The Cat Learns Something New

It's been three days since that bellowing blowhard called me. Texted me. Whatever.

I'm sure he's off on some important ‘mission', but I'm drowning. My immediate family is tired of my snappish retorts. Everyone is poking and prodding me constantly about Taurus. I'm sure I have Sari to thank for that.

Sari and Rhea's families are overreacting to his presence with jealousy and it's making me want to smack them. Their hypocrisy knows no bounds. The rest of my interrogators are the few people I am not mated to, but care about deeply. I feel like I owe them all respect, but none of them owns me. They can't demand that I share every detail of my life with them. Hell, they have mates and other people they see casually.

You don't see me asking about their other ‘commitments', do you?

Rafe doesn't have the same problem. He's close with Lily and Mercury, but no one else since the matings. If it weren't for me and my idiotic, expanding heart, he probably wouldn't be involved in any of this. He's less showy than me, and therefore, more selective. Plus, he's had the issue with Victor in the past and refuses to add to the drama by dating. His hands are full of with our current mates.

The beast has no patience for any of them. That sounds mean, I know. But since all my partners are making me crazy trying to find out if they have competition for me, she's feeling trapped and protective. Cornered animals lash out, and her temper is definitely bleeding into me. Everything feels like it's grating on my last nerve. I don't intend to be mean, but I am more often that not.

I know this sudden flood of people has to be a Sari-conceived scheme. She's riling people up about Taurus and sending them to do her dirty work. They report back to her with glee because she's a master at manipulating people. It's twice the bargain and none of the risk for her. I can't deal with them all; I need an escape. I need to not hold court and try to keep all the plates balanced for a little while.

Where the fuck is Taurus?

The phone buzzes in my pocket, and I blink. Christ. I know he thinks he's a god, but his omnipotent thing is spooky. How did he know I was down to my last lingering thread of sanity?

No time to quibble. I should answer before he?—

I don't even get to finish my thought before I'm transported to that in-between space of his. It looks more fleshed out again. The couch, bay window, and mini bar are the same, but I can see that he's added a mini-fridge, a desk area, and a few more armchairs. He seems to settle in.

That bodes well for our friendship, right?

"Oi, Sandwich. Long time no see." His killer grin makes me flush and I feel stupid.

What is with this weird girly thing he makes me do? I can't let him know it affects me or he'll be impossible to deal with. I sniff and look at my fingernails, the picture of aloofness. "I hadn't noticed. Were you gone?"

His eyes narrow and I can tell he's deciding whether to fluff his feathers in indignation or shoot back a scathing retort about how no one could ever miss the lack of his presence. Instead, he goes with reciprocal aloofness. "I had to be on the other side for work. I had some downtime to read up on your adventures, though."

My head tilts quizzically. He told me he might browse my blog, but a lot of recent stuff concerning him I set to private readers only. That allowed me to limit access by those who don't need to know what's really going on. His casual statement made me glad that I did so because he wouldn't have been able to read my inner thoughts about us.

I've mentioned that Wilde is a two-bit blogger—who very much thinks his literary prowess is far above its actual quality—but I may have failed to underline the importance of the community blogs in The Rift. All our members write about their lives in the Rift. It's a habit formed during the Conflict: everyone posted about battles and attacks in the form ‘after action' reports. Blogging became our way of life after the Conflict ended. It's a way of connecting with one another, particularly those who live on both sides of the portal. The interconnected blog hub is a hotbed of social interaction to this day.

The problem is that it's also become a way to brag, poke, prod, and otherwise demean others. I'd love to say that Sari started all that, but I think it started with the Cabal after the Conflict. Sari and Wilde are experts at using the medium as a sword for their message. I found out about my mates' families mating with one another through a blog post, not an actual conversation.

Yeah, I'll never stop being salty about that bullshit.

I don't think Taurus is reading the past, though, and even if he was, the ugliest bits from the winter got locked up tight by those privacy settings. I don't need anyone seeing that stuff again. I wasn't thrilled with being coerced into posting about it when it happened, but I lost the vote. I locked access to my parts of it down shortly before I went looking for him.

