Head tilted to the side, she continued to watch his strange behavior, and because she didn’t want him to move too far away, put her paws forward like he’d done. And she didn’t fall, was walking! Oh! Oh! Now she understood, now she knew he was teaching her.
Adoring him even more, she brushed her tail over his . . . but fell short. About to angle her head to look back, see what was wrong with her tail, she felt his twine around her own. Shy again, she looked down, her attention caught once more by her strange silver-colored paws. Lifting one up, she stared at it carefully, retracting and releasing her claws, spreading her toes. Big paw. Small cat. Still a cat.
Satisfied, she put it down and leaned her body against his, the warm beat of his heart a steady pulse against her fur.
When he walked again, she walked with him, his tail twining and untwining around her own, her body brushing his. He took her to a place that wasn’t too far, but had many scents. It confused her. Until he showed her how to pick one and track it, then nipped at her ear again when she tried to do too many things at once.
This time, she swiped at his leg with her claws to remind him she wasn’t weak.
Growling at the swipe, he bared his teeth.
She bared her own back at him.
And the leopard bent down to look into her eyes. Staring back, she reached up with a clawed paw and patted his face. He nipped at her nose, not in rebuke this time, but in affection. Happy, so happy, she butted her head against his and then they played, wild and free and without fear.
BASTIEN shifted into human form, and carefully lifted up the gorgeous Canadian lynx who was Kirby into his arms. She’d fallen asleep after two hours of play and exploration, her small body vibrant with energy. Now, she didn’t stir as he judged the distance to the aerie and took a running start, managing to climb up to the balcony outside it even though he only had the use of his feet and one hand.
Retracting his claws, he carried Kirby inside the open-plan space and placed her on his bed. His scent would comfort her in her sleep, because while the human half of Kirby hadn’t yet figured out what he was to her, the lynx knew. That lynx had fur of an astonishingly lush silvery gray marked with tiny patches of black on the legs. The black appeared again in the adorable tufts on her pointed ears and the end of her short tail.
“God, you are so beautiful, human or cat.”
Indulging himself with several luxuriant strokes through her fur, he finally forced himself to get up and pull on some jeans. Then, certain Kirby would sleep for a while yet, he jumped down and ran to the car to grab the groceries. His mate would be starving when she woke, the shift burning energy like wildfire, not to mention the way they’d explored together.
Keeping an eye on her as he prepared the meal, he wasn’t the least surprised when she shifted spontaneously in her sleep, a lusciously curved nude woman now on his bed, her skin flawless honey.
He groaned. “I should be up for sainthood.” Finding a blanket, he covered her sleeping body . . . and smiled at her drowsy murmur of his name before she snuggled down again.
A few minutes later, he called Lucas to update him on Kirby’s shift and species, then requested his alpha reach out through DarkRiver’s network of allies and friends to see if anyone knew of a lynx pack that had lost a Canadian lynx child approximately twenty-three years ago. He couldn’t assume Kirby had come from Canada, however, as there were American packs that included Canadian lynx. A number had even emigrated to join packs in Europe’s colder climes.
While wild lynx tended to be solitary, or stick to very small groups, changeling lynx had been influenced by the human half of their nature—akin to other feline changelings—to create larger, tightly bonded packs. Someone had to be missing a child, though the fact that Kirby had never been claimed argued against that.
Bastien hoped he was wrong. His mate had been alone so long—he wanted her to have a family, a pack. He was ready to offer his own in a heartbeat, but he also knew she’d have questions about her past, her existence as a lynx that he and his packmates wouldn’t be able to answer.
“Bastien?”
Having been stirring the protein-rich stew he’d made for her, he turned to find Kirby sitting up in bed, blanket wrapped around her body. Warm and soft with sleep, she was so perfect his heart ached. “There you are, little cat.” Turning off the cooker, he went to the bed and, taking a seat, cuddled her into his lap.
A yawn, her nose warm as she nuzzled at his throat. “I really am. A little cat.”
“You’re a Canadian lynx,” he said, his leopard rolling around in the sweet and wild taste of her, her two different scents now gorgeously combined into a single strong and unique thread. “Cute tufted ears and all.”
She froze, a dark shadow passing over her face. “A lynx?”