Ignoring him, Catherine rifled through her mental file of birds. She couldn't do hawk even though that was her preferred mode of transport. With her luck, some bird nut would note the strange nocturnal behavior of the local hawks and attract the attention of every Slayer within a ten-mile radius.
“I take back what I said about you having this planned out,” said David.
“I wasn't looking for your approval, David—now shut up.”
She needed something nocturnal. For some reason a bat popped up. Catherine deliberated but ultimately ended up trashing the idea. Too small. She'd never had any experience with bats, either, and wasn't sure how strong its Prey instincts were. She didn't want something that would freak out in the open. A raptor was definitely a safer bet.
“I have to be home soon,” David said, sensing her hesitation. “Are we doing this or not?”
“Don't get your panties in a twist,” she said.
David sighed again, louder this time, but not just because he was impatient. Though he would never admit it, he was enjoying the thrill.
Catherine closed her eyes. An intense feeling of peace swept over her, leaving every muscle in her body relaxed. Owl, she decided absently. She would change into a barn owl. It was one of the most common species of owls in the world. Nobody would be suspicious, seeing one of those flying around.
Heart-shaped face. Black, slanted eyes filled with intelligence. A snowy white front that darkened to a warm brown color and then faded back to tawny honey at the tips of the wings. All the bones in her body seemed to melt, growing as soft and malleable as a hunk of clay. There was a strange sensation akin to free fall as her organs shifted around, shrinking, disappearing.
The Change sped up—her fingers stretched, elongating grotesquely, and were quickly covered with a gloss of brown and white feathers. Her lips hardened, curving into the owl's sharp beak. She felt lighter. Freer. Like there was less weight keeping her bolted to the ground.
Not only was she smaller, most of her bones were hollow now.
“Shreeeee!” said Catherine.
“Are you all right?” asked David.
As an owl, everything in the room looked sharp and defined. She could make out the nervous pulse in David's throat. That concerned her. She wanted to tell him to relax, but there was no way to communicate with him while in this form. Catherine wasn't sure it would have done much good anyway. He would have accused her of projecting her own nervousness onto him and then said something like how the only person she should be concerned about at the moment was herself.
Sometimes knowing people well sucked; arguing with them became redundant, an exercise in futility. Catherine cocked her head and ruffled her feathers. I'm okay, said her posture.
His brow furrowed. She could tell he didn't believe her. “Stay in control this time.”
If the owl could have rolled its eyes, she would have rolled them at David.
David removed the top of the tank. Catherine swooped down and scooped up some of the crickets, sending the rest into a frenzy. David was forced to slam the lid back down to keep them from escaping. Catherine was sure that the Prey inside each of those crickets was going hog-wild. The ones she was holding certainly were. Catherine was afraid to tighten her grip on them, though, despite the fact that they were slipping. Their bodies were so fragile, brittle—she was afraid of crushing them, or, worse, impaling them on her sharp talons.
“Careful,” David warned, still holding onto the lid. “Don't hurt them.”
Catherine screeched at him, throwing a disgruntled look over her shoulder, and headed for the window. She flew a good distance from the lab, circling, looking for a good drop-off point. Eventually, she settled on the soccer field.
Unlike the other high school across town, their field had real grass. Catherine deposited the squirming bodies in the field and watched them scamper away, suppressing the passing urge to give chase. When she did that, the urge became a feverish impulse. Because if there's one thing Predator likes it's a challenge.
And I'm her biggest Challenge yet, thought Catherine.
The owl was annoyed. Watching all those crickets go by was like a human walking into a Golden Arches and finding out they had no cash. And the human part of her had been too amped up to eat any dinner that night, so now they were both starving.
There is absolutely no way that I am going to eat one of those crunchy, delicious—
Catherine swallowed. Hard. Shit.
The next couple trips were very long. Just when Catherine was about to crack under the pressure, she realized she was on the last trip. The tank was empty. No more crickets.
She was completely wiped from imposing the human veto of self-control.
David had thoughtfully set her clothes aside in a little grove of trees clustered outside the lab. Catherine pulled them on quickly. The cold was awful. This was the first time she had ever Changed outside while it was so chilly. Her skin felt about two sizes too small.
“I am so hungry,” she said to David, when she got back inside the lab. “I think I have the shape-shifter version of the munchies.”
He cracked a faint smile. “Do you want to go to the Seven-Eleven?”
“Better not risk it,” she said. “Besides, I'm pretty sure that they don't sell crickets.”
Their laughter sounded thin and strained in the darkness.