"Mmm hmm." He nods, apparating us both to the couch to tuck me in his lap. "I did. Stakeouts get boring, which is why I don't normally accept that kind of mission. I didn't have a choice on this one, so I poked around in your blog. I was hoping to pick up a few kernels of wisdom to torture you with. I must admit, much of the material surprised me, Sandwich."

My brows furrow. I'm the original bad girl and bent like a crowbar. What could I possibly have done that surprised him? "Like what?"

Taurus squirms under me, but shrugs noncommittally. "I went down the rabbit hole, trying to see how and why some things here started. I guess what I found isn't the complete story—you vague up anything you don't want the masses to understand. However, some things you and your family get up to? I never considered it a possibility. Your primary is mated to other clones, for instance."

I blink again, closing my mouth before I look like a smelly trout. That's what he finds weird? Of all the things I write about—and I write about a lot of personal things—the fact that Rafe sometimes likes other dudes is the thing baffling him? Lots of droids and clones are bisexual; it's the animalistic part of them, I think. Hell, I don't label myself, but I'm definitely not straight.

I'm not even committed to one species, for fuck's sake.

"He is, and he takes it seriously. We both know the lore, so it's not just a status thing for him. Speaking of that, I wish I had all the rules in some collected format because gossip makes it hard to tell what's true and what's not. There has to be a manual that everyone has but me."

He snorts. "Not gonna happen, Sandwich. The Company doesn't put out pamphlets for the masses like some civic center. What a bloke knows when he leaves the facility is he what gets. If he didn't pay attention in training, he's on his own." His finger comes up before I can open my mouth to ask a series of rapid-fire questions pertaining to that juicy tidbit. "That's all we're going to say on the subject before I break the Code."

Wrinkling my nose, I huff. I know better to even ask what the Code is. He'll clam up even further and it will annoy me.

Men. Always with the secret society bullshit.

"It was weird to imagine two gits who look exactly the same going at it. It's not incestuous—I know that's a biological falsehood, but it was strange to picture."

I snort, then I laugh, and then I giggle so hard I almost cry. I thought he was going to beat me up over all the parties and sex and blood and everything else, but all he's worried about is Rafe's male mates looking alike.

Oh, this is rich.

His scowl deepens and his body feels rigidly uncomfortable underneath me. "Oh, sure, laugh at my homophobia. Don't mind if you do."

I catch my breath and try to speak, tears running down my cheeks. I needed this. Oh lord, did I need this. "Taurus, darling, you know that most clones don't even look like you anymore. Some of them, like Rafe, look similar in their basic features, sure. He's a lazy, long-haired heathen compared to your sleek tricked-out assassin vibe. Victor is closer to your strand than Rafe, and he looks nothing like you."

He puffs up, looking affronted at the very idea. "We can't all be perfect, I suppose."

"You're particular enough about your hair. You couldn't handle three feet of it like Rafe." I grin, trying to imagine it and can't even begin to. "Although, he's very persnickety about his appearance, so perhaps there are some genetic traits you can't fix in a gamma ray."

A sharp pinch to my side makes me squeak and I wrinkle my nose at his glare. "Are you calling me persnickety? I could still gut you, you know."

"You could, but I'd be a lot less fun eviscerated. Think of all the work it would take me to put myself back together again. I'd be so pissed; it would take forever to heal that."

"Thanks ever so for the imagery, love."

I roll my eyes. "Don't be a drama queen; you squish people for a living."

"I do at that—excellent point." He gives me a fangy grin and my gut tightens. He SO knows he's hot when he's vicious.

"Then your problem is ‘you-o-phobia', not homophobia. Don't have sex with yourself and you'll be golden. What else did you glean?" I'm curious what exact stories he read. There's a lot of my soul laid bare in that blog, and until now, it didn't make me nervous. I feel like I'm on an audition for his affection.

Why in the hell do I care so much? There is truly something wrong with me.

