Johnnie

by Cardeno C.

  “Johnnie?” he said as he buttoned up his shirt and walked into the Siphon’s bedroom. He was still working on reclassifying the Siphon as Johnnie in his mind, but he made sure to speak the name as often as possible because being called that seemed to have led the Siphon away from the edge of the cliff. “Are you read—”

  The sight before Hugh momentarily robbed him of air.

  “What is that?” he growled as he dropped his hands from his shirt and stalked over to the Siphon, who was standing on a mat in front of the shower.

  “Nothing.” The Siphon had been running a towel over his brown hair, but in reaction to Hugh’s question, he quickly flicked it over his shoulders in his usual cape-style.

  “Don’t lie to me.” Hugh yanked the towel off him and tossed it aside. “What is this?” He held the Siphon’s wrist up in front of his face and shook it. “Answer me!”

  Using all his strength, the Siphon tugged his hand free. “It doesn’t matter,” he said as he wound his arms across his chest and tucked his hands underneath them.

  “Those were cut marks. Where’d you get the blades?” Hugh trembled with barely contained fury, the animal inside him clawing to get out. “Give me your hand.”

  The Siphon shook his head, dropped his chin, and hunched his shoulders.

  In a flash, Hugh shifted into his lion form. A normal-sized lion would have barely fit in the Siphon’s bathroom; Hugh’s beast had no chance. He knocked the Siphon to the ground and stood above him, his thick, muscled body wedged between the wall and the cabinet. Then he raised his head and roared so loudly the walls vibrated.

  Eyes wide and nude frame trembling, the Siphon finally did as he was told.

  “It doesn’t matter anyway,” he said as he slid his wrist between their bodies and held it up in front of Hugh’s muzzle for inspection. “I told you before, it doesn’t work.”

  The lines on the otherwise smooth skin crisscrossed over one another, some clean, thin, and straight, others thicker and jagged. The combination of adrenaline and being in his animal form kept Hugh from thinking clearly, so he shifted back into his human form, grabbed the Siphon’s wrist, and closely examined it. A portion of the cuts were made by a tool, like a razor, but others were claw marks. Lion’s claws.

  Jerking his gaze up, Hugh stared at the Siphon in shock.

  How could he have sliced his veins in lion form? His animal’s survival instinct should have prevented it no matter how much his human side wanted it.

  “How?” Hugh asked. He straddled the Siphon’s hips and clutched his arm. “How could you do this to yourself?” Frustrated at the lack of response, his anger rose and he opened his mouth to demand an answer when he remembered the best way to get cooperation. “Johnnie?” he said, hoping he sounded calm. “Did you make all these marks or did somebody attack you?”

  “I’m a Siphon. Who would attack me?”

  The answer was nobody. Siphons were so rare that only one in a hundred Premiers was able to obtain one. To ensure the health of their Premier, a pride kept the Siphon secure. And even if another pride and Premier had sought to take over the Berk pride by getting rid of Hugh, they never would have hurt the Siphon because he could be traded to a faraway pride whose Premier was nearing the age when he’d implode without having a Siphon to hold his power. There was virtually no limit to what a Premier Pride would pay in exchange for a Siphon, which made them too valuable to kill.

  “You made some of these while you were in your lion form?” Hugh asked, already knowing the answer but needing confirmation of something he previously would have considered impossible.

  “It didn’t work in my human form.”

  What Hugh wanted to do was shake the still damp body beneath him until the Siphon talked clearly and gave him complete information. But instead, he climbed to his feet, scooped him off the floor, and walked out of the bathroom.

  “What’re you doing?”

  “We have to talk about what’s going on in your head.”

  “Nothing,” the Siphon said.

  “Nothing doesn’t cause a man to take a razor to his wrist.” Or a claw.

  “You think of me as a man?” the Siphon blinked up at him, the unusually light eyes focused on his face as if he could ascertain the veracity of Hugh’s response by sight.

  “You’re not a woman, so yes, you’re a man.”

