Cats in Heat

by Asha King

  “How are you feeling?” she asked as she set down the bags and locked the door behind her.

  Outside, tires crunched on gravel. Erik’s eyes shot to the big bay window where filmy curtains impaired his view of the driveway. A large shape pulled out—a truck, by the looks of it. Someone had given her a ride home.

  Addie huffed and leaned down to pick up the bags. He felt badly that she was carting everything around herself but even as he started to sit up, sharp pain rushed through him and his head spun.

  “Erik?” she prompted.

  He blinked, clearing his head as he met her eyes. “Okay.”

  She didn’t believe him but she said nothing. First she brought two plastic bags over to him and set them at his side, then knelt just inches away. Her warm brown eyes held his for a moment, then shifting down his torso, bringing fresh heat to his skin. Her small hand moved over his side, checking the bandaged wound.

  “I think I should change the dressing.”

  “Maybe with more of whatever you put on it last night.”

  Her hand froze for a moment and then pulled back.

  “It seemed to help,” he clarified. He smelled the herbs on his skin still and knew she’d done something, but couldn’t place what.

  Her eyes skirted his and she returned her attention to the bags she’d brought him. “There are some clothes in here. Maybe get some pants on while I put the groceries away and get...something to help.”

  He watched her curiously as she swiftly rose and slipped away.

  Something didn’t add up. For now, he’d wait and observe until he could figure out how to broach the subject.

  If you’re even here that long. He brushed those thoughts aside, though.

  Erik rifled through the bag, finding track pants and T-shirts, a pair of jeans, and new packs of boxer-briefs. Nudity didn’t particularly bother him—he never had clothes for long—but part of his brain remembered being around humanity years earlier and the expectations there. He glanced in the direction of the kitchen where Addie bustled about, then focused on easing his achy body into clothing. Boxer-briefs and track pants, the latter a little looser than they would’ve been had he eaten more recently or not been on the run for so long.

  Addie returned a few minutes later carrying a bowl of water and first aid supplies along with a hardwood mortar, the dark contents inside it smelling of herbs and spices. She knelt at his left side and he shifted forward to give her access to the wound.

  “Thank you,” he said as he turned and moved his arm so she could peel back the medical tape from his skin. He wasn’t used to kindness and had to better remember his manners. “For the clothes and the help.”

  “You can thank me by explaining some things.” She didn’t look at him, focusing instead on her work.

  He held his breath as she pulled the gauze completely off and ran her fingertips lightly over the wound.

  “Like how this happened.”

  A makeshift spear-tip, thrust in his direction; he’d missed it, too focused on fighting off the shaman’s shadowy creatures that lunged and tore at him. The shaman himself had the spear and Erik had turned too late to miss it entirely—it slashed a few inches before sinking into his skin.

  The crowd had cheered, assuming a killing blow would end him next. But adrenaline pushed him on and he leapt on the shaman, tearing claws across the man’s throat.

  But Erik had been weakened, dumped in a cell below the arena. Left to die if he didn’t recover.

  “Erik?” she pushed.

  He glanced at Addie as she leaned close, carefully cleaning then drying the wound. Inadvertently he scanned her body, his purely male reaction to her presence something almost foreign to him—it had been a long, long time since he’d been this close to a woman without her holding a knife to his throat. Addie’s eyes lifted, slightly canted like a cat’s with long lashes fanning out.

  She stole his breath for a moment, her scent and warmth enveloping him. Perhaps he died in the storm and went to heaven.

  If I believed in such a place.

  “How’d it happen?” she asked again.

  “Had a disagreement with someone,” he said.

  A wry smile curved her lips and she went back to studying the wound. She reached for the mortar and though he glimpsed the substance within it, he couldn’t identify it.

  “Are you often in disagreements with people?” she asked.

  “You could say that.”

  The stuff she’d mixed up in the mortar was warm on his skin, pleasantly heating the wound the way the bath had the rest of him. Tingles rushed through his veins, radiating from the wound.

