Another scream, a trickle of blood from her nose.
No, no, no. Shifting should never be this horrible pain. “You can’t fight it, baby. If you do, you’ll rip yourself apart.” He controlled the urge to yell, conscious that might scare the animal within her, make her devolve further. “Trust in the shift. Let it happen.”
She shook her head, skin clammy and claws digging into his wrists in feral desperation. “I won’t be able to come back.” Piercing terror, her legs shifting in and out to leave her fighting for balance.
“You will.” He steadied her. “You will.”
This time when she cried out, her skin bubbled with pinpricks of blood, as if her body was being turned inside out. Frantic, the human part of him turned to the leopard, found an answer in the animal’s linear thinking. “I’ll shift first,” he said, shaking her wrists enough to capture her attention. “Your cat will follow mine.” It was a gamble, one that relied on the level of her trust in him. “I’m more dominant.”
“Cat?” Dazed golden irises met his.
“Yes.” The fact she’d no doubt assume he meant she was a leopard, too, would work in his favor. “Your cat will do what I say.” At least until his Kirby found her confidence again.
Her clawed hands dropped to dig into the fallen leaves, her body shaking hard enough that her teeth clattered. “I’m so afraid.”
“Don’t be.” Cupping her face, he kissed her, hoping the tactile reassurance would allow her to hear him. “It’s not an intruder, baby. It’s just another part of you.”
ANOTHER part of me.
A part she’d forgotten and kept trapped for a lifetime.
Of course it hurt. It—they—hurt so much.
“I’ll be able to come back?” she sobbed, drowning in shame at having done this horrifying thing . . . and then her mind shifted and she felt so ashamed at having left her human half alone all this time . . . before the human part of her was looking out at Bastien once again.
“Yes.” Absolute confidence in Bastien’s voice, no room for argument. “Now, just think of your cat and become your other self.” He dissolved into a million particles of shattering light, his clothes disintegrating off him, and then there was a big, heavily muscled leopard in front of her, its forehead gently bumping her own.
Heart thundering at the proximity of a creature so dangerous and extraordinary, she felt a need, such terrible need to be the same, to run, to look at the world through eyes far more keen than the human ones that were all she could use now. It hurt to be shut away, to be tied up, to be only half. Why was she doing this to them? It was time to run, to play, to be together . . . to be with him.
Frighteningly aware her thoughts weren’t exactly human, Kirby attempted to wrench back control. Searing pain in her rib cage, claws raking her bloody.
Bastien snarled in a violent fury of sound.
And the pain stopped.
Your cat will follow mine.
Scared still, she held the primal green gaze of the leopard who had made her a promise, and trusted.
It was agony but it wasn’t pain. It was a stunning, dazzling ecstasy and it tore her up then put her back together. Afterward, she wobbled, her body’s center of gravity dramatically altered. Her view, too, had changed, become low—she was staring at the black spotted golden chest of the leopard in front of her.
Small, thought the cat that was her, tipping up its head to look at the larger predator. When he butted his face against her own, she felt happy . . . then shy, ducking her head . . . to see that her fur was a thick silvery gray with hidden bits of black. Lifting up a paw that seemed too big for a small cat, she looked at it quizzically, but then the leopard nuzzled at her and she dropped the paw, too happy to be with him to worry about why her fur was the wrong color.
He recognizes me!
It was a joyous thought. Even though she’d been hiding for so long, scared and guilty and afraid, he knew her. She’d fought the ugly fear to wake up because she’d found him, needed him to see her, accept her, claim her.
The other half of her had been brave all this time; now she had to be brave.
The leopard nipped at her ears. She jumped with a startled yowl. When the leopard huffed in laughter, she decided to pounce, show him she could play, too. Except her body went the wrong way and she ended up tumbled to the side. Prowling over, the leopard nudged her back up on all four paws, then put one of his own paws very carefully in front of the other. Again and again.
She didn’t understand why he was moving so slowly when he was strong and graceful. She wanted to see him run, wanted to run with him, the wind rippling through their fur.