The Bird and The Cat Seal The Deal

Oh, shit. That was a bit too real. What is he playing at? It's no big deal. I like lots of things: shoes, jewelry, vodka, crazy socks… that can't mean what it felt like, right? Is he…? I mean, does he? Holy Christ, I look like a gawping moron right now.

Do something, Deli!

I press my lips together, leaning in to rest my forehead on his. My hand rests on the column of his neck and my voice is just as soft. "Good, because I kind of like you—even when you are being an irritating jackass."

Whew. That should lighten the mood enough to make me not feel like I'm—Well, I don't know how much more naked I could be, but trust me, that's how I feel.

He grins tenderly at me, lips twitching as if he's trying not to make a smart assed remark. I give him an ‘I'm onto you, Mister' look and he grins more. He knows I wouldn't change a damned thing about him, even if he is a jackass. "Maybe especially when you're being a jackass."

Bursting out laughing, he squeezes me tight. "Can we talk about the ‘hunk of burning clone' now?"

I give him a stubborn expression. "You will never get me to say that."

"Okay."

"I guess you'll keep trying."

"Of course." He chuckles, sitting up and putting his hands behind his neck. There are rippling muscles everywhere as he stretches. "Can I ask you something about the earring thing?"

My eyes roam over his chest, feeling the beast lick her chops internally. It's hard to focus when I'm watching that fucking ten pack move. I can't guarantee how coherent his answer is going to be. "Uh-huh."

"Bear with me." He stops as if trying to figure out how to word what he's about to say. "Hypothetically, there's a clone with only one mate and no interest in taking another."

"Well, that'd be on the nose." I sit up a little, my interest piqued.

Where is he going with this?

"However, that clone meets someone that I—he grows fond of. He likes the shagging and fighting and talking and everything else."

I eye him suspiciously. On the nose doesn't cover this little gambit, but I'll play along.

"After a long time, feelings might develop or some such rot."

Taurus never minces words. He's dancing around this, and I should understand where he's going. I'm too busy wondering why we're talking in hypotheticals because there's clearly something specific he wants to know.

"Let's say this git isn't interested or able to claim the object of his affections. But he wants there to be something between them besides a bunch of heart-shaped milk duds, green MM's, an outfit or two, and a wilted flower. Hypothetically, would an earring be an acceptable substitute for a relationship like that? Obviously, it would be in the much distant, totally not right now, future."

That's a KO. You could knock me over with a feather. Is he saying that he wants to do something like mating? Like he wants me to mark him? I mean, that's a serious commitment on the clone scale of commitments. Marking is akin to an engagement. Usually it's achieved through biting but not sharing blood, but given his views, I suppose something that pierces the skin is equivalent.

I must have waited too long to answer because his eyes widen and he coughs. "Wait. Don't answer. Forget I said anything. I don't know what I was thinking."

Fear and hope war inside of me like feudal knights. I don't know whether I'm going to have a panic attack or smile like an idiot. Idiot might win, as I'm sure I'm making a face like a ruddy simpleton. He honestly likes me that much?

That's more than like… that's… love?

"I mean, a couple of good shags and I'm getting all touchy feely. It's ridiculous, right? Hypothetically touchy feely, I mean."

Oh, what a thin line we are treading. If he means what I think he means, this is huge. It's beyond what I would have considered as the realm of possibility with him. It's like science fiction. I hope he discussed this with Talia or she will fucking kill me. Not to mention how many problems it will cause with every branch of my family oak.

Looking inside myself for the truth, I realize this is where we've been heading for weeks. I've been slipping deeper into the emotion that I was trying desperately to not to name. But I know its name, and this is when it becomes important.

I must be ever so careful.

I give him a shy smile. "I guess it would depend."

He frowns, his expression dark. "Depend? Bloody hell, depend on what?"

"On whether the other person was touchy feely." That's a nice, non-committal response to this farcically vague conversation. "Hypothetically."

His face falls and disappointment flits across it. "You're right."

"They might not think it's ridiculous at all."

"Oh?" he says, tilting his head as if he's curious.

"They might have felt the same and you know, just didn't say anything."

He looks puzzled and scratches his chin. "Huh. Well, why would they do something daft like that?"

"They might have a hard time admitting stuff like that. They could be scared about feeling feely after a few amazing shags. They might even worry they didn't keep up their end of the agreement. Maybe."

"Hypothetically, if you have a hard-headed jackass that has feelings for someone and a hard-headed kitten with the same problem, they'll get nowhere if no one cops to it. In that situation, the jackass might have the same worries, you know."