  Perhaps he could venture questions of his own. “How’d you learn how to make that?”

  Her movements paused just briefly, a hitch before she continued putting the homemade poultice on his wound. “Old family recipe.”

  Who the hell is her family?

  He was about to ask when someone rapped on the door.

  Erik tensed, alert and wary. He hadn’t heard anyone approach—he’d been so caught up in watching her, his usual defense must’ve dropped.

  Addie froze and glanced at the door as he did. Clearly she wasn’t expecting anyone either.

  “Be careful,” he warned in a low voice as she rose.

  She said nothing, just rounded the couch and walked up to the door. She let out a breath of relief after she peered out the window, unlocked the door, and slipped outside before he could see who waited out there.

  ****

  Addie swiftly closed the door at her back and hopefully she’d sufficiently blocked Lori from seeing anything inside. Her neighbor continued smiling pleasantly, this time without her yellow parka but in a casual sleeveless tee and cropped pants.

  “Just checking in after the storm,” Lori said brightly.

  “Everything’s fine.” Addie’s hand remained on the doorknob at her back, hoping to show she hadn’t quite committed to standing out there for a lengthy conversation. The humidity of the outside weighed on her lungs.

  “Now.” Lori cocked her head to the side, permed sandy curls shaking at her shoulders. “Was that Robbie Milford’s truck I just saw passing?”

  Damn small town. “He gave me a ride home.”

  “Two days in a row.” Lori clucked her tongue.

  I hate small towns. “Just to give me a hand with some things.”

  “Oh, he’s a sweet boy but...but I wonder, sometimes.”

  Nervousness prickled down her back, raising goose bumps on her skin. “About?”

  “You’re a sweet girl.” Her neighbor patted her forearm. “I worry about you here, all on your own. Just...be careful with that one.”

  What the hell?

  Before Addie could respond, Lori’s gaze trailed to her hand hanging loosely at her side. Addie followed her stare and realized her fingers were covered in the herb concoction that she’d been using on Erik.

  “Potting,” she said swiftly. “Just out on the porch, potting some cuttings.”

  “You should do that more in spring,” Lori said.

  “I ran a little behind this year. Thanks for checking in, Lori.” Addie twisted the doorknob at her back. “It’s appreciated.”

  “Well, it’s what your grandmother would’ve wanted. Such a kind lady.”

  Addie kept up the smile even as it threatened to falter. “I know she was.”

  “A shame what happened. But you’re a good girl, Adelaide—she’d be proud of you.”

  “Thanks again. Have a good day.” She slipped inside swiftly, locking the door behind her.

  Lori only remained on the porch for a moment before turning and heading down the driveway; Addie watched from the window by the door, easing out a breath the farther Lori got.

  She appreciated that her neighbors cared but she’d had more people in her driveway in the past twenty-four hours than the past week.

  With a sigh, Addie turned back to the living room. Erik hadn’t left the spot on the floor between
the couch and the fireplace, though he’d moved into a crouch. His head was tipped down, dark hair falling over his wary eyes.

  For a moment, the tiger in him seemed to shimmer in the air—she could almost see it.

  Addie held her breath.

  Erik relaxed, shoulders falling. He let out a heavy sigh and eased back to sit.

  “Just my neighbor,” Addie said, and she had to wonder precisely how much he heard. Did animal senses extend that far, picking up on Lori’s talk about Robbie and her grandmother?

  “I shouldn’t stay here.” He looked down, hiding his face from her.

  “Someone’s after you,” she said as she started swiftly across the floor. The hardwood creaked beneath her steps, punctuating the silence.

  Erik started to rise in response, got about halfway, and then thumped onto the floor again with a groan.

  Addie rushed, dropped to her knees, and sighed. “You’re not going far so you might as well just tell me. Am I in danger of something with you here?”

