The boy in the cage doesn't look threatening. If I were trying to describe him, I'd be more likely to call him "hapless" or "harmless" or maybe even "hopeless." Or maybe I’d use my native Russian and pull out “nezadachlivyy,” which is more like “luck-less.” His dim eyes brighten as they track the tray I carry. Add "hungry" to that list of adjectives.
"Hey." I slide the cage door open with my foot. It wasn't locked, because despite putting this guy in lockup, the powers that be are fully aware a lock wouldn't stop him if he wanted to leave. He’s an all-were, someone who can turn into any creature he can imagine, from a blue whale down to a dust mite. No, if Mr. Atherton and company were worried about the prisoner escaping, they'd have kept him unconscious. "Ready for lunch?"
"Yeah. Sure." His words sound despondent.
"Something wrong?" I ask, immediately before wanting to smack myself for stupidity. Of course something’s wrong! The guy spent weeks struggling in the Alaskan wilderness before ending up here in the basement of North Sky Academy while the local were-community decides his fate. They could elect to kill him, although I personally would bet on them showing leniency and exiling him to the detention center in North Pole. Not that I'd feel people were being nice to me if I were sent to North Pole; I've had nightmares about the place since I was little. "Sorry. Dumb question."
"It's alright." He scoots down the mattress he's sitting on and takes the tray from me to sit it in his lap. As soon as the food is moved, I catch a good whiff of the room. It usually smells like ammonia and coyote, since it’s run by a were-coyote who is constantly disinfecting things. The usual smells comfort me, but today’s scent has the opposite effect. Because it stinks in here. The prisoner needs a nice, long bath. And he should change clothes. There’s a small stack of clean-looking things on the corner of his bed, but I guess he couldn’t stand the idea of putting them on without cleaning himself. I’m surprised at Nurse Sakura for allowing him in here without a good wash. She can’t be happy with the way he’s making her sick room smell. "What's your name?" he asks.
"Rina." My hands flop at my sides, unsure what to do now that they're no longer holding anything. I'm cursed with a need for constant fidgeting. "Short for Katerina."
He grunts acknowledgment. "But it's Rina, not Kat. Interesting."
"I guess." Since I turn into a snow leopard once a month, I’d feel unbearably cliché if my name was Kat, but there’s no point in telling him that since he can tell my species from my scent. Assuming he can smell me over his own reek.
"I'm Troy." He picks up his fork and rams it into the pile of mashed potatoes that sits beside a steak and some steamed carrots. Most people I know would have gone for the meat first. "Guess you knew that, though."
"Yeah." I shrug. "You're kind of big news. Are you really like Michaela and Kim? Because you smell like a snow leopard to me, and they seriously don't."
"Mike hates being called Michaela. But, yeah, I'm like them. And, yeah. I made them what they are. And, yeah, that makes me an asshole. At best." He says all this while shoveling potatoes into his mouth. "Hungry" was a huge understatement. He's ravenous enough that I wonder if anyone brought him breakfast.
"That's harsh." Simone would say something sarcastic about how bringing Michaela into the were-world was a criminally horrible thing to do, but Simone's not here. She's serving a sentence of suspension for... well, for bullying the new girl.
"Is it?" Hazel eyes slide up from the plate to meet my gaze. "As I see things, I got Kim killed."
I shake my head. "No. You made her an all-were, but you didn't force her to run around murdering livestock and bringing attention to all of us. You definitely didn't make her turn into a demon and try to slaughter the wolf Pack."
"I should have stopped her."
The breath rushes from my body and I lean against the fence separating this cell from the one beside it. "I know that feeling. It sucks. My counselor says you can't control people though, not when they're strong-willed. And Kim certainly is... or was..."
"You think they killed her?"
"They haven't said. But they didn't bring her here with you, and I think that says something."
He looks back to his food and stabs a carrot. "All she did was kill some animals. How's that different from slaughtering the cow on my plate?"
My back straightens as I stare at him. My first instinct is to ask if he's kidding, but I realize he isn't. Where does he come from that endangering the entire community doesn't seem like a big deal? "Ignoring the wolf she killed? Eating beef doesn't tell the human world our kind exists."
"Our kind?" He shoves another carrot into his mouth. I wonder if his parents never taught him how to eat with his mouth closed or if he's just starved for both food and conversation. "Not my kind. There's only three of us. Maybe two." He looks up sharply. "We're an endangered species, and they may have just killed one of us for doing something wild animals do all the time."