I look at him in surprise—admitting fears isn't a very ‘Taurus' thing to do.

"Oh, bloody buggering hell. Sod this."

That makes my fragile heart skip a beat, so I open my mouth to get a word in before he can change his mind, but I fail.

"Listen to me, Sandwich." I stop, watching him warily. "I like you—a lot. Maybe more than anyone but my golden one. I'll wear a bloody earring for you, but only for you, and only if you want me to. You don't have to decide now."

He stops, but not long enough for me to interject, so I cross my arms over my chest. "You're worried that it's too fast? Me, too. Sometimes, I worry about it so much that it claws at my gut. But when I feel, I act. That's how I am when I'm not being a royal poof. So, here's the deal: you gotta decide what you want."

I go to speak yet again, but he holds up his hand and shakes his head. "I've decided, and yeah, it'll sting a bit if you can't handle it, but it won't change my ticker. Hell, you don't even have to decide soon if you don't want to. Try it on for size in your noggin, and then let me know." He reaches over and tweaks my nose playfully, but I know there's seriousness behind it.

Instinct takes over as his words sink in. My gaze goes hazy as I pop into my mate's mind to check in with him. I'm comforted that he isn't worse for the wear yet. Rafe and I have always been this way: our inclination to share doesn't require a lengthy sit down, even for heavy topics. We're so rock solid that we simply let each other know what we're doing as a courtesy. Neither of us would ever deny the other something they truly wanted.

In the recent past, large, emotional leaps with people—like our mates—flowed through our bond because I didn't have all the blockades up. But since I've clamped down on what our current mates can access, everything with Taurus has been separate. This is not mating—more like a marking—but I have to let him know before I commit to this extremely risky idea. It's only fair, and it will protect him if anyone finds out before I see him again.

My laid back mate gives me a bit of crap about predicting it because even if he couldn't feel it in our bond, he knows me better than anyone, except possibly Victor. I huff and let him brag, noting that Vic dominated the betting pool at our house, and he finally winds down. I wrinkle my nose as our connection closes. He seemed too chipper, and it worries me he was hiding something.

I can't dive into that at the moment, though, because my lack of focus means I have a nearly vibrating clone pretending to be nonchalant as he strokes my tummy. Looking up, I give him a soft smile and reach up to touch his ear. "Do you think right side or left?"

He looks ready to preen, but holds it back, saying calmly, "I'm thinking left."

"Very rakish. You'd have to decide between hoop, barbell, or stud."

"I'm not exactly a hoop guy. I'm thinking of a stud. What's your birthstone, kitty?"

I giggle. Bad idea. "It's purple."

"Not one of those, thanks. Isn't there a stone called a cat's paw?"

"There's a tiger's eye, but they're kind of brownish. That doesn't seem like you, either. Maybe a barbell instead?"

"Has to be a stud—you know, for the studly me." He winks, and I chuckle.

"Oh, yeah, you're a real tomcat, baby," I smirk.

"Hey! It's not nice to insult your new boyfriend before you even mark him, Sandwich!"

He looks so affronted that he doesn't even register my slack jawed look.

I mean, boyfriend. Mark. Taurus. Panicking now.

What in hell's name am I going to do about the terror twins? How will I hide what they do from him? What will happen to his brother? Are we going to admit any of this in public or is this a hidden thing, like his affair with Rhea? What did I just agree to?

I need to breathe. She's sensing fear and anger—it makes her hungry. There are no food sources nearby. I have to breathe or this is going to be bad. Oh, fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck…

Drop the mask, Deli. Let some of this out by talking. Use your words or you are going to fuck everything up.

I take a deep breath, licking my lips as I visualize smoothing out my voice and loosening my gut. "I-I wasn't insulting you." The nervousness swamps me, and I babble. "Did you know a stud—or a tom—is what they call the male cats when the female is in heat? Hit that one on the nose, didn't you? Um, did you say boyfriend?"

"I have a feeling I'll be hearing all about feline matters for a while, but no, I didn't know that." He rolls his eyes, ruffling my hair. "As for the other question, I think you need your hearing checked." He whistles quietly, looking around with that faux innocent, pie-plate halo look. It's like it's bred into their DNA, I swear.

"I feel obligated to tell you that whistling never works—even for me—nor does that dented halo you keep trying to don." I huff, struggling to hide my frayed nerves.

"Oh bugger, what else are you going to call me? I'm not your mate and I'd rather you NOT call me a jackass if we ever make it out in public. ‘Hunk of burning clone' notwithstanding—which you can call me anytime—what else is there?"