  He seemed to debate this, leaning forward and moving his arm so she could patch up his side again as she lifted the gauze. “I think you’re safe,” he said softly at last.

  His words made her heart speed oddly. He sounded...sad. And a warm pain bloomed in her chest, a sudden ache she didn’t quite understand.

  Addie brushed it off and finished taping gauze to his side, then brushed her hands off.

  “Who was your grandmother?” he asked.

  She paused, took a deep breath, and avoided his eyes. So he could hear well. And it was an odd question. “Just...an old woman. This was her house before she died—everyone knew her around here.”

  “A family recipe.”

  He stared at the mortar, which she swiftly snatched up along with the first aid supplies.

  She might have decided her grandmother wasn’t crazy but she still wasn’t eager to talk about it.

  “I’ll make some lunch,” she said as she quickly rose. She was out of the living room and into the kitchen before he could respond.

  Sunlight streamed through the large kitchen windows along the back of the house, giving the room a warm yellow glow. For a moment she paused at the counter beside the sink and stared out the backyard beyond the porch.

  If she closed her eyes, she swore she’d hear Granmama’s voice. The cluck of her tongue in a teasing chide, mumbling as she touched the saint medal at her throat. Her long weathered fingers would tap little Addie’s head as she smiled down at her.

  The floor creaked directly behind her and Addie startled, hair fanning out as she swung around.

  Erik stood there; he’d snuck up quiet as, well, as a cat. He was mere inches away and stared down at her. Gold ringed his amber eyes that studied her intently.

  He still wore no shirt, his cut muscled torso seeming to radiate heat. For a moment she could imagine running her hands over his smooth skin and her heart fluttered. A deep blush moved down her neck from her face, fanning out to her breasts, the purely physical reaction to his presence both out of place and startling.

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  Addie swallowed dryly, parted her lips to speak though she couldn’t come up with something to say.

  “I’m sorry for prying,” he said, his voice a low rumble like the purr of a big cat.

  Addie leaned against the counter at her back, feeling trapped in a way that was not at all unpleasant. She took in a breath and held it, shivers rushing across her skin. “It’s okay. I...I pried first.”

  “But I’m imposing on you. You have every right to ask.”

  He seemed to move closer—whether he’d actually stepped any nearer, she couldn’t say. But her head tilted back, holding his eyes. Every fiber of her being wanted to reach out; she coiled her hands into fists at her side to stop herself. This wasn’t like her at all but all logic was leaving swiftly.

  “You’ll tell me,” she said. “When you’re ready?”

  Erik stared down at her and she no longer saw the bruises or cuts over his skin, just the beautiful man beneath them. His Adam’s apple moved as he swallowed, waiting before answering. “Yes.”

  Oddly, she believed him.

  His mouth opened to say something else and then he swayed; whatever energy he’d had, he used just getting to the kitchen.

  Immediately she darted forward, lifting his arm and tucking herself beneath it. “Sit back down in the living room. I’ll make lunch.”

  He accepted her help and said nothing else on the matter, though she hoped they’d return to the conversation soon.

  And hopefully when I’m a little less flustered.

  Chapter Eight

  Addie sensed another storm rolling in as the weekend continued on.

  She’d never felt quite so hypersensitive to it; as the thick clouds filled the sky, they seemed to press down and added a weight to the air in her house. Lighting was coming, an electrical current running through the air. By Sunday she was restless with the feel of it. She paced all afternoon, was sure to feed the feral cats in the yard and secure the shed, then busied herself around the house. By the time evening fell, the storm was hitting hard. When the power went out, she retired to her room to sleep

  Of course, sleeping wasn’t easy with a tiger in the other room, even if he currently looked like a man.

  She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Rain beat against the window and shadows rippled on the wall across from it. Lightning periodically lit the sky and thunder shook the house. Though she avoided staring at the bedside clock, she sensed midnight’s approach.