"Endangered?" He's lecturing a snow leopard about being endangered? My wild cousins aren't exactly bountiful. "We're all endangered. And we'd be more so if the human world knew we were here."
His shrug implies disagreement, but he doesn't argue as he eats the last carrot and finally picks up his knife for the steak. "Guess there's still the wolf. But I can't believe she meant to kill him. At worst it was manslaughter, not murder."
The words "dead is dead" spring into my mind, but don't get uttered. Instead, I settle silently back against the wires behind me and watch Troy cut tiny little pieces of beef. He eats them much more delicately than he ate the vegetables. It's an odd contrast to just about everyone else I've seen eat, and as the official sick room volunteer, I've brought food to just about everyone in the school at some point or other.
"So how'd you get to be prison warden?" Troy asks between bites.
"I'm more of a student nurse, actually. This is usually a sick bay, not a jail."
His eyebrows go up into his dark brown hair. "A sick bay with cells?"
"Sometimes people are sick in animal form."
"Huh." He shakes his head and cuts more beef with a thoughtful expression. With his pale hazel eyes and dark Mediterranean features, I would be tempted to think he was cute if I wasn’t put off by the whole turning-people-without-consent thing.
As I look at him, I realize I've already gotten used to his smell, enough to be able to pick out his body scent scent from the assortment of stenches clinging to him. And it is a far-from-objectionable scent. If this is how the all-were girls smell to guys, I can see why so many heads turned for Michaela and Kim.
He shifts as he moves the tray off his lap. "What do you know about this Warren guy?"
"Warren? Denali?" I shrug. It's a small school, so I know everyone in it to some degree. I also know why Troy asks about him; it's because Warren's decided Michaela is his lifemate. "He's a wolf. And a senior. And a pretty good guy. He won't hurt her."
"Unlike me, huh?"
"I..." I swallow and edge closer to the door. "I don't know."
His gaze narrows on my movement. "I'm not dangerous."
"I know," I lie, even though he can probably smell my anxiety.
"Really." He lets out a breath and leans over his knees. "I know I shouldn't have attacked them, either of them. But I wasn't trying to hurt them."
"What were you trying to do?" I ask against my better judgment.
"I don't know." The bed creaks as he bends further forward, then sits up suddenly. "No, that's a lie. I was sick of being alone."
"But why attack them without telling them what was going on?"
One slide of his mouth tries to smile, but the other side doesn't cooperate. "Didn't want them to say no. Told you I was an asshole."
After I leave Troy and return his tray to the cafeteria, I change and head into the gym for my daily run. It usually helps clear my mind and brighten my spirits, and I’m hopeful it will today.
The first mile on the treadmill passes quickly as I replay my conversation with Troy. I'm not sure what to make of him. I know he's done some really bad things, but something about him makes me want to be sympathetic. It's not like he doesn't seem sorry for what he did, and it's obvious he's been very lonely for a long time. I can relate. And how much more would I be able to relate if I was the only were, or even the only snow leopard, that I knew?
The second mile goes by while I try to talk myself out of liking Troy. Not that it matters if I like him or not since he's probably bound for North Pole. North Sky had a girl sent up there a few years back, but it was before I came here. Nicole, my older foster sister, told me all about it though, and that chick was apparently a total piece of work. I shouldn't be making friends with people like that.
Right as I start into my third mile, the door opens, and even though my back is to it I can tell that the person entering spends a few moments watching me before committing to coming in.
I glance over my shoulder and come dangerously close to making eye contact with the newcomer.
"Hey, Rina," Seth says.
Seth Dae is the only male snow leopard in my school, so it makes sense that he makes me a little nervous. It makes even more sense when you add in the fact that he's been engaged since infancy to my best friend, Simone, as part of a deal that ended a three-way Clowder war. It was the same deal that landed me with my foster family. Unlike me, however, Seth has decided to do something about being used as a political toy, and is Challenging to be free of the betrothal.
We were certain when he initiated the Challenge that he wanted to be free to date Michaela, but he hasn't dropped it as far as I know, even though she's obviously dating someone else now. I want to ask about it, but I'd have no idea how to even start, so I stay silent as I keep my feet moving.
The treadmill next to mine hums to life and Seth's footfalls match my pace. I glance over to see that he’s dressed for working out and his long hair, a mixture of black and white that stretches nearly down his back, is tied at the nape of his neck. I keep my gaze moving, not wanting to be caught looking at him. I have no idea what he’s doing here. I mean, he’s obviously running, but he doesn’t come in here often. He’s generally more likely to be found sitting at the piano in the music room.
