew the cost of those wines must be insane because the prices weren’t listed.
Already disgusted, Zé flipped the page and immediately saw the listing for his T-bone. Under that listing, however, were choices of T-bone. Zé frowned. He’d never heard of there being a choice of T-bone. T-bone was T-bone . . . right? He let his gaze move down the list and he saw bison and ostrich. Not strange, just a little hippy-dippy for his tastes.
But as Zé continued to read, he felt his face get hot and his brain start to hurt. Why?
Because the menu included deer, elk, moose, antelope, buffalo, zebra, rhino, hippo, giraffe. Giraffe!
“What the fuck am I reading?”
“Your dinner options.”
“What the fuck is peccary?”
“It’s like a pig. A skunk pig, I think. I know people who’ve tried it, but I’m not risking anything with skunk in the name.”
“Capybara?” he asked. “The giant rat?”
“You might like that. They come from jaguar territory.”
Zé took a quick look around. He felt like he was being fucked with. Was he being fucked with?
He turned the page and found a listing of seafood, but his eyes widened once he passed the usual salmon, trout, and ahi tuna. Because that’s when he hit bearded and ringed seal, walrus, beluga whale, narwhal.
“What the fuck is a narwhal?” he demanded.
“Unicorn of the sea,” Nelle replied with a grin.
When Zé got to grilled monkey, he slammed the menu shut, got up, and stormed out. But he only got as far as the stairs that led to the second floor of the restaurant, right by the elevators.
He sat down on the first step, his forearms resting on his knees.
When he’d shifted at the gym, the feeling had overwhelmed him. But not in a bad way. He’d loved it. Loved the power that surged through his body. The strength.
But, most importantly, it was the feeling of finally being whole. Complete.
After that, he’d—stupidly—thought he’d be okay. That nothing else would shake the foundation on which his world was built. He had shifted into another species. Nothing would shake him because he could change his entire physical being into something completely different.
Then, however . . . he’d seen a listing for grilled monkey in a wine reduction sauce with garlic asparagus and broccoli. When he saw that one could substitute wild rice, he’d snapped.
How could anyone eat monkeys? Looking into the eyes of a monkey was like looking into your own eyes. It was like eating your neighbor. Wasn’t it?
“You’re still here.” Max sat down on the step beneath the one his feet were on, her back against the stairwell wall so she could look up at him. “I thought we’d lost you.”
“Grilled monkey? Really?”
She chuckled. “Jaguars eat monkeys, but that doesn’t mean you need to eat monkeys. You can eat whatever you want.”
“I was just going to get a T-bone steak, but you told me to look at the menu.”
“You need to get used to it. If you hang around shifters, you’re going to see them eat weird shit.”
“What do you eat?”
“Depends where I am. When I was in Italy, I found an amazing badger-owned restaurant near Vatican City that made this”—she closed her eyes, took in a breath, as if she were tasting that meal again—“viper Bolognese sauce that blew my socks off. It was utterly divine. But in Germany, I found this black mamba bratwurst that was just . . . wow.”
Zé held his hand up. “Wait . . . black mamba as in . . . ? ” He shook his head. “When you said ‘viper,’ you meant—”
“Vipers. Cottonmouth, rattlesnake . . . copperheads. Like that.”
“Because honey badgers eat—”
“Whatever we want. Down to the last rattle. And you need to know that and be okay with it.” She patted his leg. “You’ve traveled. I’m sure you’ve tried the delicacies of other countries.”
“Yeah, sure . . . but giraffes? On tonight’s specials they had baby elephants!”
“Okay. First off, those are not from out in the wild. Trust me when I say we are not decimating the wild population of any animal. We have farms and ranches all over the world.”
“How is that better?”
She snorted. “That steak you’re planning to get . . . where do you think it comes from?”
Zé started to argue but quickly realized she was right.
“Everything on that menu is to fulfill the needs of certain breeds. There’s no shame in it, and we give back. Most of the tough bastards that are protecting the world’s wildlife preserves are shifters. And occasionally, those stories about big game hunters being mauled by lions and such . . . that’s usually us. Why? Because we can . . . and because we’re dicks. And let’s face it . . . those guys are asking for it.”