Second Nature (11 page)

"Especially since tigers are carnivores and wouldn't even be interested in eating them," Jorie said. "Actually... that would make a funny scene." She scribbled furiously into her notebook.

Shaking her head, Griffin watched a writer's mind at work.
Great. I'm supposed to stop her from writing this book, and what do I do? I jump-start her muse.
"Wooing a tiger with flowers... These are not normal animals in your story, are they?" Griffin asked, interrupting the scribbling.

Jorie looked up. Her thumb played with the end of the pen for a moment before she called her hands back to order. She took a deep breath. "My main character is a shape-shifter who can turn into a tiger," she said matter-of-factly as if human-looking creatures turning into tigers were nothing out of the ordinary.

And maybe they aren't for her. That's what I'm here to find out.
"Ah," Griffin said. "I noticed that these stories are getting popular. I've read a few of the werewolf romances." She hadn't, but she could bluff as well as any of the poker players in Jorie's past. If nothing else, the passionate glow in Jorie's eyes told her that she could keep her talking if she asked about books and writing in general.

Jorie shook her head. "Werewolves and shape-shifters are not the same thing."

"They're not?" Griffin feigned ignorance.

"No," Jorie said. Passion colored her features when she was talking about her writing. "A werewolf is basically a human that has been bitten by a werewolf and turned into one of them. Shape-shifters aren't human at all and never have been. They have their own culture, their own language, their own physiology."

Yes, they do,
Griffin silently agreed.
Or more precisely, we once had our own language.
Since most Wrasa spent their time pretending to be human, their children grew up speaking English, Spanish, French, and other human languages. Their old language was nearly lost. The rest of their culture wasn't too far behind. Griffin shook off the depressing thought and forced her attention back to the present.

What Jorie described weren't the clichés she had hoped for. Jorie's story world wouldn't be inhabited by creatures that were howling at the moon once a month. "So your character is a tiger-shifter, not a weretiger? They're a different species, not turned humans?" she asked, just to make sure.

Jorie nodded. "Exactly. They might look human, but they're not," she said but didn't offer more information than that.

"Why a tiger? Why not a wolf?" Griffin asked. "Wolves seem to be more popular in fiction." She had never understood the human fascination with wolves and dogs when cats were so much more interesting.
Not that I'm biased or anything,
she thought with a secret grin.

"I don't know." Jorie shrugged. One corner of her mouth lifted up to form a disarming half smile. "I know most readers find an alpha wolf irresistible, but I've always had a soft spot for cats."

Is she flirting?
Griffin thought but then shook her head at herself.
She doesn't even know you're a cat... hopefully. And she writes boy-meets-girl romances.
Jorie's smile wasn't really directed at her. She was probably thinking about the three cats she had at home. "So that shifter thing," Griffin began, making it sound as if the mere idea was absurd to her, "was that why the weight of a tiger seemed to be a problem for you?"

Reluctantly, Jorie's head tipped up and down. "It's hard to find a scientific explanation for how a slender human can turn into a 250-pound cat," she said.

"Hard? Impossible," Griffin said truthfully. Wrasa weighed the same in their animal form as they did in their human form. With her four hundred pounds, Griffin had to avoid scales and cheap furniture. She also couldn't let a human physician take too close a look at her since an expert would immediately notice that her bones and muscles were much too dense to be human. "No living being can gain mass from nothing. You would be better off sticking to wolves." Not that Jennings or the council would be happier about that. "They weigh about as much as a human. Even better, use magic. A magical creature could weigh whatever you want it to."

Jorie's fingers tightened around the pen in her hand, but she didn't write down what Griffin had said, as if she didn't want to use that information anyway. "I want this story based on science, not magic," Jorie said.

Great Hunter, she's stubborn.
With the patience of a cat, Griffin grinned down at her anyway. "That's why you're having coffee with a zoologist, not a magician, right?"

Jorie threw back her head and laughed.

The sound was a surprise. Instead of grating on her nerves as some humans' laughter did, it pleasantly tickled her ears like the twittering of birds on that sunny spring day in the forest.

After just a few seconds, Jorie stopped laughing and was back to asking businesslike questions.

