Feral Pride (11 page)

“A fine man,” His Majesty replies, waving his cigar. “A Possum for the ages. But I’m not talking about him. I’m talking about your biological father, the Lion king.”

Under her breath, Noelle says,
“Hakuna matata.”

POP-POP RICHARDS
left half an hour ago. It’s almost 2
A.M.
, closing time at Sanguini’s, and Mercedes whisks away what used to be my bowl of kumquat sherbet with frozen eyes of newt. It’s on the house, courtesy of Nora.

Security has been quadrupled, with bouncers stationed both indoors and out. Other than a four-top of weredonkeys (whose laughs live up to their reputation) and an aging British pop star (known for his manscara and probiotics commercials), it’s been a quiet night.

A man with Mohawk-style hair, sprayed hot pink, winks at Kayla as he sashays by in assless leather pants, and her expression is priceless.

I’m grateful for the distraction. Not that it’s completely taking my mind off whatever’s going on in the private dining room between Clyde and Noelle.

Noelle. Why did it have to be her? I’m not jealous. It’s more complicated than that. I don’t blame her for what happened to Travis, not entirely. I don’t care that she and Clyde are both Lions and I’m not, at least not much.

It’s what they said about my dad. The worst part? I agree with them. He is “the mouth of the haters.” But it’s one thing for me to say that to Clyde, another for him to say it to Noelle. She doesn’t even know my father, and, for that matter, Clyde doesn’t either.

All Dad knows about werepeople is what he sees on the news, and werepredators are only mentioned in violent crime stories. I’m sure it’s never dawned on him that there are werewolf wedding planners or werecat teenagers admitted to Cal Tech.

The snowpeople may control the FHPU and MCC. But it’s not like Dad has any idea that his anonymous corporate overlords are also behind fake federal kill squads. He may be prejudiced, but he’s not pure evil.

“Howdy, kids.” It’s Detective Zaleski from the Austin Police Department. He’s a werebear, and he and his partner Wertheimer, a Porcupine-Bunny, are the unofficial go-to men for Austin-area shifters when it comes to all things law enforcement. Zaleski says, “I hear you’re in a mess of trouble. Again.” Zaleski’s not one for cosplay, but he blends in to the extent possible, what with his height and girth, in a tailored charcoal suit. He nods to Kayla. “Young lady.”

Zaleski’s dating Nora, and I can tell by how he doesn’t pay too much attention to Kayla that the chef’s already briefed him on her.

Yoshi reaches to shake his hand. “We heard you quit the force.” Everyone else at the table can hear the Cat fine, but I have to lean in to catch it. “Over some rumor about —”

“You heard right.” Zaleski takes a seat. “I did quit, and I wasn’t the only one. Several other shifters called in sick — ‘the fur flu,’ we were calling it. But the rumor was the rumor.”

“Huh?” Yoshi replies. At the same time, Kayla says, “Come again?” She’s on her second serving of brandied peaches flambé over French vanilla ice cream.

Off duty, Zaleski sips red wine. “The order really did come down from the governor’s office. We were supposed to execute a massive shifter roundup. It was only hours before she was taken, but then there were the obvious facility and manpower issues, especially with so many officers — human and shifter — walking out in protest.”

Nice of him to mention those human officers. Too bad Clyde wasn’t around to hear it. Unfortunately, I’m not shocked by the governor’s order. Shortly before being kidnapped, Lawson also announced that next fall Texas would be doing mandatory genetic testing of public employees and students. On our way here, there was a report on the radio claiming that “Lawson’s recent no-nonsense tactics are what spurred Seth and his werebeast followers into action.”

Zaleski continues, “Anyway, the governor’s kidnapping has taken priority. Bringing her home safe is critical to all of us, especially with that weresnake claiming to act on behalf of shifters everywhere. We’ve got something to prove.”

Sinatra’s “Blue Moon” pours from the speakers, and Yoshi asks, “Why would Lawson have ordered a door-to-door shifter sweep? I’d understand something like that as a
reaction
to the unexplained Bear DNA found in the governor’s mansion or the weresnake’s declaration of war, but it’s like she saw all this coming and —”

Zaleski sets down his glass. “How do you know about that? The Bear DNA?”

Oliver. One of the last things the Tasmanian weredevil trooper said to us was “we never met.” Yoshi fiddles with his napkin. “You’ve got your sources. We’ve got ours.”

I’m surprised the detective lets that go, but he’s mentoring Yoshi’s big sister, Ruby, who’s been working toward joining APD herself, and he’s got a soft spot for the Cat siblings.

Zaleski informs us that the DNA matched the Bears that Miz Morales brought to the coalition surgeons from Quincie’s house. They’d been darted, drugged, and kidnapped out of Washington State and woke up in Texas with the mind-control implants in place. Masters turned out to be a soldier of fortune recently attached to — what else? — MCC’s holdings in Afghanistan.

“Good job, kids, taking that SOB down and those chipped Bears, too.” Zaleski stands, checking his watch. “You all right? You’re quiet tonight.”

It takes a moment to realize he’s talking to me. “I’m fine.”

The detective takes my word for it. “Be careful, and holler if you need anything.”

“You do the same,” Yoshi replies, and Zaleski grins his approval. Then he’s off, striding purposefully toward the crimson velvet curtains that lead to the kitchen and Chef Nora.