His glare is glacial, but he finally rolls his eyes and continues. "I saw that the gnome and the git made you mighty uncomfortable the other night, and based on the things I read I could access, it's not the first time they've pulled that stunt." He pulls a small tablet out of the couch cushions, scrolling through the blog hub on his screen. "I think your mate was taking one for the team by distracting the writer. You were getting grilled hardcore by the gnome, but you handled it well."

I'm not surprised that he has creature comforts stowed around this room, but I am a little concerned that he had it ready to show me. Biting my lip, I wing a prayer of thanks to the goddess for giving me the idea to lock down the posts where my innermost thoughts about him were laid bare. He doesn't need to know how much he affects me or how ridiculous my feelings have become. He'd run for the hills.

I hit the ground when he jumps to his feet and practically roars in fury. "That two foot gnome with serious fashion issues is running her stadium-sized gob about bloody ‘Taurus cooties'?!!"

Well, shit. He must not have read everything while he was gone. I didn't think when I recounted that tale that he'd look at it, much less that he'd freak out. That was just Sari being a pain in the ass. She's always like that when she's trying to convince me to spill a secret. Her technique goes to ‘fifth-grade slumber parties' when she's trying to get me to give it up.

His face shifts, his demon coming forward as he snarls. He doesn't change often with me unless we're hunting. The sudden switch hits me right in the fear button. I cringe, feeling panic grip my chest for a second. An unfortunate side effect of the Wilde business is my occasional panic attacks when the boys shift unexpectedly. It chafes and I don't know what to do about it. I never used to be afraid of their ‘vamping' out. But Wilde uses his demon as a weapon, and unfortunately, that change is part of who the clones and most of the droids are. They can't always control it and I'm standing like a deer in the crosshairs, controlling my breaths to avoid a meltdown.

"I don't suppose you've told her where those cooties have been on your tasty frame, eh, pet?"

He's being an ass because she's offended him, not because he's angry with me. I calm myself as much as I can and reach out to grab his shirt. "No, because it's none of her damned business. Besides, she wants to know what we're up to so much that it's eating her alive. It kinda amuses me to watch her squirm."

Hissing, he flashes fangs at me. Sitting on the couch, I grip the cushions under my legs and count my breaths slowly to keep from panicking. He would definitely be upset if he knew what he's doing to me. It's not his fault that my asshole mate has chosen to finally embrace his demon by using it to terrify Rafe and me. I'm certainly not going to foist my crazy ass PTSD on him, either.

I have to get it the fuck together.

"What's this rot about taking a shower?" He looks down at me quizzically. There must be something in my expression that says he's freaking me out because his demon visage melts in concern. "You know, gorgeous, I've grown fond of you. This picking at you is rubbing me the wrong way. I don't want you to think I'd rather kill her than spend time with you because that ain't so."

"I don't remember how we got there. Like it says, she was babbling about cooties and showers and antiseptic. She's hardly one to talk. Wilde is dating that nasty bint Belle. I should be worried that I'll catch ‘trailer trash' from him. Sari's behaving like a child and I refuse to play her games." It doesn't help that she posted her own drivel about our movie night when I wasn't paying attention. She waited until I wasn't home and I don't know if that was by luck or if she knew I was with him. He's reading it now because, as far as I know, Sari sets nothing to private.

I pop off the couch, wrapping my arms around myself as I pace. It wouldn't surprise me at all to find out she'd set this up to ruin my time with Taurus.

Not. One. Bit.

His arm tugs on my sleeve, pulling me backwards until I tumble onto his lap. "Ever hear that a purring kitty is good for your stress level? I'm making an enormous sacrifice, not killing these fools to keep the peace. I bet a purr would calm me down much faster."

My lips curl and I nod, laying my head on his shoulder. When I kick up the purr to a rumble, it calms me as much as him. Damn. How is the most complex individual in the world the simplest person to be with? It's some kind of paradox, I'm sure. A topic change would ease our discomfort, so I ask, "Did your mission go well?"