  Erik was getting stronger, bit by bit—she regularly made him tea out of a vaguely remembered recipe of her grandmother’s, and that seemed to ease the fever. Bandages were changed twice a day and that wound was healing up. He moved around her house more on his own, helping with the dishes, keeping his space beside the fireplace tidy.

  He never relaxed, though. Not even when he slept, which seemed fitful and never deep. There seemed to always be a tension around him, like he was bracing for something.

  Probably something violent, if she had to guess.

  Then there was the matter of him not leaving the floor.

  Her offers of the spare room or even the couch were always deflected, sometimes with a casual decline, other times with a misdirect. Maybe the hardwood, being less comfortable, made it easier for him to be alert, but more and more she suspected it was that he wasn’t used to anything else. It took everything in her not to press for more information.

  And if he was getting better, she had to question how much longer he’d stay.

  She rolled onto her side, closing her eyes and willing sleep to hurry up. She didn’t want to think about that, after all. Addie...enjoyed his company, more than she would’ve expected. He was quiet and tidy, spending his hours awake reading books from her living room shelf or helping her around the house. He spoke about general things, but never himself or what he’d come from. She expected within the next few days, she’d wake up one morning and find him gone, disappearing from her life as abruptly as he’d entered.

  Ugh. Stop thinking. Try to sleep.

  But even then, as her consciousness faded, it was his amber eyes playing in her mind that followed her into the darkness.

  Amber eyes that closed, exhausted. A heavy, deep sigh rumbled the air.

  He pulled himself up onto tired legs and heavy paws thumped on the ground as he surged forward, blinking tiredly. Blood was slippery across the basement’s cement floor where it pooled toward the middle, but he ignored the bodies stacked aside, just kept on moving. Cell bars rose on either side of him, looming in his peripheral vision.

  One slip was all it had taken. Just one. Cell didn’t latch right and he’d seemed too weak—they didn’t think anything of it, just left him there to die.

  This would be his only chance.

  The others who were still on top of their game rattled at the bars, shook the cell doors. Shouts roars, hisses. Yellow light wove up to the ceil
ing in his far right, the spot where magic users were house and bound from doing anything.

  His heart pounded painfully, erratically. Eyes blinked and the world seemed to tilt beneath his paws, but he continued for the far door. It was opening, just a few inches, voices spilling out; they’d do a round, start carting out bodies.

  The metal door creaked open, someone laughed.

  He leapt.

  A surge of adrenaline gave him strength and speed. His claws sliced through throats, cutting the men off mid-cry. He was painted in their blood by the time he was through and then he ran, leaving crimson streaked footprints behind him.

  He heard the voices above—the laughing, glasses striking in toasts, the jeers and cheering. An announcer called out—he couldn’t make out the names but someone new would enter the ring.

  They’d be distracted above.

  He moved through the complex in a blur, keeping to shadows, moving swiftly, cutting through anyone in his way, ignoring each wound that stung with every step. And when he crashed through a window at last, he was certain that was it, but soft ground met him, cushioning his fall. Broken glass scraped at him but he ignored it, pulled himself up, ran again.

  And ran.

  Thunder seemed to shake the ground and trees rattled from the wind. Rain soaked him, cleaning his pelt of blood. Lighting flashed, helping to guide him away from the complex.

  Freedom. All he wanted, all he needed was freedom. His heart ached at the mere thought of it, at the possibility of dying free. He breathed in the cool, damp air, let it fill his lungs.

  They’d pursue, he knew. They’d catch him. Lincoln always caught everyone. His only hope was to die first.

  The world flickered around him, brightening, colorizing. He saw her then. Sanctuary. Safety wrapped around him—

  But something tore through it, a jagged edge knife slicing through her warmth. Her house went dark, she went dark—everything so, so dark, and he knew, he KNEW, somehow he’d led them here and—

  Erik sat up suddenly, abruptly, backing up in a rush, his hand locking onto the first weapon he came in contact with. His back struck the brick fireplace and his heart hammered as his brain seemed to fully waken.