The Cats don’t comment on my quietness, but Yoshi stretches his arm around the back of my chair. Meanwhile, on the dance floor, the couple costumed as Sally and Jack Skellington twirls one last time. An eight-top of
Walking Dead
–inspired zombies exits through the curtains to the foyer, belting out Sinatra’s “I’ve Got You Under My Skin,” and Clyde and Noelle finally emerge from the private dining room. She looks boobalicious in that geek glam costume. Just my luck: Clyde’s always had a thing for Mystique.

As she leaves, Clyde maneuvers through the dissipating glittery crowd to our table. He reaches for my hand and leads me to the dance floor.

Whatever happened in there, he’s not ready to tell the Cats.

Courtesy of Freddy, the Lossum is dressed in a full Venetian-style joker masquerade mask that adds spark to his pirate-inspired ensemble. I’m in a gender-bending veiled fedora over a double-breasted white men’s suit with silver skull buttons and ostrich feather trim — not that anybody would glance twice at two guys slow dancing together at Sanguini’s.

“What happened in there?” I ask as Frankie begins crooning “It Had to Be You” over the speakers. With the full mask, I can’t gauge Clyde’s expression. “Was it about my dad?”

He pauses. “No, not
your
dad.”

What happened? We’re not dancing anymore. We’re standing still. Why are we standing still? “Are you going to tell me?” I ask, half joking. “Or is this a shifters-only secret?”

Clyde breaks the embrace. “A lot of secrets are shifters only . . . or certain shifters only.” He walks away. “Being a human, you wouldn’t understand.”

WE PROMISED FREDDY
to only use our burner phones in case of an emergency.

Does finding out my bio dad is the freaking Lion king qualify? It’s not like I’m being shot at or a werebear is trying to pull my arms out of the sockets (or is that only a Wookiee thing?). But tomorrow night I’m going to meet him, mano a mano.

My sire, my sperm donor, His Majesty. According to Noelle and Pop-Pop, he’s got the lowdown on the weresnake. The king could’ve passed on the intel through her. He wants to meet me in person. For all I know, he’s wanted to meet me my whole life.

At the hideout house, Yoshi is still crashed on the sleeping porch and Kayla is in the bedroom with the front balcony. Too wired to sleep, I offered to stand watch downstairs. My parents should be awake by now.

“It’s me,” I say when Mom answers. We spend a few moments assuring each other that I’m fine. She and Dad are fine. The kits and my leopard gecko are fine. So are Aunt Jenny and Uncle Victor and the weather in Amarillo. It’s in the upper sixties and sunny.

“I don’t think it’s safe for y’all to come home,” I say. “Not yet.” There’s been no sign of the FHPU since yesterday at Quincie’s. We figure they’ve disbanded. But that doesn’t mean the snowmen and their flunkies couldn’t come up with a new way to target me through my family.

I called to talk to Mom about the Lion king. I’ve heard stories about the werelion royalty since I was a kit. Some say they battle to the death for their crowns, others that they’re descended from the Lions who sailed with Noah during the Great Flood.

Seated on a bar stool, I start with my other pressing question. “In your text, you said to ‘stay away from AB.’ You meant Aimee, right? Aimee Barnard?”

“The government man who came looking for you,” Mom begins. “He said if you knew what was good for you, you would leave her alone. Clyde, are you dating Aimee?”

I should’ve mentioned it before. “She really cares about me.”

“Then I’m sure she’ll understand. . . . Possums and humans, it’s just not natural.”

“What about Possums and Lions?” I reply. “Is
that
natural?”

“You know better than to use that tone with your mother,” she says.

“I was a mistake.” I’ve known that for a while. It’s the first time I’ve said it out loud.

“You are a blessing. You’re at a transitional age. I don’t want to lose you. You’re still one of us, Clyde. You’re still my son and still half wereopossum.”

Now I’m going to sound like a jerk, bringing up my meeting with the Lion king. But I deserve some answers. I hate the idea of walking in clueless. I know it was a lifetime ago. My lifetime ago. My parents were separated, and Dad was off working on an oil rig. Somehow my mom hooked up with a Lion.
The
Lion. “I’m meeting my biological father tonight,” I say. “He set it up. He’s reaching out to me.”

When she doesn’t take the bait, I add, “The way I figure it, you two had more than a one-night stand. At the very least, you told him about me. Otherwise, he wouldn’t know I exist.”

Still nothing. I forge on, leaving out the part about Seth, Pop-Pop Richards, and my friendship with Travis. “What’s he like? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was lonely. He was rebelling against the Pride. We didn’t have a future, but I felt I owed it to him to let him know about you. At that point, I went from a dalliance to a source of shame. I never wanted you to see me that way. I never wanted to lose you to your inner Lion.”

A toilet flushes upstairs. It’s the one off the master bedroom, which means Yoshi’s awake. He’ll be down here in no time, looking for breakfast. “Mom, you’re not going to lose me. I’m happy to be half Possum. Awesome Possum, that’s me. It’s just that —”

“How many times have you shifted to wereopossum animal form since finding out that you’re also a werelion?” Mom presses. “Once, twice?”

“Uh . . .” The truth? None at all.

“RUMOR HAS IT
that you’re a wereweasel,” Winnie Gerhard informs me in the Waterloo High cafeteria. Rather than the lukewarm King Ranch casserole I’m being subjected to, her tray is adorned with a take out sushi box.