The Leopard King (17 page)

“Morning,” he said.

“You look rough.”

Exactly what I’m talking about.

Dodging that question, he noted, “I didn’t see you or Hugh at the banquet last night.”

The seer shrugged. “He hates that sort of thing, and I’m not likely to force him to attend. It’s not like I love formal events either.”

“But you both shine in tailored suits.” Though Dom was teasing, the statement held more than a grain of truth. The pride seer and his mate were handsome, and they cleaned up well.

“I’d rather talk about you and whatever put that look on your face.”

With a faint sigh, he waved away the concern. Arran took him at his word and left him to collect a handful of flowers; he didn’t pick the rare ones, though nobody would chide him if he did. His intention coalesced as he gathered the simple bouquet. At the center of Ash Valley, he found the columbarium with a niche set aside for each member of the pride that had passed, along with pictures left by loved ones, small offerings beside their urns of ash. This was why there were no dead buried in what the others called the city of bone.

First he made his bows to his parents and greeted them. “It’s been too long. I wish I had a better excuse, but I can see someone’s been taking care of you.”

Their space was clean and polished with fresh flowers in a vase, but Dom added a couple of his own blooms to show proper regard. He touched the last picture they’d taken together.
Eighteen. I was eighteen.
When he thought back, it had been a hell of a decade. Just before his nineteenth birthday, his mother died of a virus she’d contracted on vacation in the south, and six years later, his father fell to a Golgoth guerrilla squad in the north.
It was supposed to be a routine visit to the bear hold, no complications.
And three years ago, he lost Dalena too.

Maybe it’s no surprise I fell apart. Maybe the shocking bit is that it took so long.

“I hope you’re both well.” Even at his lowest, he liked picturing his parents together. “Things are kind of a mess, here…” For the next ten minutes, he told them about the state of affairs in Ash Valley, and he felt a little lighter when he finished.

But now, a more difficult visit lay ahead. Dalena’s memorial wasn’t far, only three steps to the right. As ever, her beauty took his breath away, but as he studied her familiar features, he realized he’d
forgotten
—that she had a divot in her chin and no dimples, that her cheekbones were so lovely and sharp, that her eyes were so thick-lashed, and her nose was longer than he’d remembered. Fresh pain broke over him in a drowning wave, and he went to his knees, hands shaking too hard to present the bouquet to the one person who had been his since the first moment he saw her.

Dalena hadn’t been born in Ash Valley. She came from one of the satellite settlements in the east, near the wolf border. But when that small township burned, the refugees came in fives and tens, her family among them. Even at nine, he had been riveted. She was even smaller still, and for years, he had no name for the feelings that kindled at the sight of her. Yet they were always inseparable, along with Pru and Slay who made up the other sides of the square.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

There was no stopping the tears.
It’s too early for anyone to see.
They burned his cheeks like acid, dripping salt over his mouth. The worst part was that he could still taste Pru’s skin as he made this apology to her best friend.
What am I doing? The fuck am I doing?

Slay was right to object.

“Are we hurting you? I wish you could tell me. But if you could…” His words stalled, and he bowed his head, hands clenched on the shelf that housed such scant evidence that such an amazing person ever lived. “You might even say,
Why does it have to be Pru? I could understand anyone else.
And I’m sorry, I don’t know. You must be wondering why… and what about Slay. Everything is just so fucked up.”

Dom couldn’t quite bring himself to whisper that he’d been ready to die. Surely Dalena wouldn’t wish to hear that. If he knew her, she’d want him to live on and be as happy as he could without her. Shivering and swallowing a sob, he hauled himself upright and laid her flowers on the shelf, next to the smiling portrait.

“I miss you. Since I came back, since I stopped drinking, I haven’t seen you even once.”

He’d lived for the rare nights that she came to him, healthy and whole instead of wheezing and bloody. But since the first time he took Pru, he didn’t dream at all, or if he did, they were so innocuous that he didn’t recall. At first that peace seemed like a good thing, but now he wondered if it meant Dalena had gone away, driven off by the conviction that he didn’t love her anymore.