They checked the room to make sure everything was back where it belonged. After a final cursory glance, she said, “You're going to have to go first so I can lock the door.”
“Wait, won't that look too suspicious?” he asked her. “Having the door locked?”
She frowned. “What if the lab equipment gets stolen?”
“Then the tank will just be one thing among many.”
She had to admit, he had a good point. And she really didn't want to Change into an ant again.
“And to think, I thought you liked Mr. Hauberk,” said Catherine, closing the door.
“I'm not helping Mr. Hauberk right now.” He looked at her. “Am I?”
A strange, fluttery feeling kicked up in her stomach. “I guess not.”
When they got to the barbed wire fence she grimaced. She wasn't looking forward to this part.
David turned into a rather wily-looking raccoon and climbed the fence. She watched it scamper down, full tail twitching. It stopped on the other side of the fence, regarding her through the mesh with an annoyingly superior face as she scaled the fence, carrying his clothes under one arm.
“You never told me you were a raccoon,” she said, the instant he was human and dressed again. She was laughing so hard she could barely get the words out.
“Raccoons are very intelligent,” David said, sounding insulted. “They're one of the few animals beside humans that wash their food before eating it.”
“Sorry…it's just…unexpected. Suits you, actually.”
“Is that a compliment or an insult?”
“A compliment, stupid.”
“I remain unconvinced,” said David.
Catherine just rolled her eyes. She was halfway to the bike rack before she remembered her manners. “Thanks by the way, you didn't have to do this.”
“I know.”
She accepted the barb, turning back to her bike. Her stomach rumbled, as if to fill the silence.
“Well, thanks.”
“Do you ever worry?” David asked suddenly. “I mean…you're getting kind of old.”
She stared at him blankly. Then it dawned on her. The brief anger flickered, before fizzling out entirely. “My parents aren't concerned.”
“That isn't what I was asking.”
She sighed. “I guess I am. My parents say I'm just a late bloomer. That I should enjoy the freedom while I can. That I'll look back on all this one day and miss it.
“I know I should believe them, but I feel so wrong…like I'm going crazy. Or about to. I can't always control the voices in my head, there's so many of them now. Sometimes I'm not sure whether wh
at I do is about what I want or they want. It's become so hard to tell lately. Bad enough I can't even be an ordinary girl—” her voice was steadily rising. She couldn't seem to control it. “I can't even be an ordinary shape-shifter. Sometimes I feel like I'm some kind of fr—”
“Don't say it.” David's voice was sharp, and cut through the silent night like a blade.
Catherine drew in a deep, shuddering breath and smiled tightly. “Why? It's not your fault. It's like you said, you're not their mouthpiece.”
David said nothing, but his eyes burned like black fire.
“Here's a question for you. If I don't fit in with my own kind, and I don't fit in with humans, where does that leave me? Doesn't that make me a freak by definition.”
“No. You've never been ordinary, and you never will. Maybe it's Fate telling you not to force yourself into a label that doesn't suit you.”
She brushed that off. “What about you? Are my parents right? Do you ever miss it?”
She regretted asking as soon as she saw the transparent longing on his face.
“All the time. There are so many animals that I wish I'd tried.”
“Like?”
“A dolphin. I had the chance—once. But I never took it. And now I never will. Catherine?”
She let her legs swing to the ground, standing on tiptoe to stay balanced while straddling the bike. “Yes?”
David walked around the side of the bike until he was standing directly in front of the handlebars, leaving her with little choice but to look him directly in the eye.
“I just want to say that I really admire your inner strength. I always have.”
“You could have told me that before,” said Catherine. Her voice wasn't quite curt—but it was close. “It's not like I wasn't around.”
David grew fidgety. He rubbed at the back of his neck, eyes darting away.
“You were my best friend for almost ten years. You can't just stamp out all those years, all those memories, with a single word. I still can't believe what they said to you. What they did to you—”
“Believe it,” she said humorlessly. “Why didn't you say something if you really felt that way?”
“Because I thought you'd hate me,” he said simply. “I thought you did.”
Catherine's conscience pricked at her unpleasantly. “I don't hate you.” Anymore.
“I'm glad. Because, despite everything, I really did enjoy having you as a friend.”
“I enjoyed having you as a friend too,” she said. “I was sad when you stopped.”
“It doesn't have to.” His mouth moved, as if he was going to say more. Then it snapped shut like a trap. Before she could ask if he was all right, he stepped forward, leaning over her handlebars, and kissed her, quickly, lightly on the mouth. Softly, as if he were afraid she were going to pull away. When she didn't, he kissed her again. Less sweetly and tentatively, this time. Passionately.
