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His ribs suddenly felt too tight, making it hurt for him to draw in a breath. Refocusing on his laptop, he finally responded, Long story cut short: my human TM is engaged to an equally human accountant and is carrying his baby.
Long moments of nothing went by, then… Whoa. Super sorry to hear that. Sucks that you had to learn she's yours when the situation is so impossible.
Exactly. It seemed cruel that the universe had allowed him to find Lucinda when nothing could ever come of it. Is there any chance of your TM seeing the light and backing out of his mating?
No. Especially when he’s so set on leading a pride. It wouldn’t matter if he did back out anyway, I couldn’t accept him. Too much dark emotion there now, you know?
He did know. He really fucking did.
Isaiah was well-aware that it was irrational of him to feel betrayed by Lucinda. She didn’t even know him. But the emotion was there all the same.
It had to be worse for Quinley because, going by her remark that her true mate didn’t believe they were fated, she must have posited it to him only to be rejected.
Returning his attention to his laptop, he typed, I take it you’re not looking for a mate who’ll move to your territory? If he was reading the situation correctly, Quinley wanted to be away from her true mate, but Isaiah needed to be sure.
I’m looking to switch prides and start afresh, she replied. What about you?
I intend to remain part of my pride. My mate will need to transfer here. He paused, briefly hesitating before adding,My pride is made up of mostly pallas cats. Will that be an issue for you?
Nope.
Nope. Just nope. He liked that.
Would it be a problem for you or your pride mates that I’m a different breed of shifter? she asked.
Such bigotry had once existed in his pride, but it had smoothed out over time. His Alpha female was actually a devil shifter—the shifter equivalent of a Tasmanian devil. Havana would probably be intrigued to learn what Quinley was.
Generally speaking, though not very social, black-footed cat shifters were placid creatures. They were also incredible hunters—if they set their sights on something, it was a rare occasion that they didn’t catch it.
Even smaller than pallas cats, they looked much like a regular tabby. They were all about the simple things. Just wanted to eat, run, hunt, sleep, and eat some more.
Yes, they ate a lot. They would feast on anything—mammals, birds, insects, the living, the dead, the dying. As long as it was edible, they’d eat it. Hell, even if it wasn’t edible, they would still try to eat it.
Whether in human skin or animal fur, they didn’t seek trouble. But if pulled into a fight, they would battle fiercely and savagely until their opponent tired—which often occurred, because no other shifter was as high-energy as black-foots.
For Isaiah, their very existence flipped the finger at logic. Black-foots weren’t built to take a beating in their feline form. Anyone could see that. But, as if blessed by shifter gods or something, they never seemed to die.
You stabbed one in the heart? Awesome for you. But they’d live. You set one on fire? Brave of you. But they’d survive. You drowned one in acid? Highly sadistic—and messed up. But they’d still live to tell the tale.
They did not brook the grim reaper’s bullshit.
Or yours.
Maybe they’d kill you right there for making an attempt on their life. Or maybe they’d bide their time, sneak into your home one night and—in that very moment you woke up in bed, sensing you weren’t alone—slice your throat while looking you dead in the eye.
It all depended on their mood.
But pallas cats had a healthy respect for ruthlessness, so Isaiah wasn’t put off by any of it. None of his pride would be either.
No, we have no issue welcoming other breeds, he replied. And you’re a healer—healers are always welcome.
There had been two in their pride until recently. Sam, somewhat heartbroken after a relationship went sour, had gone to temporarily stay with family in another pride.
Another message appeared on the screen: Just to be clear, I’m not your typical healer. I can stop wounds bleeding, I can numb pain, I can speed along a person’s recovery if they’re injured, and I can give relief to those with chronic pain. But I can’t close and heal wounds.
Isaiah blinked. I don’t think I’ve met a healer who can aid with chronic pain. He’d heard that some shifters could, but he’d yet to come across one. Until now.
If you’ve got a bad back, I’m your girl. If you have a broken spine, I won’t be of as much use to you. But I will hold your hand and sing soothing lullabies.