“I’m not replacing you,” he said then. “I’m not. Just… this is for the pride. I have to—”

The quiet scrape of soles on the tile startled him, and he turned to find Pru there, so pale that each freckle looked like a copper dot. Her hand clenched until her knuckles went white on the flowers she held. With some dim, horrified part of his mind, he realized her bouquet matched the ones in his family vase. It was so Pru. Before they were mated, she must’ve been tending to the courtesies for him. A few days back, Caio had even mentioned that she was the one who had taken care of his apartment after it became a crime scene. When he imagined her on her hands and knees, scrubbing up her friend’s blood, he couldn’t breathe.

He already owed her so much, and now he’d stolen her chance at happiness too, tying her to him with a deal she hadn’t needed to make. Aching, he couldn’t meet her gaze.
How much did she hear? How much did I hurt her?
While the marks might not be physical, like last night, they probably cut deeper.

For an endless moment, only the rasp of her breath broke that awful silence. He feared she might cry, but then she lifted her chin and forced a smile. “It’s all right,” she said softly. “I was… these are for your parents, and I’m visiting my mother too, but you were here first. I’ll come back. Go ahead.”

He would’ve felt better if she shouted at him or sobbed. Inexplicably he felt as if she’d caught him doing something awful.
Those wounded eyes.
But he couldn’t chase her as he had last night; his shoes felt as if they were filled with lead.

Somehow, it seemed best to let her go.

T
here’s no reason
I should feel like this.

When Pru found Dom talking to the love he lost, it shouldn’t rip her chest open.
He never promised his heart. Friendship. Respect. I knew what he could offer when I went into this, and I’m lucky overall.
The silent pep talk didn’t help much. Her sternum still hurt, and the tears simmering in the back of her throat wouldn’t go away.

She couldn’t go home because that would be the first place he’d check. Either way, Pru wasn’t ready to talk to Dom. The flowers she’d collected were already wilting in the cold, so she waited, hidden, for Dom to leave the columbarium. It took nearly fifteen minutes, and she wondered what more he had to say. Finally, she got the chance to slip in and leave her forlorn floral offering, splitting the bouquet between her mother and his parents. Since she’d been back, she hadn’t visited Dalena, but today was definitely not the time, given that she felt equal measures of sorrowful and apologetic.

Afterward, she stepped into the icy air and pulled her coat collar up. In better weather, the park would be full of families, laughing children, and pride warriors engaging in friendly competition. The sky above reflected her mood—heavy and leaden—and it spat intermittent snow, mixed with freeing rain, so her hair was damp when she reached the uncertain shelter of the gazebo. Summertime would find musicians gathered here, but winter brought only silence, exactly what she had in mind.

The ashes were cold in the fire pit with enough wood stockpiled that Pru busied herself lighting it. Warmth would be nice, plus she hoped focusing on a task might calm her down. But when she finished, she only had a fire going and no greater sense of calm. With a quiet cry, she collapsed onto the stone bench nearby and buried her face in her hands. No amount of looking on the bright side could stop the pain, so she let it come.

I’m not replacing you,
Dom had assured Dalena.

For some reason she’d forgotten—and she shouldn’t have—that he’d said,
You will never fill her shoes. You’re not even her shadow anymore.

Not even her shadow.

In school it didn’t bother her to be called Dalena’s sidekick. None of this was fresh or new, so why did she feel so raw? At first she tried holding her breath, but that only set her head throbbing like it might explode. At last Pru gave in and cried until she couldn’t breathe. Afterward, her eyes stung. Just as she was winding down, the last person she wanted to see strode up the path toward her. Not Dom.

Slay.

He perched beside her, wrapped in a leather jacket with a wooly lining. Before she could retreat, he touched her cheek. “You’re fucking frozen, and your face is chapped.”

That was to be expected. She leaned closer to the fire and wished she could blame her tears on the smoke blowing into her face. Slay shrugged out of his coat and wrapped it around her, hovering with an uncertainty that might have been touching if she hadn’t closed the door on him so firmly. Before, he never seemed interested in her wounds, preferring to disengage before they talked about anything important. But she had followed him long enough to find his smell comforting, even now.

