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Authors: Cynthia Leitich Smith

Feral Pride

BOOK: Feral Pride
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Anchor:
This just in! The following video was taken with a night-vision camera in Pine Ridge, Texas (population 7,394), located about an hour southeast of Austin.

That figure contorting on your screen is believed to be an actual werecat, caught in mid-shift at Town Park — a public park located in the shadow of the historic downtown, along the Colorado River. She has been identified as Kayla Morgan, a senior at Pine Ridge High, a National Merit semifinalist, a track and cross-country state champion, and the adopted daughter of Mayor Franklin Morgan.

The structure in the background is an antique Western-themed carousel, which was the site of the death of PRHS quarterback Benjamin Bloom — from a lightning strike — back in February. We have confirmed that Kayla and Benjamin were dating at the time.

If you look closely, you can see other, as yet unidentified, individuals in the background. It appears as though at least one of them is a werecat, too. While shifters have been caught on video before, it’s extremely rare and unprecedented in small-town Texas.

The Bastrop County Sheriff’s Office has just issued a statement saying — quote — “Kayla Morgan and her companions are suspected of no known crimes. Nor are they suspected of having any connection whatsoever to the kidnapping of Texas governor Linnie Lawson.

Kayla’s species has not been verified.”

I WON’T BE CAGED.
Not again. I tense at the crackle of the police radio. I check the side mirror. Not yet. I rub my eyelids, look again. I’m not the only one who’s freaking out. The stink of shock and fear is weighty. I can hear my girlfriend Aimee’s heart thudding in her chest.

“None of this makes sense,” Kayla says from the backseat of the squad car. “It’s not illegal to be what we are. Why would federal agents be gunning for us?”

“Why wouldn’t they?” answers Yoshi, who’s beside her.

They’re both right. It’s not illegal to be what we are. But whenever anything goes wrong, anything bloody and brutal, shape-shifters are presumed guilty. So, what went wrong this time?

Behind the wheel, Jess says, “Sure, there’s the footage. Werepeople in small-town America, cue the hysteria. But the feds were already after y’all before it went live.”

Earlier tonight Kayla’s shift to Cat form (and possibly Yoshi’s, too) was caught on video. It was uploaded to the International News Network and beyond. She’s become the latest poster child for shifters as beastly boogeymen. Meanwhile, shoot-first feds descended on Town Park. I’d already swept up Aimee. We’d taken refuge in a heavily wooded area nearby. But Kayla and Yoshi were momentarily arrested. A Coyote named Peter and a wereotter named Evan managed to escape. Darby, a Deer, was knocked unconscious and left behind with Tanya, a Bear. An elder werecat, Lula Stubblefield, ran into the line of fire to distract the armed SOBs. We’ve all been doing a bang-up job of avoiding the topic of her death.

The Cats had just transformed back to human form when the Federal Humanity Protection Unit (FHPU) started shooting. There was no time for them to waste getting dressed, and we’ve been on the run since. That’s why they’re both buck naked and handcuffed.

Fortunately, shifters have human allies like Aimee and Kayla’s friend Jess, who came to our rescue in her father’s squad car. Her dad, the local sheriff, helped finagle our escape.

That was about an hour ago. Now, it’s nearly one in the morning. Traffic on the interstate is light. Aimee flicks a downward glance. “You okay?”

I whisper, “It’s nothing.” Well, not
nothing
, but . . . She’s perched on my lap in the bucket seat. It’s not just that I’m a teenage guy. Or just that she’s my girlfriend. I briefly bulked up my muscle mass and fur back in Pine Ridge. A bigger package is part of the deal. That’s not discussed in mixed company. Again, Aimee’s not only female. She’s a
Homo sapiens.

Normally, Yoshi would be listening in and mouthing off about my predicament. But Kayla’s Chihuahua won’t shut up. “Peso can’t help it,” she insists. “Be nice to him. He gets carsick sometimes.”

“He’s going to ralph all over my lap!” Yoshi exclaims. All Cats are fastidious. Yoshi’s a metrosexual. “That’s it!” he says. “Jess, pull over. Nobody’s chasing us right this second. We’ve got to get these cuffs off. Clyde, you give Kayla your shirt.”

“We should’ve thought of that,” Aimee mutters, which is her nice way of saying that
I
should’ve thought of that. Kayla was adopted by the human mayor of Pine Ridge and his missus. She’s less comfortable au naturel than any shifter I’ve met before.

Yoshi’s after her, which is a relief. For a while, he’d set his sights on Aimee.

“Next exit,” Jess promises, hitting the wiper fluid. “I’ll find a secluded spot.”

Aimee begins squirming, which doesn’t help my situation. I ask, “What’re you doing?”

She checks her pockets. “Looking for the keys to the handcuffs.”

“You
lost
the keys?” Kayla exclaims.

They slipped, unnoticed, through Aimee’s fingers as she positioned herself on my lap. With my werelion-wereopossum reflexes, I snatched them in midair.

“Check the floorboard,” Jess says to Aimee. “You probably dropped them.”

Yoshi kicks the back of my seat. “What the hell, Clyde!”

The Cats’ wrists are restrained behind them. We’ve had a long night. There’s no way Yoshi’s comfortable like that. He might be suffering from a little awkwardness of his own, with no jeans to hide it. But notice how he goes straight for blaming me.

Because why? Yoshi’s a senior. I’m a sophomore. He’s been all Cat his whole life. After being raised by Possums as a Possum, I’ve only recently discovered my inner Lion.

Yoshi is Mr. Smooth with the ladies. Me? Not so much. He’s become Aimee’s closest guy friend, like I need that in my life.

I’m not ashamed to be half wereopossum. It’s the animal form I’ve exclusively identified myself with for most of my life. But Possums aren’t considered the sexiest. Or even sexy-ish.

I’m a Wild Card, dual species. Based on grocery-store paperbacks, it seems like werecurious human girls fantasize about lean predators like Wolves and Cats. Bears, if they’re into the husky type. Aimee and I clicked back when I thought of myself as strictly weremarsupial. We didn’t go from friends to more until after I learned how to roar.

Yoshi kicks the back of my seat again. I squeeze the keys in my palm. Aimee rushes to apologize. As Jess accelerates past the next exit, my girlfriend insists she’s at fault.

I’m pissed enough at Yoshi to let her.

HOURS BEFORE SUNRISE,
fleeing Texas in an ungodly crowded police car, the only thing my friends can talk about is Wonder Woman. “Diana represents one-third of the DCU Trinity, and who’s her archenemy?” Kayla asks. “Cheetah. Not only a werecat, but a spotted werecat.”

At least she’s speaking up. A spotted werecat herself, Kayla’s a lot quieter when she’s naked. Self-conscious, I guess. Religious. Not me. I’m a dashing, cougar-like Cat myself with jet-black fur in animal form. I love my body.

“This is significant . . . why?” Jess asks from behind the wheel. Like everybody else up front, she has her clothes on. “Shifters are people. There are terrific people, terrible people. Most fall in between. Why can’t a wereperson be a villain? Because the hero is Wonder Woman?”

BOOK: Feral Pride
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