Page 23 of Murder Mittens

“Yes, that face, unless you happen to have another I’m not aware of. I’m a lion, Wells. I am interested in challenges. Delicate little flowers aren’t really my thing.”

Huh. I blinked and placed my hand on the steering wheel. “What would happen if I pulled over and took my shirt off to show you the other scars?”

“I probably wouldn’t be looking for your scars. Also, I was not aware you had more scars.”

“It’s almost full body coverage. My feet and ankles emerged unscathed, and the scarring really starts at my knees. I’m pretty lucky to be alive. I was caught in a fire as a kid. I am my charming self due to the realization I will never be able to charm a man. The surgery is just for my face because that’s all I’ll be able to afford. I haven’t even asked about the other scars. I can’t afford my face as it is. At best, unless this job pans out, I can only, in a few years, afford the cheap version of my face.”

“I see.” Sebastian pulled out his phone, tapped at the screen, and held it to his ear. “It’s Sebastian Sumners. Please put a note in the Wells file that her scar removal will be a full body op rather than only facial, as there’s no point in doing the procedure twice. Assume full coverage; from the little I’ve coaxed out of her, the scarring is from her head down to her knees. Excellent. Thank you.”

Hanging up, he placed his phone in the console. “The problem with your surgery is taming your virus long enough to retrain your body that you shouldn’t be scarred, and there’s little difference between doing your entire body versus only your face. It’ll add an hour or two to the procedure. I have been in a few too many sessions about that operation, how long you’ll be out of service, the difference in your recovery times if you’re mated versus unmated—”

“There’s a difference in my recovery time if I’m mated?” I blurted.

“Yes. You’ll heal approximately three weeks faster.”

“Three weeks faster?”

“It’s a difference between a week and a month. For your recovery, you’ll essentially be pampered. Think daily spa treatments with creams while your virus replenishes itself. In bad news, they’ll basically be skinning you and applying skin grafts to train your body what your skin should be like. You will be unconscious for that part of the procedure, and they’ll take however long is needed to accomplish this. Only the face doesn’t take long for them to complete. Lycanthropes are sturdier than regular humans, so the operation goes faster. The restoration of missing bone matter is easier. Your virus won’t be actively trying to take away the new bone, where it’s been trained to expect and form scar tissue. If you’re mated, you’d be given a major transfusion from your mate, whose virus will essentially overwhelm yours for a while. If you’re part of a pack or colony, family or others with blood types can help donate blood and virus. Your virus will be so busy assimilating donated virus and blood it won’t be forming scar tissue. You’ll come out with a little scar on your wrist from where you’ll be deliberately bled and given a virus-enhanced transfusion. It’s complicated.”

I eyed the navigation panel, spotted a dinky ass road ahead, and turned off on it before parking the vehicle. “But what if this non-existent mate isn’t my blood type?”

“Mated pairs end up with the same blood type. Usually, the female takes the male’s blood type, although not always. The virus makes the changes as required. Depending on how different your blood type is from your mate’s, the process can take from six months to a year. If it’s only polarity, it can take as little as a week during a virus spike. Your operation would be delayed long enough to allow for those changes, and the day of the operation, your virus would be tapped out, your mate’s blood would be introduced, and you’d be given daily care and transfusions to make sure your virus stays down and out for the count until it is retrained. The procedure is much simpler and less painful should you be mated, so the CDC has requested I play matchmaker.”

“Conditions!” I chirped, as my virus would grieve until our dying day if we couldn’t have ready access to his roars.

“Really? You have conditions?”

“Yes, I have conditions.”

“Okay, Wells. I’ll bite. What are your conditions?”

“I need to see how you look with your shirt off. This directly relates to my general interest and willingness to put up with a male lion in my territory. Also, I require roars. I’m high maintenance, and roars are a fundamental part of my general emotional health. Your roars make me purr, and lynxes need to purr at least once a day. If we don’t purr once a day, at a minimum, we’re unhappy, and unhappy lynxes make everyone around them miserable. I’m unhappy often, and that should be a crime.”

Considering I rarely had a reason to purr, I thought my new requirement of having a daily reason to purr was reasonable.

“According to your file, you’re a candidate for anti-depressants and therapy.” Sebastian shook his head. “You just want me out of my clothes.”

“I absolutely do want you out of your clothes. You are currently the only male feline I’ve met who isn’t severely offensive to my delicate sensibilities.”

“Is anything about you actually delicate?”

“My sensibilities around most male felines. And don’t get me started about wolves. My virus hates wolves. Honestly, I hate most unmated wolves almost as much as my virus does. She likes only male felines, thank you. And she hates male felines who flinch at my scars. And she really hates male wolves who flinch or run away because of my scars. I liked a wolf once. He ran away when he saw me without makeup. I even cried for five whole minutes, mostly out of rage he ran away.”

“I see. And most of your targets are male wolves, which your virus strongly dislikes. Of course, most of the culprits are male wolves, as felines are more thorough in the pursuing of partners and tend to be more methodical in their approach, where wolves are more likely to jump to the chase.”

While other lycanthrope species existed, wolves were the top dog in pure numbers, which made them statistically the most probable to end up with a bounty.

The other species tended to take more care. It had taken at least four litters before my parents had warmed up to the neighbors, or so claimed my older brothers.

I wondered what my parents would think if they found out I liked a damned lion as much as my persnickety virus did. “It makes beating the fucking shit out of the worst transgressors very pleasant. It makes my virus very happy when she eliminates male wolves who violated a woman’s right to choose her mate. I’ll do it again, Sumners. Just you try to stop me.”

“The whole point is to cultivate you into continuing such behaviors, Wells. Your supply of transgressors is not at risk. And what does your virus want to do with most male felines?”

“Skin them, because most male felines are vain and annoying—or related to me. My virus only wants related male felines for familial cuddle piles. I hope lions like familial cuddle piles. My mother demanded I bring home a male of any species or I’m probably grounded for life. Apparently, my days as a single feline lycanthrope are over, and they’ll take steps if I don’t bring home a male. They’re talking wolves, Sebastian. Me! With a wolf! There’s nothing wrong with wolves as long as I’m not expected to share my living spaces with them. I don’t like wolves.”

The wolves always flinched first. If someone told me wolves had zero control of their faces and couldn’t hide their emotions, I would believe it. Lynxes tended to be stunned for a few seconds before flinching, unless I scared a lynx kitten, in which case the crying began immediately.

“Why don’t you like wolves?”