  Gender wasn’t relevant to the Siphon’s role, and the honest truth was, Hugh hadn’t ever thought of him as anything other than a Siphon. But he was a person, just like Hugh and any other member of the pride. Surprised by the simplicity of that revelation, Hugh considered whether that was part of the Siphon’s—Johnnie’s—issue. When they reached his bedroom, he set Johnnie on the sofa and then settled on the upholstered armless chair next to him.

  “We cannot continue avoiding this conversation,” Hugh said, keeping his tone firm but calm.

  “I’m not dressed.” Johnnie lifted his feet onto the couch and wrapped his arms round his bent legs.

  “If you’re cold, there’s a throw blanket on the other end of the couch. You can use that.”

  With a soft nod, Johnnie reached for the blanket. He shook it open, presumably to wrap it around himself, but then he crinkled his nose and reared away from it.

  “What’s wrong?” Hugh asked.

  “It smells bad.”

  “Oh.” Like all lions, Hugh was particular about his environment and meticulous about cleanliness, so he was surprised anything would be dirty.

  Rising from his chair, he reached his hand out for the blanket and then lifted it to his nose reflexively as he walked to the laundry basket. The only scents he could identify were those of himself and some pride members, probably from a time they’d fucked in his room and laid the blanket on the wood floor. Those weren’t offensive odors, so perhaps the Siphon was sensitive to the particular material. Over the past several days, Hugh had learned that the Siphon had odd sensitivities.

  “This should keep you warm.” He retrieved a sweater from his closet and brought it to the Siphon. Johnnie. That was faster than allowing him to leave the sofa and go to his own room to dress. They had to stop falling prey to distractions and focus on the issue at hand.

  “Thank you.” Johnnie slipped the sweater over his head and then raised his forearm to his nose and inhaled deeply. “This is better.” He closed his eyes, sighed, and with his lips turned up in a small smile, curled into the corner of the couch.

  Even his reactions were outside the norm. Shaking off the strangeness, Hugh stayed on target. He’d be calm and rational, they’d get to the root of the issue, and then life could go back to normal.

  “Johnnie.” He waited for Johnnie to open his eyes and look at him and then said, “We’re still ourselves in both forms, but as lions our instincts are sharper and no instinct is stronger than our drive to live. Tell me how you could intentionally injure yourself in lion form.”

  “For a long time, I couldn’t,” Johnnie said.

  Surprised but pleased that he was getting an answer without the usual requisite prodding, Hugh stayed silent. He leaned forward, rested his forearms on his knees, clasped his hands together, and looked at the Siphon attentively.

  “I tried in this form first,” he explained, meaning his human form. “But I healed too quickly to be effective.”

  “You couldn’t cut yourself deep enough?” Hugh asked. On the one hand, that reasoning made sense because even in their human form, they were part animal and that part of themselves would do anything possible to stay healthy. On the other hand, the scars on Johnnie’s otherwise smooth, creamy skin couldn’t have been created by tiny nicks.

  “I cut as deep as the razor would go,” Johnnie said, his gaze locked with Hugh’s. “All the way through the artery.”

  A chill ran up Hugh’s spine in reaction to the hard expression and cool voice.

  “You severed your artery and lived?”

  Johnnie nodded. “Over and over again.” He scrunched his eyebrows togeth
er. “That’s probably why I have scars. Usually I heal so quickly nothing shows, but after a while, these marks stayed.”

  “How could you heal from that?” Hugh asked hoarsely.

  “I think it’s the purring.”

  Hugh arched his eyebrows in question.

  “Before the first drop of blood hit the air, it started. The first time, I didn’t understand what it was. The second time, I was surprised it was happening again. The third time, I recognized it. The fourth time, I was ready and tried to stop myself from doing it.” Johnnie shook his head. “It didn’t work.”

  “You took a blade to your wrist four times,” Hugh said, registering the information.

  “Those were the first four. I did it dozens of times after that.”

  Which was consistent with the marks on Johnnie’s wrists, but still shocked and terrified Hugh.

  “And you’re saying you didn’t die because you purred.”

  Johnnie nodded.

