Page 29 of Beasts of Mine

“And you're making room for me,” I pointed out, turning toward him with a small smile.

The leopard closed his eyes.

You take up too much space, the leopard answered, his deep voice carrying enough dry amusement that I knew exactly what he was doing.

I stared at him.

“I am significantly smaller than you,” I told him, gesturing toward his massive body while the rain continued pouring beyond the roots.

And louder, the leopard added without opening his eyes.

I gasped.

“Rude,” I told him, although I couldn't keep the laughter out of my voice as I settled more comfortably against the tree.

One ear twitched.

That was all the response I got.

We stayed beneath the roots while the storm moved overhead. At some point, I stopped worrying about when I needed to leave. The air had cooled enough that the humidity wasn't oppressive for once, and the steady rain combined with several early mornings until exhaustion gradually caught up with me.

My eyelids became heavier.

I shifted my shoulders against the trunk. The leopard was close enough that warmth radiated from his body, and despite the part of my brain that kept reminding me I was sitting beside a wild predator, my body didn't seem particularly interested in being nervous anymore.

“I should probably go back,” I murmured to the leopard, rubbing one hand over my face as I tried to wake myself up.

Then go, the leopard replied, opening one eye to look at me while keeping his head on his paws.

I frowned.

“You could at least pretend you'll miss me,” I told the leopard, allowing my head to rest against the tree again instead of standing.

His eye remained on me.

You will return tomorrow, the leopard said, his certainty making the statement sound less like a guess and more like something he'd already decided.

I smiled before I could stop myself.

“That's very confident of you,” I murmured to him, closing my eyes for what I intended to be only a second.

Am I wrong? the leopard asked, his deep voice softer beneath the steady sound of rain.

I should have answered. Instead, I thought about the fact that I already knew I would come back.

“Probably not,” I admitted to the leopard, my voice quiet as sleep began tugging harder at me.

The leopard made a low sound of satisfaction.

I intended to rest for a minute. Maybe two. Just until the rain weakened enough for the walk back. I fell asleep instead. When I woke, the first thing I noticed was that my neck hurt.

The second was warmth.

For several seconds, I remained half asleep with my cheek pressed against my folded arm, listening to water dripping from the leaves outside. The heavy rain had passed, leaving behind the softer sounds of a wet forest settling into evening.

The air smelled strongly of damp earth and vegetation.

I blinked several times.