"It was a little wet work—nothing major. Turned into more sitting and watching than doing, which is why I got permission to fly the coop." He taps my nose and I look up, catching his fiendish grin. "Speaking of wet work, I brought something for you."

I raise my brow, straightening as he pulls something else out of the cushions. It's like his fucking Bat-belt, I swear. I blink at the pair of pliers as he brandishes at me playfully. "What are those?"

"I'm surprised that you don't remember, pet. You said that I'd have to use pliers to get the truth out of you, right?"

I snort. "Okay, Mr. Literal."

"Now, if you want to keep denying what a rocking good time I am, go ahead. It will only force me to use these on you."

Feeling cornered, I lick my lips nervously. I am not prepared for this conversation. It's surprising that I'm having it, honestly, so I stall while I try not to freak out. "I didn't say that you weren't a good time. I said that I might not mind having you around."

He snaps the pliers at me and growls, "Might not?"

There are definitely some pleasant ways he could use them and I don't know if he's bent enough to realize that. So now I'm freaking out and horny as fuck, which is never a good combo. At least, in my case, it's not if I want to maintain higher brain function. "Um, no. I definitely do not dislike spending time with you."

I wiggle, physically mimicking what my panicking brain is doing. My ass rubs over his cock and it twitches helpfully, and I glare at myself internally. Down, bitch. This is how we get fucked—literally and metaphorically—every time, I tell both my beast and my traitorous pussy.

Why do I never learn?

His brow quirks and he sits the pliers down next to him. Shifting me off his lap, he moves slightly down the couch to put distance between us. His expression is cool and disinterested as he tilts his head. "As I don't particularly mind having you around, I guess we don't have a problem."

My eyes narrow as my body flushes. Why the hell is he so damned hot even when he's being a prick? Jesus, you'd think I'm one of those women who likes it when men bully her. "You're going to make me say it, aren't you?"

"I hardly think that's an accurate assessment of the situation."

The distance between us feels gaping. I'm overwhelmed by my emotions: fear, desire, anxiety, and doubt are choking me. What the hell is wrong with me? I swear, I was never this whiny and stupid before all this Wilde crap. Old Deli would have given him hell and smoky looks until we tackled one another. Now, I don't know what to do because I'm too scared. "If you say so."

Taurus doesn't respond to that. He sips a cup of coffee that appears out of nowhere calmly, watching me. While I battle with my internal demons—not the hot, fangy ones like his—he stands to divest himself of his duster and shirt. Hanging them neatly on the back of the armchair, he comes back to recline against the couch casually. His chiseled chest and abs are on full display, and I lick my lips to keep from drooling.

Goddess-fucking-damnit.

I have never been good at control with my skanky libido, and I rarely fight an attraction like this. I've certainly never had to do it with a primal monster inside me licking her chops like he's a fucking steak. I cross my arms over my chest, huffing with frustration as I growl, "Oh, alright! Fine! You win!" Looking up, I try to look tough and sassy, praying that I cover how vulnerable I feel. "I kind of like you. Are you happy now?"

He doesn't respond as he stands and offers his hand to me. My eyes dart from his inscrutable expression to his hand, getting that cornered animal feeling again. The panic attack edging into my consciousness rears its head, and I hold my breath, counting internally. This shit was never hard for me in the past. I was never fearful before; I used to express myself easily and without reservation. The past year has taught me to be wary of doing so.

I hate it.

Taking his hand, I let him pull me up. I swallow, trying to put a damper on the intense fear roiling inside me. He continues looking at me silently before raising his hand to cup my cheek gently. Leaning in to press a soft kiss to my lips, he smiles more warmly than I've ever seen.

"Yeah, pet, I am. See, I like you quite a lot. Being an egomaniacal peacock, I had to see if you were as fond of me as I am of you without tipping you off." He frowns for a moment, narrowing his eyes at me. "If I remember correctly, the words ‘hunk of burning clone' are required in this situation."