“Thanks, I guess.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Though Pru didn’t say,
I’m not your business,
she tried to make it clear from her tone.

Slay flinched. “It was bad enough when I thought you were happy. But this is worse. What happened exactly?”

“Go away.” When he didn’t, she stood up. “Or not. Put out the fire when you leave.”

“You said we could be friends. The way you’re acting now proves that’s bullshit.”

As she turned, he caught her wrist. Pru shook him off, quietly grateful that he was so good at making her mad. “How did
you
see this going? You give me your coat, I weep in your arms and… what? Fill in the rest because I don’t know what you’re trying to achieve.”

“Never mind.”

“Here.” She stripped out of his jacket and handed it back. “I’m going.”

If nothing else, fighting with Slay had restored her equilibrium enough for her to carry on. Weeks ago, she’d promised to stop by the training center, as most of her class would be playing there today, and she liked her students enough to spend time with them even during winter break. Before she headed in for a rowdy morning, she paused in the public restroom to put a cold, wet towel on her eyes. A few minutes later, Pru decided she looked passable for sweating with small children. When she arrived, Hugh—Arran’s husband and the pride athletic director—had the kids lined up in preparation for a round of Red Rover.

“Sorry I’m late,” she called. “Who’s ready for a history lesson?”

A chorus of young voices rang out in protest, and Hugh grinned; he was short and fit with light brown skin and freckles that made Pru like him in solidarity. She joined the opposing team and linked hands, so the fun could begin. Emptying her brain, she fixed all her efforts on preventing the runners from breaking through… because with so much running and screaming, it was impossible to focus on being sad. The first small body hit her arms, and she locked on with fresh shifter strength.

A black-haired boy named Felix sprang back and tumbled onto his bum with a betrayed expression. “You don’t
look
that strong.”

“I heard Miss finally changed,” a girl whispered.

“Isn’t she Matron Asher now?”

Oh, shit. I didn’t think of any of that.

Thankfully Hugh blew his whistle. “Less chatter, more running!”

He guided them through a series of challenges after Red Rover ended, and Pru appreciated her new level of endurance, a free gift from the Animari gods. Her class was too young or he’d add some shifting practice, as he did with the older students. She recollected sharply how humiliating it had been to be one of three Latent pupils exiled to the library while the others did wilderness training.

“Did everyone have fun?” Hugh called, as parents came to claim their offspring.

Pru smiled and blotted the sweat from her forehead. “
I
did.”

“You’ve got about two weeks left on break, right?” He worked closely with the pride school, scheduling activities when classes weren’t in session.

“Yep. I hope you’ll wear them out proper for me so they’re docile enough to learn when they come back.”

For a moment, he watched the kids rush from the room as if they’d been shot from a cannon, then gave a rueful grin. “Tall order, but I’ll do my best.”

This was a crucial break from life-or-death issues.

“I’m off. Hug Arran for me.”

“Does it still count if I do it for me instead?”

Pru laughed. “Definitely. I spy your next group queuing in the hall, so I’m escaping before you talk me into another round.”

“Coward.”

She waved in acknowledgment and headed for the exit. Past the cluster of training rooms, a well-lit tunnel led from the sports complex to the adjacent spa, complete with steam rooms, bubbling hot baths, and dry heat sauna. Private apartments had at least one shower stall, but for a long scrub and soak, nothing beat the pride tubs. Screens separated small male and female bathing areas for those who preferred privacy, but the biggest pool was communal. Pru stripped off, stowed her belongings in a cubby, and slipped into the water. This time of day, nobody else was around, just what she needed to finish getting her head in order.

Steam rose from the bath in contrast to the relative chill of the room. For a bit, she paddled and splashed in the hot water before getting down to the business of a proper scrub. It would be better if someone was around to wash her back, and she could’ve called Joss, who was always up for a gossip and soak, but her cousin would know something was up, and she had nothing to say about what happened that morning.