I watch her walk away from me, climbing the stairs back to the second floor.
What the hell just happened?
16
Mara
Ilose the thread of my sentence. My students don’t seem to notice, or if they do, they’re too polite to say anything. The young lionesses sit in a half-circle in the classroom, their tails swaying lazily behind their chairs while I pace the front of the room. Today’s lesson is one I’m excited to teach: how to stay one with your lion when everything around you is pulling you away from her.
“This Academy was built for all of us,” I say, pausing at the board where I’ve written the words INTEGRATION vs. ASSIMILATION in blocky letters. “The temptation is to shrink. To quiet your lion so you fit in. Don’t.”
My hand drifts to my belly. I press my palm flat against it. Just to feel.
There’s nothing to feel yet. I’m going to be a mother, soon.
“Your lion isn’t separate from you,” I continue, pulling my hand away from my belly and curling it into a fist at my side. “She’s not something you put away when you walk into a classroom full of wolves. The moment you start treating her like a thing you carry instead of a thing you are, you lose her.”
Sarai raises her hand. “What if they don’t understand? The wolves look at me like I’m strange when my tail moves on its own.”
“Let them look.” I smile at her.
My hand finds my belly again while I’m walking back to the front of the room.
Aaron wasn’t himself this morning. Something in that dream broke through the wall he keeps around himself, and whatever it was, he isn’t letting me anywhere near it.
“Alright, that’s enough for today.” I clap my hands and the girls start standing, gathering their bags. “I want you to pay attention this week. Notice the moments when you pull away from your lion to make someone else comfortable. Write them down. We’ll talk about it next class.”
They file out in pairs, chatting and laughing, their tails bumping against each other as they squeeze through the doorway.
I turn to the dry erase board and pick up the eraser, starting to wipe down the diagrams I sketched during the lesson. My other hand rests on my belly and I let it stay this time. There’s no one here to see.
I start humming. The eraser moves in slow circles across the board and I think about nesting. The thought fills me with a warmth so complete my tail lifts and sways gently behind me, the tassel brushing the back of my calf.
I’m going to need blankets. And I’ll need to rearrange the furniture in the cabin so the light comes through the window differently in the mornings because cubs need warmth first thing, need the sun on their skin.
My tail goes rigid.
The humming dies in my throat. A surge of energy prickles across the back of my neck, subtle but distinct, and with it comes a scent. Coffee and something sharper underneath, somethingthat carries the same warmth as Aaron’s but sits differently on my tongue.
I don’t turn around.
“What are you doing here?” I mutter.
“Congratulations on completing the mate bond with my brother.”
Tiana’s voice is smooth, casual. I set the eraser down on the ledge and turn to face her, my brow pulling tight.
She’s sitting at one of my students’ desks with her dark cloak draped over the back of the chair and her legs crossed. She looks completely at ease in a space that isn’t hers.
“I know that’s not why you came here,” I say.
Tiana sighs and leans back in the chair. “You lionesses are always so full of yourselves.”
I manage a smile that doesn’t reach my eyes. “Thank you.”
Tiana rolls her eyes. “Sure.”
“What do you want?” I ask. “I know you aren’t here for me.”