Public? Whoa.Now we're really fucking serious. Talia's going to let him strut around the community telling people he's committed to someone that isn't her?

Holy shit biscuits. I stepped in the pasture and I"m waist deep in shit.

I might give the impression that I'm not excited, but I am. Oh, boy, am I. But I have to be cautious because this is not just unlike Taurus. It's the opposite of everything he and Talia have ever stood for. I'm already emotionally decimated by people I mistakenly trusted. I ignored the warning bells about them in favor of my heart.

This has the potential for such amazing things, but so did splitting the atom. Look what came of that. I'm afraid of something wondrous being turned into a weapon of Deli destruction. There won't be anything left to glue together if Rafe has to mop up the tiny little pieces that were once my heart.

This is not mating, though. There's an escape hatch, right?

Marking may be more serious to him than it is to the current generation of clones, and I respect that. But mating is a whole different ball of wax. This is like wearing someone's letter jacket—an outward symbol of commitment. I'm not marrying the mercurial murderer. We're simply showing people we're an actual couple.

Except… the clones usually consider it a stepping stone to mating. I don't know what to do with that little gem of knowledge. Fuck. I wonder if he knows I know that? I look over at him and grimace. He's looking at me expectantly. What was I supposed to be thinking about?

Oh! What I'll call him. "Eventually, I'll think of a term of endearment. I'm pretty slow at the ‘nickname' thing. I take forever to decide. My primary is embarrassingly good at it. It drives me crazy." That much is true. Rafe is way better at the nick thing than me. He rolls them off his tongue like it's nothing.

"Great, I can just imagine what ridiculousness you'll choose. I'll be some manner of posterior for sure."

"Oh, you will not!" I wrinkle my nose and swat at him. He doesn't understand how pet names work in my family. If we care about you, you get one. Once you do, we almost never use your real name again. It always takes me a while to find something that ‘feels' right, and I won't do it until it's perfect.

Emotional OCD, that's me.

Before I can protest, he rises to his feet, sweeping into his arms. Swinging me around as he claims a smacking kiss, he growls. "I'm going to hold you to that, Sandwich."

"No. Flying!" I squeal, thumping him on the shoulder.

Sitting me down for a moment, he gives me the warmest smile I've seen yet. "Here's the deal. It's gonna be a gold stud with a precious stone. You decide what that stone will be, if you want it shaped—whatever. I'm wearing it for you, so you've got the right to decide what my mark will be. I'll get the stone tonight and you can stick me tomorrow. However, it's getting late. I'm being called and we've been ignoring it. Not to mention, I'm bloody hungry."

I heard the vibration from the pile of clothes, but I ignored it. This conversation was more important than whatever the Company wanted him to do. I mean, you can only kill someone once, right? It'll keep. "Sapphire, like our eyes. I've never been a diamond girl. I prefer stones with more flair than cache."

Taurus nods, pecking a kiss on my jaw. "Sapphire it is."

"The shape doesn't matter. Just make sure it's a nice clear cut. I trust your taste."

Sniffing haughtily, he mutters, "I should say so."

"Well, I said so; don't get huffy. Don't get over eighteen karat gold or the posts get all bendy."

"I have at least seen a woman before."

"Here, I thought you'd been living in a cave, thumping your chest the whole time," I drawl wryly.

He barks a laugh, his eyes twinkling. "How would I have time for the dick swinging if I did that?"

That makes me giggle until I snort, and I cover my mouth in horror. When I regain my composure, I sniff. "I like it better when it's not swinging, anyway."

"It's harder to impale yourself on me that way," he drawls, making a lewd gesture.

Not to be outdone, I reach over and give his cock a squeeze, my expression mischievous. "If not downright impossible."

Chuckling lustily, he backs me up against the wall, thrusting his hips into mine. Suddenly, he freezes. "Stop that! I'm sodding starving, damn it, and this will get us naked again."

I try to look innocent, but he seems to have forgotten that I'm still naked. I bat my lashes at him, wiggling a little.

He rolls his eyes. "Women."

I mock an exasperated face. "Clones."

His expression gets serious as he puts me down. He walks over to gather up his phone and belt. "Are you sure about this, Sandwich?"

Leaning over to pick up my clothing, I nod. Thankfully, it's not shredded tonight. I turn to look him in the eyes as I reply, "Absolutely. You?"

He arches a brow. "As it was my suggestion, I'm not likely to want to back out now—you're the chicken."

"I am not a chicken!" I huff, crossing my arms over my chest.

Liar, liar. Hell, if noses grew or pants combusted, I'd be front heavy and have a singed ass by now. I am an enormous chicken. In fact, I'm such a chicken that now that he"s not touching me, I'm shaking in fear.

