I leaped, whirled in midair. Threw self backward, into run. Raced through shadows and light. Streets empty. Dawn was close. I took unknown paths, following air currents moving through Quarter. Heart raced. Breath hot. Body hot.
Big cats are fast. But in summer, only for short time. Better chases in winter, breath billowing, ice on whiskers. Here is always summer. Water splashed from puddles, rank with gasoline and urine. Tongue lolled, breath hard and hoarse, wet sounding.
Smells flew by like wind: humans, dogs, cats, an opossum heavy with young. Food, spices, peppers, rotting garbage, stink from storm drains—warm, wet, full of dead things. Wanted to explore. Slink into dark. She refused. Heat built up inside. Breath like fire.
Near Katie’s I sprinted. Bike puttered slowly closer. Slower as he entered my/our territory. Too close. Whipped down narrow passage. Leaped. Landed atop brick wall, running on narrow ledge, like limb but flat. Birds squawked, fluttered, panicked in night. Bike died.
Not dead. She had explained. Not dead. But not alive. Stopped.
Dropped over wall. Landed on big rock. Breath heaving. Hot. Too hot. Too hot. Rick rang bell. Knocked, sound loud through empty house. Must shift. Must shift. Now. Rick at gate. Opened lock. Light in his hand. Where did he get the key? Her worry.
My territory. Mine. Pulled back lips to show killing teeth. Saw again paw swatting teasing male, drawing blood. Chasing teasing male from my den. Mine. Wanted to attack, but she held back. No. Wait. Watch. Panting, I dropped into shadow between rock and wall, curled tight, trying to stifle hot breath. Need water. Much water. Fountain tinkled softly. Teasing with need. As male cat had teased. Hated teasing.
Light played over garden, back, forth, up, down. Boots crunched earth. He moved broken pot, spilling earth, soft sounds of pot, of soil sliding out like insides of dead meal. He paused. Squatted down. I raised head to see; nose and ears not enough.
He was bent over, leg-sitting, torso high. Shining beam of light over place where I ate. Rain washed blood away? Should have . . . He touched ground. Put fingers in light. Watery blood on them. She tensed, watching. Rick wiped hand on dirt, stood, looking at garden. I dropped low. Light and footsteps moved away. He left, locking gate after.
Raced to fountain and drank, drank, drank. Found her form in memory and shifted.
Heat steamed off my naked body in the warm, wet night air. The muscles in my thighs and calves cramped where I crouched on the boulder. Sweat broke out on me in huge puddles, pooling, rivulets running down my spine and between my breasts. Through my hair, tangling the strands. Nausea and hunger warred in my belly, cramping there as well.
A pain gripped my middle and I retched. Startled, I threw up the heated water I had just drank. That had never happened before. I was too hot. I had seldom run for so long in Beast’s form, and I was having trouble throwing off the heat. I could trot or walk for long distances, but a dead run was for the final killing sprint, when claws and teeth locked down on the hindquarters and leg tendons of escaping big prey, prey marked from a botched ambush, when dropping down from a high limb or ledge went wrong. Sprinting was for killing. Not for running city streets.
I forced myself to stand, pulled the travel pack from around my neck; it had slid during the run, choking. Unsteady, sweat slick on my skin, I made my way to the house and inside. Instantly I smelled another intruder, gone now; his scent hanging on the air was several hours old. Bruiser had paid me a visit. Dang, I was getting popular. I stumbled to the shower, tossed the now dry clothes outside the shower door and turned on the cold water, or as cold as water ever got in this heated swamp of a place. I stood under the spray, letting it wash away the stink of sweat and the gasoline I had splashed through, draining away the sick feeling. It took a long time. Longer than I expected. The shower pounded down and I drank the spray to rehydrate. Rubbed my cramping calves, one foot at a time on the corner seat. I shuddered with reaction.
No wonder the big cats native to this region were so much smaller than their Appalachian cousins had been. Heat dissipation was hard with a larger body mass. When I was finally cool, I dried off and walked to the kitchen where I ate two Snickers while cooking a big, eight-cup pot of oatmeal. I ate every bite standing up at the stove, naked and trembling and shoveling it in.
I shouldn’t have forced Beast, not made her run so long and hard. But then I’d have missed seeing the Joe search my garden. I had to find out who had given him a gate key. And take it from him. And teach him a lesson about invading my home.
My territory, Beast rumbled angrily. My den.
“Yeah. I agree totally,” I said between bites. “My territory.” No matter how temporary.