“Some cats don’t mess around.” I don’t know why I sounded like I was hard to get. Or that I’d put up a fight. Maybe, suddenly, I wanted to be different?
I know one thing, I didn’t like the speculation in his eyes, like he’d pegged me the way I’d pegged Ali. It made me uncomfortable, and a little snitty. I wanted to reach out and put a claw in him, make him shut up.
Make him kiss me again. But then he said, “Some cats don’t have enough sense to stay out of places they don’t belong,” and I didn’t want to kiss him.
I snarled, “You know, you garou need to stop thinking you own the world.” Spinning to walk away, I muttered, “Stupid ass son of a bitches.”
He yanked me back by the scruff of my neck. Well, the collar of my jacket. Right up against his chest, and, with a really low, and dangerous growl, he said, “I’m taking you home.”
I clawed a little bit, but he had me, pure and simple, by the fact that he was bigger than me. I knew I couldn’t crinos on him right there on the street, and he knew it, too.
Crinos: shapeshifted form between my natural cat and human. Definitely something you don’t want to meet in the dark.
Truth was, I started to shift without thinking, and twisting in his arms, letting my claws out, and a few squeals. But he tossed me up against the door. And, in his own half-crinos, he postured over me--nailing my wrists above me, skewering me with some seriously deadly eyes. With a curled lip, he said, “Don’t push me, cat. I’ll fucking eat you alive, right here.”
So, okay. That had my heart going a mile a minute, and me thinking, shit.
But I’m totally impressed. I mean, I sliced him a few times. That usually makes guys let go.
Worse, I could tell he was turned on by my little fighting act. Only, it wasn’t an act. I was sneaking glances left and right, thinking about how to get away. See if he’d chase me. I like cat and mouse games.
He must’ve read my mind. Fucking garou are brainiacs. Always trying to get into your head. The minute I felt him probing that way, I kneed him. Damn if he didn’t have a stump between his legs. Didn’t hardly even move. Oh, he made a noise, an “Oomphf”, but he didn’t let go of me. Just said, “Careful, puss. I might like that.”
“Stop calling me names,” I hissed.
He thought that was funny. Hoarsely chuckled. “So tell me what you like to be called. Hellcat?”
I debated on saying yeah to that. It sounded good, tough, like it deserved a little respect. Before I could answer, he scrutinized me a little harder and asked, “What are you? A cougar?”
Like I said, bastet come in all forms of cat. All colors of the rainbow. He’d guessed it in one, so I shrugged and said, “Good guess.” It wouldn’t have been so easy for him if my hair had been another color.
“This is what gives it away.” He touched the skin of my belly, right below my navel. Soft velvet. I wanted to purr instantly. But he checked that thought by tucking his fingers inside the waistband of my pants and tugging hard, which drew the seam right up into my crotch, made me grunt.
Insulting him, I asked, “What’s that make you? A hound?”
His eyes blazed and there in the dark, I got a glimpse of the wolf he was. Full freaking canus lupus. He let his nose out, showed me some fang.
In the face of that, you have only a few choices. Wet your pants. Cringe. Claw. Or pretend it doesn’t mean shit. So, I smiled and said, “Hm. I would’ve figured you for a spaniel.”
Real tightly, he said, “Not even close.”
The thing with men in general is...you gotta keep surprising them. It doesn’t matter what breed or what race they are. I said, “Good,” stretched my tongue out and licked his jaw.
He blinked and pulled back. Dropped me fast.
I tugged my
I know one thing, I didn’t like the speculation in his eyes, like he’d pegged me the way I’d pegged Ali. It made me uncomfortable, and a little snitty. I wanted to reach out and put a claw in him, make him shut up.
Make him kiss me again. But then he said, “Some cats don’t have enough sense to stay out of places they don’t belong,” and I didn’t want to kiss him.
I snarled, “You know, you garou need to stop thinking you own the world.” Spinning to walk away, I muttered, “Stupid ass son of a bitches.”
He yanked me back by the scruff of my neck. Well, the collar of my jacket. Right up against his chest, and, with a really low, and dangerous growl, he said, “I’m taking you home.”
I clawed a little bit, but he had me, pure and simple, by the fact that he was bigger than me. I knew I couldn’t crinos on him right there on the street, and he knew it, too.
Crinos: shapeshifted form between my natural cat and human. Definitely something you don’t want to meet in the dark.
Truth was, I started to shift without thinking, and twisting in his arms, letting my claws out, and a few squeals. But he tossed me up against the door. And, in his own half-crinos, he postured over me--nailing my wrists above me, skewering me with some seriously deadly eyes. With a curled lip, he said, “Don’t push me, cat. I’ll fucking eat you alive, right here.”
So, okay. That had my heart going a mile a minute, and me thinking, shit.
But I’m totally impressed. I mean, I sliced him a few times. That usually makes guys let go.
Worse, I could tell he was turned on by my little fighting act. Only, it wasn’t an act. I was sneaking glances left and right, thinking about how to get away. See if he’d chase me. I like cat and mouse games.
He must’ve read my mind. Fucking garou are brainiacs. Always trying to get into your head. The minute I felt him probing that way, I kneed him. Damn if he didn’t have a stump between his legs. Didn’t hardly even move. Oh, he made a noise, an “Oomphf”, but he didn’t let go of me. Just said, “Careful, puss. I might like that.”
“Stop calling me names,” I hissed.
He thought that was funny. Hoarsely chuckled. “So tell me what you like to be called. Hellcat?”
I debated on saying yeah to that. It sounded good, tough, like it deserved a little respect. Before I could answer, he scrutinized me a little harder and asked, “What are you? A cougar?”
Like I said, bastet come in all forms of cat. All colors of the rainbow. He’d guessed it in one, so I shrugged and said, “Good guess.” It wouldn’t have been so easy for him if my hair had been another color.
“This is what gives it away.” He touched the skin of my belly, right below my navel. Soft velvet. I wanted to purr instantly. But he checked that thought by tucking his fingers inside the waistband of my pants and tugging hard, which drew the seam right up into my crotch, made me grunt.
Insulting him, I asked, “What’s that make you? A hound?”
His eyes blazed and there in the dark, I got a glimpse of the wolf he was. Full freaking canus lupus. He let his nose out, showed me some fang.
In the face of that, you have only a few choices. Wet your pants. Cringe. Claw. Or pretend it doesn’t mean shit. So, I smiled and said, “Hm. I would’ve figured you for a spaniel.”
Real tightly, he said, “Not even close.”
The thing with men in general is...you gotta keep surprising them. It doesn’t matter what breed or what race they are. I said, “Good,” stretched my tongue out and licked his jaw.
He blinked and pulled back. Dropped me fast.
I tugged my
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