"It's weird," he says after a while. "Seeing you alone, I mean. Have we ever been alone before?"
Yes, we have. But Simone chewed me out afterwards, so I've taken pains to avoid it since then. The memory is almost enough to make me stop running on the treads and start running for the door, but I remind myself Simone isn't here and can't possibly know what I’m doing. Besides, is it still bad to be alone with her fiancé if he insists he isn't her fiancé?
"It's been a while," I say as I punch in a command to increase the incline of my run. A massive drop of sweat slides down my cheek, and I console myself that at least I can honestly tell Simone I was as unattractive as possible while being alone with her intended.
"Are you mad at me, too?" he asks. "I mean, I know Simone is. And I don't blame her. But I thought maybe you'd understand, at least a little."
I understand more than a little. I was taken from my family in Moscow when I was six and sent to live with Simone's in rural Alaska. When I graduate high school, I'll be sent back to a country I hardly remember without anyone asking my opinion on the matter. I try not to think about it much.
"Maybe I do understand," I admit. "But she's still my best friend."
"I know. I'm sorry."
I shake my head. "Don't apologize unless you mean it. And I don't think you do."
"So you are mad at me?"
My speed increases without me thinking about it. "Not exactly. I understand you don't want to marry her. She's a strong woman, hard to control. Hardly docile wife material."
"Docile?" He jumps off his treadmill and comes to stand in front of mine. His grey tank top really shows off the muscles in his arms as he crosses them over his chest. "What makes you think I want docile? She's not strong; she's mean. There's a big difference."
My teeth grind together as I shake my head.
"Maybe not to you," Seth goes on. "And not to me. But to other people."
It's getting hard to breathe, run, and talk all at the same time, but I grit out, "To Michaela, you mean."
"It's not limited to Mike, and you know it."
The horrible thing is, I do know it. She doesn't intend to be mean though. Well... okay, sometimes she does. But most of the time she's just trying to protect herself and the people she cares about. Even the mess with Michaela was because she was worried about the all-were hurting Seth. "She's not a bad person. And you know that."
"Maybe she isn't," he concedes. "But that makes it more important that I end this thing. Because if she's a good person, then she deserves better than someone who's with her solely because he's scared of her father."
I stare at him for several paces. It's not like that idea had never occurred to me, but something about it being said out loud by his voice rather than quietly by the one in my head makes it seem more plausible. It's been obvious for a long time that he wasn't happy with the engagement, but I always thought eventually he’d learn to see the real Simone and love her. She does deserve better than someone who has to be talked into loving her, though.
"Okay." I nod.
"Good," he says before getting back on his treadmill. "So we have a truce?"
"Yeah, I guess."
Truth be told, I wasn't really all that upset with him. I knew I should be, but... call me crazy, but I don't think arranging marriages before people have even developed their personalities is a reasonable thing to do in this day and age. I'd just never tell Simone that.
"But you did hurt her, Seth. A lot." I gasp for air. "She has feelings."
"I know. But I tried to talk to her about it before I did anything. She just wouldn't listen."
She never mentioned that to me, but it doesn't surprise me. Simone is very good at only noticing the things she wants to notice, and probably hadn't even allowed herself to realize what he was talking about.
The beep that lets me know I finished my third mile goes off, and the machine slows into cool-down mode.
Beside me, Seth brings his treadmill to a complete stop even though he's hardly used it. "I plan on apologizing for how I handled it when she gets back."
"Good." Although I hope he's prepared for her not to accept it.
I go over to the water cooler and refill my water bottle, the one from the Snow Leopard Trust with the pink snow leopard chasing an ibex on it. Slowly, I take a sip as I watch Seth from the corner of my eye. He gets off the treadmill, but hangs back like he's nervous.
"If you're training for the Challenge,” I tell him, “I recommend running longer."
"I actually wanted to talk to you about that," he says.
"Me?" I tuck a very sweaty strand of hair behind my equally sweaty left ear. "I don't know anything about cat-form combat."
"No. But you do know about moving. About reflexes and endurance."
My head tilts to the side as I try to follow what he's saying. "So you want me to teach you human-form martial arts in the hope it will somehow translate?"
"Do you have any better ideas?"
"Why me? Why not ask Billings?" I ask, naming my martial arts coach.
Seth’s amazingly blue eyes drop to the floor for a moment. "I did, actually. He said to talk to you. Seems to think you could use more experience teaching."
And I can't really argue with him. Part of qualifying for first dan is becoming a proper instructor. "You know if I help you, Simone will kill me."
He smiles like that was funny. "I won't tell her if you won't."