Finally, before Griffin could even finish her horrible-tasting tea, Jorie put her notebook back into her backpack and laid some money on the table.

"Let me pay this time," Griffin said. She had lived among humans long enough to know it was considered the polite thing to do. Had she been here with a Wrasa, there would have been no fighting over the check. The higher-ranking Wrasa always took care of the check. Just the parwese, the Kasari's high king, was never expected to pay for anything — he took the lion's share without asking and let his people work for him while he was busy ruling the Allied Prides.

"No, I have it," Jorie said. It was clear that she didn't want to owe Griffin anything. "I can't thank you enough for helping me with my research again, so at least let me pay for your tea."

Griffin gave in. "Then I'll pay next time should you have any more questions."

Jorie tilted her head in a vague nod.

"Oh, before I forget, I have one of your books in my car. Would you mind signing it for me?" Griffin asked as they stood.

For once, Jorie's iron self-control slipped a little. One of her eyebrows arched up until it brushed her shaggy bangs.

What?
Griffin thought, suppressing a grin.
I don't look like I read hetero romances?
Her gaze wandered down, over her big body, then up again to study Jorie. "I loved 'A Vampire's Heart,'" Griffin said. She had never met an author who didn't like hearing that from her readers.

Now Jorie smiled, but it was not the pleased expression that Griffin had expected. Instead, it was an indulgent, almost self-mocking smile. "That's kind of you to say, but it was the first book I published, and I know it has its weaknesses."

Great Hunter, she doesn't make it easy. What am I supposed to say to that?
Griffin looked her right in the eyes, a gesture that humans interpreted as sincerity. "It had its strengths too. I liked your main character and her wicked sense of humor."
Don't let it be said that a cat can't be charming.

Finally, Jorie nodded and accepted the compliment with a more relaxed smile.

*  *  *

Griffin glanced left and right as they left the diner. Nothing moved. The small side street where she had parked her rental car was empty.
Good.

The awareness of being watched made her skin prickle, but Griffin ignored it. She led Jorie over to her car and opened the trunk.

A hulking figure stepped out from behind the car next to Griffin's. He took a threatening step toward Jorie. A knife flashed in his hand.

Jorie froze.

"Your wallet," he said to Griffin. "Hand it over if you don't want me to hurt your friend."

It wasn't easy to give up something that was hers, but Griffin did as she was told, encouraging Jorie to do the same.

"Now you." The man waved the knife at Jorie. "Is your wallet in the backpack?" The wallet wasn't really what he was after, but Jorie didn't need to know that.

Biting her lip, Jorie nodded.

"Give me that," he rumbled and reached for Jorie's backpack.

Jorie's fingers clutched the strap she had slung over one shoulder. "No!"

What?
Griffin couldn't believe it.
Is she stupid?
She forced herself to stay where she was.

The mugger clamped his fingers around the strap and pulled it away from Jorie's shoulder, but Jorie refused to let go. The much bigger man wrenched her forward with a jerk of his arm. His other hand shot up. The knife's sharp tip trembled against the skin of Jorie's throat now. "Give me the backpack," he said again.

Jorie stood still. The scent of her fear hung in the air, but her confident posture didn't show it. Her fingers didn't let go of the backpack. Jorie looked him right in the eye. "No."

Griffin didn't know whether she should admire her for her courage or curse her for destroying their well-thought-out plan. "J.W.," she murmured, reminding herself at the very last second not to call the writer by her true first name. "Give him the damn thing. It's not worth getting killed over."

"Stay out of this!" the mugger snapped at Griffin without taking his gaze off Jorie.

Heat rushed through Griffin as her anger flared up. She saw the same reaction in the mugger. His predatory instincts came alive in his gaze, and she prayed he wouldn't mess up her plan by letting his emotions get the best of him. Like the bears into which they could turn, Maki were famous for their short fuses. Normally, Griffin wouldn't have involved one of them in a mission like this, but she needed someone with enough bulk for him to look like Goliath and make her look like the heroic David in comparison.

The knife slashed toward Jorie.

No!
Griffin took an automatic step forward.
No! This is not how this was supposed to go.
It wasn't Jorie who was supposed to get hurt.