  “Like a housecat?” Hugh clarified.

  He nodded again.

  “We’re lions,” Hugh pointed out unnecessarily. “We can’t purr.”

  “That’s what I thought too.” Johnnie shrugged. “Turns out it isn’t true. Turns out we can purr. Or at least I can purr.”

  No part of that story made sense. In the hundred and two years Hugh had been alive, he had never heard of a lion purring. Their bodies weren’t made that way. Then again, lions didn’t take their own lives, so the entire situation didn’t make sense. And Hugh detested things being out of order.

  “Show me,” he demanded, narrowing his eyes.

  “I can’t.”

  “I need to hear this purr.”

  “Then you’ll need to get a knife and cut me open.” Johnnie held his wrist out to Hugh. “It’s a physical reaction. I can’t make it happen just like I couldn’t stop it from happening. Cut me,” he said as he thrust his arm forward again. “Go ahead and cut me.”

  Hugh reared back and leaned as far away as he could. “No,” he said. “Stop that.” He rubbed his palms over his eyes and tried to regain control of the conversation. “You were explaining how you injured yourself in lion form. Continue.”

  “It was the same thing. I tried and tried and tried—”

  Hugh roared and bared his teeth, unable to contain his anger at what would have happened if the Siphon had succeeded even once in his efforts.

  Apparently noticing Hugh’s reaction, the Siphon stopped mid-sentence, rubbed his lips together, and then cleared his throat before continuing. “Anyway, it didn’t work, so I thought maybe if I did it as a lion, I’d have more luck.” He shook his head. “But I didn’t. If anything, I purred louder and healed faster.”

  Finally some logic appeared. If there was a way to self-heal, Hugh would expect it to be stronger in animal form.

  “You were able do that?” Hugh asked. “You were able to take your claw to your own body and slice yourself open with no hesitation?”

  Knitting his eyebrows together in concentration, the Siphon looked away, as if lost in a memory. “I can’t remember if I hesitated the first time,” he said. “It was too long ago.”

  Lord. Hugh was going to be sick. “When was the first time?” he asked, regretting the question even as he spoke it. The knowledge of how long his life had been at risk was useless, and yet, he couldn’t not know.

  “The first time as a lion?” The Siphon focused on him again. “I don’t know. Six years ago? Maybe seven.”

  Hugh’s heart slammed against his ribcage and his lungs stopped working. When he got himself under control, he said, “And the other?” He gulped. “When did you cut yourself in this form?”

  A strange look passed over the Siphon’s—Johnnie’s—face and his cheeks darkened. He pulled the sweater over his mouth. “A few years before that.”

  That time period meant Hugh’s life had been in danger from the moment he had agreed to take in Johnnie’s birth pride. He wondered if they’d known all along they were bringing forward a damaged Siphon. Probably not. After all, Hugh himself hadn’t noticed until ten days earlier.

  “The scars,” Hugh said, his mind throbbing with this new, petrifying information. “They weren’t fresh.” He flicked his gaze from the Siphon’s sweater-covered wrists over to his face. “When did you stop trying to end your life and what made you start again?”

  “I didn’t stop.” Johnnie curled into an even tighter ball. “I just tried different things.”

  Though it was the answer he had expected, Hugh still needed a few moments to process it.

  “And the hanging?” he said quietly. “Was that the first time?”

  “Yes.” Johnnie nodded. “It almost worked too.” He rested his cheek against his knee. “I couldn’t breathe so the purring stopped and I thought I’d finally—” He sighed. “But then they came in and cut me down so I started breathing again and then purring and it was over.”

  “No,” Hugh snapped. “It wasn’t over. That’s the point.”

  On the one hand, the extent of the problem was more severe than Hugh had initially realized. But he suspected the solution was reachable. Johnnie hadn’t felt included in the pride. He hadn’t felt like the pride saw him as a person. And perhaps he’d been right.