Unlike her, he seemed to know what he was doing, and it quickly deepened beyond her capabilities. Then she did pull away and promptly lost her balance. David was fast, catching the base of the handlebars and steadying the bike—and her—before she could topple over.
“Careful.”
She bit her lip. “That's probably a sign that I should go home.”
He nodded, still looking at her in a way that made heat creep up the back of her neck.
“Me, too. But don't brush this off, Catherine. Please.”
“I don't even know what you want!” she protested. “This is the first time I've talked to you in, what, three years? And then you spring this on me? Shame on you, David Tran. And shame on you for thinking that you can win me over with a kiss, like this is some sort of fucking fairytale.”
“I want to start over again. At the very least, I want us to be friends again.”
“Oh?” she said.
“Well, and more—if you let me.”
“Your parents will kill me.”
“I doubt it. I'm more concerned about you'll do to them.”
But he did look worried.
“Why does this have to be so damn complicated?”
“It doesn't. The only one making it that way is you. You can say yes, or you can say no.”
“It's never that simple,” she pointed out. “Everything has consequences.”
There was a pause. She sighed.
“But yes, I think—I would like to give you a second chance. But you have to earn it.”
David grinned and leaned in again. Gently, she pushed him back.
“Hug only,” she said firmly.
She wasn't sure if she'd be able to withstand another kiss. Not if she wanted to use her legs to pedal the bike back home.
Catherine found her face pressed against his chest in a smothering embrace, and was startled by how powerful his arms were.
“Don't ever change,” he whispered, “you incredibly frustrating, horrible, funny girl.”
His chest was broad, too, enough that she could scarcely reach all the way around, and warm.
Really warm.
She snuggled against him, letting her guard drop a little.
It felt…so good to be held. Better than she'd imagined.
Alpha male, Predator suggested, jumping at the chance to play matchmaker. Mate.
Which made her pull away again, nervously. She wasn't ready for that kind of commitment.
David laughed, letting go of her and her bike. And smiled. “See you tomorrow, then—partner.”
Epilogue
Catherine felt euphoric as she biked home, giddy. Bubbles of adrenaline rushed through her veins like soda pop, fizzing up pure energy.
I can't believe I pulled off the heist.
And then, a second later, she corrected herself.
I can't believe we pulled it off.
The whole night's events had the surreality of a dream. Even as she sought to recollect them, the memories slipped away from her immediate consciousness, leaving her with a vague series of mental snapshots.
The bike ride over—David startling her in the bushes—Changing into the owl—the kiss—the kiss—
Her skin was still buzzing pleasantly from David's touch. Her face glowed with heat, to the point where she barely noticed the cold sting of the air as it whipped past.
I can't believe he likes me.
That, more than anything, made her wonder if it was a dream. Not because she had trouble believing that he found her attractive, but because it seemed too neat. After three years of silence, David waltzed back into her life to declare his undying devotion? In what universe did that happen?
It was one of those rare moments in life when everything seemed to come together. Synchronicity, it was called. AKA, life-isn't-such-a-bitch-after-all.
It was a fucking human's wish fulfillment fantasy.
She was almost clipped by a car full of assholes speeding in the 25-MPH zone. Where's a human cop when you need one? The headlights were off, and the car was painted a dark color that made it blend right into the shadows. Only luck had kept her from becoming windshield splatter.
Dick-stains. Catherine flipped them off as she stabilized the bike. It made her remember the truck that had tried to mow her down outside the school. The ones with red eyes. Some of her giddiness evaporated, leaving hard grains of sobering reality.
I need to be more careful.
She didn't encounter any more cars after that. The street was quiet. She could hear the crickets in the bushes, with the occasional croak of a frog, punctuated by the staccato bursts of an automatic lawn sprinkler.
The cloud cover was finally starting to break up, and through the swaths of cloud she could make out the starry sky. No moon. She felt its absence like an ache.
Catherine pulled up in front of her house with a skid. She released her grip on the brakes and swung her leg over, wheeling the bike up the driveway and back around to the side of the house.
She set it back against the blackberry bush, even brushing a bit of dirt ov
er the seat so it wouldn't look newly used. Her mother didn't come out back very often this time of year, but it never hurt to be careful.
There's fresh mud on the tires.
It would dry soon, but Catherine wiped the mud off with a few leaves. Just in case. The large star-shaped mulberry leaves were perfect; she brushed them beneath the blackberry bush with her foot when she was through.
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