I smile as my chest loosens, and words tumble out of my mouth unbidden. "Don't laugh." His brows arches, but he says nothing. "I'm kind of shy about admitting that kind of stuff lately. I come off tough, but I'm like a milk dud—candy shell on the outside, gooey mess on the inside." I finally catch his joke and grumble, "Stop trying to make ‘hunk of burning clone' happen, you feathered King wannabe. You are merely a puffy chested cave-clone." I swat him lightly and he chuckles.

"I'm Taurus."

As if that explains everything. "Good thing you told me. I might have missed it, given all the clones prancing about who look just like you."

He snorts, tugging me back over to the couch to tumble us down in a heap. "Please. As if the superior quality of my wardrobe isn't enough to tip even the dimmest bulb, I'm not like other clones."

I chuckle, shaking my head ruefully. "You have a rather enormous and remarkable clothing fixation, that's true. Though Rafe dresses a mean look when you can get him to keep clothes on. You have no idea."

His hand reaches up and starts playing with my hair idly. The simple intimacy of the situation surprises me. Given his edict was that we were having fun—an occasional ride and a mutual respect as hunters—the fact that we haven't gotten past third base in three weeks is interesting. I'm not complaining—only stating that it's odd and I don't know what to make of it.

"You know why that is, right? It's not some idle obsession—though I let people assume that. My golden goddess figured it out because she's a bright one, but I don't think I've ever explained it to anyone before."

"Do I know why you're so picky about your clothes? I assume it's because it distinguishes you from everyone else. Besides your sparkling personality, I mean." I look up at him from under my lashes, curious about where this conversation is going. He's right about one thing: he doesn't look like the others. In facial features, yes, but he's definitely more muscular. His Company work must be what makes him cut like a fucking diamond. Rafe and Victor are nothing to shake your head at, but his body is built for stealth and death.

"It's more than that, gorgeous, though my personality is rather sparkling." He winks at me, his lips curved in yet another playful smile. "It is job related, in a manner of speaking."

I realize, and I smack my forehead. "Oh, the Company jobs! You gotta be fancy pants to be a hit man. At least, that's what assassins always look like in the movies."

"Not hardly. That lot has a coronary if I show up on the grounds dressed like this—" He looks down, my hand resting on his bare abdomen and grins, "—or almost dressed like this."

My brows furrow. "If not for vanity or work, then why? Talia likes it?"

"The work I do for them is strictly mercenary. That can require a multitude of attire. It's been a while since I voluntarily taught a class—if I get in a jam, it's always my punishment. The clothes are for the side work I do for Talia. They don't like us to have outside jobs, but I'm one of the best they have and so is my goddess. They look the other way because we make them a fuckton of money."

"Mercenaries? It's a good thing I was smart enough to convince people they didn't want to break in there after the contest. The community doesn"t have a clue what those assholes are doing there. The clones who were released must be living under that Code bullshit because none of them have ever said a word." I frown at myself, muttering, "There goes my ‘Rebel Leader' image for giving you that information. So, what do you do for Talia? Politicking or something?"

I think I know the answer.

Rhea has a big mouth and an even bigger chip on her shoulder about their fling in the past. She's spouted off secrets that I almost certainly shouldn't know. His anger at breaking that goddamned secret handshake at her would distract him. I don't want that. If I'm honest with myself, now that the plier portion is over, this least stressed I've been in days, I don't want it to end because of my idiot mate and her childish grudge.

His laugh is full of mirth. "In a broad manner of speaking. See, Talia is—well, I'm not sure how to describe it. Dedicated would be a good word, though it doesn't quite cover it."

I nod, enjoying the range of emotions he's going through as we talk. The quiet, reassuring way he's holding me with is lovely because that softness has been severely lacking in my life of late. Being held without an agenda behind it hasn't been on the agenda. Everything—even with Alistair now—has become about sex, domination, and biting. Those things rev the hell out of my engine, but I miss this. It used to be Wilde's bailiwick, but that was so long ago that I barely remember it.

"She has very hard lines about what shouldn't be tolerated."

"I can see that, but how does that translate to fancy clothes?"