  Hugh looked at the man who had been by his side for over ten years and realized he had never bothered trying to know anything about him. The Siphon was important. He was critical. But he wasn’t a regular lion or a normal person. And yet, maybe he was all of those things. The revelation was a wake-up call to Hugh, and he understood what needed to be done to save himself and the pride.

  Chapter 4

  “What’s your favorite thing to eat?” Not the most scintillating or meaningful question for getting to know someone, but it was dinnertime and Hugh was hungry so food had his attention.

  “My favorite thing to eat?” Johnnie repeated.

  “Yes.” Hugh nodded.

  “Um.” Johnnie blinked rapidly. “I’ve never thought about it. I eat what I’m given.”

  Which made sense because, as Hugh’s Siphon, Johnnie accompanied him everywhere, including meals. And while members of his pride and the prides he visited often asked about his food preferences, they didn’t cater their menus to suit the Siphon.

  “Well, I want you to think about it.”

  “Why?” Johnnie asked, genuinely curious.

  “Because we eat our meals together and I can make sure to include your favorites when people ask me what I want them to make.”

  “The pride cooks for you, not for me,” Johnnie said.

  That was true, but regardless of whom the lions had in mind while preparing the food, Johnnie would get to eat it. And if he enjoyed it, he’d feel more connected to the pride and more thankful for his role.

  “They’ll ask me what I want and I’ll suggest things you like.”

  “That’s nice of you,” Johnnie said. He bit his bottom lip and lowered his gaze as a red tint ran up his neck and over his cheeks.

  Lions as a whole weren’t emotional, so seeing a blush on one of their kind was unusual and unexpectedly enjoyable.

  “Johnnie?” Hugh said, amused at the reaction. “What is it you’re thinking right now?”

  “Nothing.” Johnnie licked his lips, looked up at Hugh from underneath his lashes, and then jerked his gaze away.

  What did he have bouncing around in his head that made him so embarrassed? Hugh relaxed into his seat, folded his arms over his chest, and stretched his long legs in front of him, crossing them at the ankles. He stared at Johnnie in silence, grinning every time those blue eyes darted up at him and then flicked away. Eventually, Hugh’s patience was rewarded.

  “I was, uh, thinking,” Johnnie started and then stopped.

  “Yes?” Hugh arched one eyebrow.

  “Maybe sometime when you’re not traveling to other prides or holding a meeting or making your visits to the other dens, we could make dinner here.” Johnnie paused and then breathlessly added, “Tog
ether.”

  Meals were social events for lion shifters. They gathered to talk, eat, and drink, bonding and enhancing their cohesiveness in the process. As the Premier, Hugh’s presence at the table was considered an honor so he was always welcome to break bread with his lions. And with such a large pride, he’d never had the need to make his own meals. But Johnnie’s suggestion was enticing.

  Hugh so rarely had time to relax, something he couldn’t do when he was with his pride, tending to their needs, listening to their stories and concerns, and making sure to convey strength and safety to them. If he ate dinner at home a couple of nights a week, he’d have the chance to unwind. And while he was certain his lions would scramble for the opportunity to provide him meals, whether he ate them at home or with them, there was an intriguing appeal to the idea of performing the task himself. It’d be like having a hobby.

  “Yes,” Hugh said with a sharp dip of his chin. “That’s a good idea.”

  When Johnnie smiled broadly, Hugh wondered if bouncing from den to den and meeting to meeting wore on him too. After all, he accompanied Hugh to every one of those places. He wasn’t working like Hugh, but maybe he also wanted time to unwind.

  His decision made, Hugh said, “It’ll have to wait a few days because I have obligations all week, but the weekend is free so far so we can start then. Friday we’ll make our own dinner.”

  “Thank you,” Johnnie said quietly as he ducked his head.

  The happiness in his tone and smile on his face loosened some of the tension Hugh carried in his shoulders. “You’re welcome.” After looking at Johnnie for a few more seconds, he shook his head to clear his mind, slapped his palms against his thighs, and said, “Time for dinner. Get dressed and we’ll head out.”

  “Okay.” Johnnie stood, Hugh’s sweater falling to his knees, and asked, “Whose den are you visiting tonight?”