I'm opening myself up to the most dangerous predator I know. I'm not scared of being killed—except by heartbreak. I don't know why I trust him so quickly. It terrifies me because I didn't think I could trust anyone new after the Winter Incident. When Rhea started her campaign of betrayal, what little hope I had for healing that part of me died. Yet here I am, jumping headfirst into the fray like a methed-out lunatic.

"You were putting yourself out there and I missed it?"

Hell, no. I was following the rules; you feathered git.

"I was tip-toeing up towards it when you ‘hey listen upped' me."

"The kitty was tiptoeing. My hearing's good, pet, but even I couldn't hear those footsteps."

"I was!" I wrinkle my nose. He's right, but I can't let him know that. I cross my arms over my chest and give him a defiant look. "Fine. If you want me to put it out there, then what do you have planned for my mark?"

His mouth opens and closes as he gapes at me.

Ha! Speechless Taurus. Score one for the broken kitty!"See? I can do it."

He mutters something under his breath about felines.

Cocking my head to the side, I ask, "What's that? I didn't quite catch it. I'm putting my mark on you and…?"

"Yeah—the earring. Didn't we decide that already? Taurus will be a marked puppy."

"I asked if you planned to reciprocate?" I'm treading on thin ice—what if he says no? I know that I'm damaged goods. Sari suggested that having my notch on your bedpost makes you special, even if your bedpost is mostly unmarred. Maybe he just wants my brand. Maybe?—

"Hussy!" His stomach growls loudly, and he grits his teeth. Hissing, he narrows his eyes at me. "I hoped you'd want to, but I was—well, I didn't want to presume."

"Presumption unnecessary."

"You want to?" he asks carefully.

I nod, watching him as my stomach does flip-flops. This better not blow up in my face. "I do."

He grins, picks me up, and spins me again. "Good."

"K-keeping me in s-suspense?" I gasp. He knows I hate when he flies me without asking.

Damnit, I can't think.

"Oh. Well..." A frown mars his perfect features. "I have no idea. I didn't get that far."

"You can think about it. I know you're all ravenous. I'm game for whatever you?—"

"A neon ‘hunk of burning clone' sign on your car, maybe?"

"I take that back." My peeved expression makes him smirk and I grump, "Who the hell uses cars around you, anyway?"

"I'm teasing, love."

I mutter obscenities under my breath, finally putting on my last article of clothing.

His eyebrows hit his hairline, and he wags his finger at me. "You lick your cream with that mouth, puss?"

"I do and you of all people should know it." I smirk, recalling earlier as my eyes darken with primal heat.

"Fuck," he groans, adjusting himself and shaking his head. "Stop that. Give me the basics because I've got an idea, but I want to see if it pans out."

"What basics?"

"Do you want more jewelry? If so, what type? If not, what else would you consider?"

"What won't I do is the better question. Besides have ‘hunk of burning clone' tattooed on my ass, that list is much shorter."

"I can't sink my fangs in your neck and roar like a mighty man, Sandwich," he grunts as he toes on his shoes. "No giggles, please. That is a very valid mental image."

My face has to be as pale as a corpse. I can feel the heat draining from me from head to foot like I'm going into rigor. Fangs. Biting. That's—that's really mating. Valid image? Is he serious? His face says he is. That's much bigger than I thought. I mean, I'm okay, but… but…

Get yourself together, Deli. Answer him.

"Honey, I'll do just about anything you want, like I said. If you're considering jewelry, I don't wear gold— silver or platinum only. You know I like sapphires now. If you wanted me to get stuck with something, clearly I'm not averse to the poke or the ink, but no burning clones."

"Then the whole deal's off, hussy!" He swats my rear and I laugh, pinching him back. "Listen, how about this? Let me think about it."

"I'm cool with that."

"I want it to be..." he stops, frowning. "I want it to be special. I hope you don't mind."

My smile widens and I whisper, "It will be because it's from you. And you'd better go eat."

"What with all your yammering, woman, it's a surprise I didn't eat you."

"Ooh, scary." I am definitely not afraid of that anymore.

"I'm not without my weapons, kitty. On that note, I'm going to get some sodding dinner."

I grin, flicking my fingers at him saucily. "Off you go then."

"You don't get away that easy." He swoops down and captures my mouth, then breaks away to leer at my dazed expression. "Much better. Later, Sandwich."

I wave, muttering something that might pass for goodnight if I was high. Once he's gone, it occurs to me I forgot to tell him about my deal this week.

What the hell am I going to do while he's off doing god knows what?