Giving me a look that says I'm being an idiot, he snorts. "She has serious issues with child porn or hurting animals—things like that."

"I have issues with those things myself, but I'm not seeing the connection."

"That's where I come in. I take care of shit for her. Before we met, she worked in the justice system on the other side. She saw the holes in the system and started cleaning up the messes. It couldn't. Most of the time, I use money and influence to rescue an animal or get undeniable evidence to send somewhere to nail scum. Occasionally, I get to kill the marks—those kills are as much pleasure as business for me. She focuses on the rich—the ones that don't get punished because they've got the money and clout. You'd be surprised how many pontificating CEOs and politicians have nasty, depraved secrets in their closet."

Snorting, I shake my head. "Number one, no, I wouldn't." I pause and tilt my head. "So you guys are like some sort of Dexter team? You're the enforcer, all dressy like the mafia guys who used to hang around my building when I lived in New York. See? I was sorta right."

Taurus groans, throwing his head back on the couch. "Fucking Christ, never say that in front of her. That idiot left here and went to Hollywood to act and sold people's stories without permission. If he weren't kicking back a tithe, Talia would have convinced them to kill him."

I blink, looking confused. "Do you mean Cruise?"

After the Conflict, Cruise and his lady, Charlotte, moved back to the other side. He immediately got acting jobs in their hometown of LA and became an A-list celeb overnight. I didn't know he'd sold stories from The Rift to studios. That hugely violates The Rift NDA we signed when we moved here and that wasn't even for agents. He's lucky they preferred money to vengeance.

"Yeah. It's a sore spot for Talia. She and the other Cabal ladies were close. All of their defections hurt her, but that stunt sent her into a blind rage." He growls, then shakes his head. "Anyway, those I don't kill, I steal from. To get into the inner circles of corrupt and elite, blend in. The physical attributes of clones attract attention, so I can't dress in combos and jeans. It helps that the Uber-wealthy are so arrogant that they demand constant attention. The twisted ones always see things going on behind their backs like feral animals, but they're so complacent in their status that they miss things right in front of their faces."

I chuckle. "I can see you peacocking your way in the door."

"Hence the duds. If I enjoy them—that makes it that much sweeter." He shrugs, his grin unabashed.

"Actually, it's kinda noble." I smooth my hand over his chest, realizing that I learn a new facet of him every time we meet. "And they look hot, which doesn't hurt."

"Don't kid yourself, Sandwich. I'm not working out of any sense of nobility. I do it because I like to kill and steal, plus I'm fantastic at it. Also, cutting out a cancer makes my woman happy, so it's like two birds with one stone." Taurus seems determined to make sure I know his flaws, even to his detriment. I open my mouth to respond, but he shakes his head. "I'd like to kiss you now, cutie."

"I wouldn't mind that."

He tilts my chin up with one finger and brushes his lips back and forth over mine. It's a gentle kiss and as today has been a gentle day, I sigh softly. Darting my tongue out, I lick his lower lip playfully. He nibbles on my bottom lip in return and tilts his head to slide his tongue into my mouth. The kiss grows more forceful and needy, and I can feel his body tighten against mine as we hold on to one another. Pulling back suddenly, he rests his forehead on mine. "Sorry. I meant that to be a simple kiss, love."

I slide my hand up his chest to his neck and brush my thumb over his jawline, my eyes dark with lust. "Not a problem."

A vibration buzzes against my rear end and not the kind I was hoping to feel, trust me. "Christ. Bloody sods probably have the git I was watching cornered. NOW I'm needed." His expression is murderous as he pulls out his phone and glances over the screen. "I have to continue this later, gorgeous. Work is calling and I might kill someone besides the target for it."

I nod, giving him a shy grin. "Okay. I should probably get home soon, anyway. Later?"

"Bet on it, Sandwich."

Before I can reply, he's gone and I'm back at my home sitting on my bed. Aradia hops up—all hundred pounds of her—and I ruffle her fur, thinking about the hours I left and what I spent them doing.

My life couldn't get any more complicated if I tried.