But instead of cutting Jorie's throat, the knife slashed through the backpack's strap. The Maki wrenched the backpack from Jorie's weakening grasp, shoved Jorie back, and ran.

Griffin exhaled. Her plan was back on track. She would give him a few seconds' head start, then take off after him and heroically try to save Jorie's backpack, getting hurt in the process. Blood rushed through Griffin's veins and sent an explosion of power through her muscles as she got ready to run.

A blur shot past her before she could unleash her hunting instincts.

Jorie was running after the Maki. She was quickly catching up with his lumbering form.

No!

Griffin bolted after them, but the slender Jorie was unexpectedly fast.

One of her hands shot out to snatch the backpack away from the mugger.

The Maki sensed a presence behind him. With a roar, he charged around.

His eyes widened when he realized it was Jorie, not Griffin, who had chased him down. This wasn't part of their plan. Still charged with adrenaline, the Maki stood with the knife suspended in mid-air.

Taking advantage of his hesitation, Jorie reached for the backpack.

Stupid!
In his condition, the Maki would interpret it as an attack. Griffin lunged forward to hold her back, but the Maki was faster.

His knife slashed through the air, a natural extension of his hand, as his claws would have been.

Jorie stumbled back and crashed into one of the parked cars.

A hoarse cry of pain made Griffin's heartbeat speed up. Anger threatened to ignite.
Blood!
Her nose signaled her.
Jorie's blood
.
He hurt her!
With two big leaps, she had caught up with them. Her fist, already covered with fine, lengthening hair, drew back.
Stop! You're not here to protect Jorie. You're here to trick her, remember?
With an iron hand, she shackled her cat instincts that told her to hunt down the Maki.

His self-control wasn't as good. A giant paw smashed into the side of Griffin's head.

Pain exploded. Her vision blurred. Adrenaline pounded through her. Her skin burned, and she fought against the need to shift or fight back.
No!
she firmly told herself.
This is not an attack; this is what you wanted.
She let herself sink onto one knee.

The sound of the Maki's hurried footsteps made her hunter's instincts flare again. She shook from the effort to control her urge to shift.

Jorie!

The thought made her get to her feet.

Jorie was right next to her. She was bent over, and for a few horrifying seconds, Griffin thought the knife might have hit her in the gut. Then she saw the blood soaking her left sleeve. The coppery scent of it was almost drowned out by the biting smell of Jorie's pain, fear, and shock.

Age-old instincts boiled through Griffin's blood, telling her to hunt down the weak, cornered prey, but years of training allowed her to ignore the impulse and the tempting scent of fear. "Hey," Griffin murmured. "You okay?" She heard her own voice shaking and hoped Jorie believed it was just the shock, not guilt or the effort it took not to shift. "Let me see."

"It's okay," Jorie said through gritted teeth.

"Let me see," Griffin said using the tone of voice she had heard from her fathers, the Kasari lords. Gently, she peeled back the torn sleeve.

The heady scent of blood made her hunting instincts rattle against their cage. Griffin kept a tight grip on them as she looked at Jorie's forearm. Blood was dripping down, but Griffin had seen enough wounds to know it wasn't that bad.
Oh, thank the Great Hunter!
"Come on," she said. "We have to get the bleeding stopped."

Human wounds didn't heal as quickly as Wrasa injuries did. Griffin reached into the still open trunk of her rental car and took out the first-aid kit that she kept in her gear under the pretense of being prepared for backpacking. "This might hurt," she said.

Dark eyes that were now inky black looked back at her from a pale face. Jorie gave her a short nod.

Griffin unwrapped a gauze pad and pressed it down on the wound, trying to stop the bleeding.

Jorie's teeth crunched against each other. A cloud of pain stung Griffin's nose.

"Hold that for a moment," Griffin instructed, trying to ignore Jorie's emotions — and her own. She put a temporary bandage on Jorie's arm. "Are you hurt anywhere else?" Her gaze roved over Jorie's body. The knife had cut through the shoulder of Jorie's jacket, and the torn fabric of her sweatshirt peeked out. "Is your shoulder bleeding?"