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CHAPTER 17

MURR

I take my time choosing a fat animal for my humans to eat. I don’t want to give them another sick one, because I don’t want to make them ill. I’m a bad provider if I can’t give them good meat, so I find a herd of bucks and settle atop a tall building nearby, watching them graze. When I’m satisfied that two or three look healthy and fast, I get to work. I scatter them and chase after one in particular, downing him quickly.

With my kill in my claws, I fly back to my family of cast-offs, imagining the happy noises that Dakotah will make when I feed her. I enjoy the company of Ribbit as much as any of my cats, but Dakotah is the one that fascinates me and makes me linger. She is the one I want to make word sounds at so I can understand her.

As I land, I can tell immediately that something is wrong. Dakotah has her weapon out, and there is a fear-smell all over her. Ribbit’s scent is nearby, but she is hiding. The breeze shifts, and then I smell it.

Someone else has been here. Another human. A male human.

And my females are frightened.

I growl low in my throat, rage blistering through my thoughts. This is my territory. My females. My family. This other male is trespassing.

I can feel my eyes growing dark, the rage too close to the surface. It threatens to blot out my thoughts entirely, and I can sense that I’m slipping back into the madness that took over my mind for so long. I fight against it, but every time I get a whiff of Dakotah’s fear-scent, it unleashes something feral in my mind.

She looks up at me as I land with the buck, and her scent instantly changes to one of relief. “Murr!”

Her joy at my return soothes some of the madness away. I want to chase down the male and rip him limb from limb simply for encroaching on what is mine, but Dakotah and Ribbit need me here to protect them and make them feel safe. I stay in my battle-form, nosing Dakotah with my muzzle and trying to reassure her. I cannot make the human mouth sounds with my dragon snout, but her scent remains one of relief, and when she calls Ribbit out of hiding, I can sense them both relaxing.

They remain uneasy for a while, watching the horizon. I’m tempted again and again to hunt down the male that decided he could come onto my territory, but I do not want to leave Dakotah and her daughter for even a moment. Not when they are so skittish.

So I stay right where I am. I curl up and let the cats nestle against my scales, enjoying my warmth. I keep a watchful eye as the two human females butcher the meat I brought and roast it over their tiny fire. They chop it up and feed the cats, and save some for themselves for tomorrow. Once they go inside their dwelling, I decide I will hunt down the interloper.

But it begins to rain before I can leave, and I know the scent trail will disappear. Frustrating, but I have made my choice. Dakotah needs me and my presence more than I need to exact vengeance on this unknown male.

They clean up the fire and the cats scatter, some of them going inside Dakotah’s dwelling with the humans. Cats do not like the rain, but it does not bother me. I remain where I am, lounging directly in front of their home, and I extend a wing out to shield the cats that choose to remain at my side.

I will protect my new family, no matter what it takes.

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CHAPTER 18

DAKOTA

I don’t sleep at all that night. I keep having nightmares that the nomad is going to return and he’s going to hurt Rabbit. My crossbow remains clenched in one hand, a knife in the other, and I stare up at the ceiling. There’s a cat on my feet on the blankets, and Rabbit has a few more with her in her bed that she’s made next to mine. She wants to sleep with me instead of on her own, the only admission that she’s more rattled than she lets on.

The sun rises, and I get up from bed to start the day. I feel like death warmed over, but survival doesn’t care if you had a good night’s sleep or not. With my crossbow at the ready, I peer out the window of the bookstore and see nothing but a mountain of golden scales.

Murr slept just outside the door all night, as a dragon. No one would even come near us at the sight of something like that, and his protectiveness eases a lot of my fear. We have the biggest, most badass protector around in him. I don’t care that he thinks of us as stray cats. I’ll draw on some whiskers and put on a tail if it means we’re safe. Right now, I fear humans way more than I fear a dragon who has a love of cats.

I head outside, the dawn misty and muggy from yesterday’s brief rain shower. Murr’s golden skin gleams like a treasure pile of coins, startlingly beautiful, and I resist the urge to reach out and stroke him to see what it feels like. He’s got a dozen cats curled around him asleep, one draped over his thick tail.

The sight of the huge dragon should make me nervous, but the tabby stretched over his tail is the picture of contentment, and it’s hard to be anxious about a creature covered in cats. Murr opens one eye and looks at me, then yawns and carefully stretches one leg out, mindful of the cats.

“Thank you,” I tell him. “I know you’re guarding us. I appreciate it more than you realize.”

He just blinks at me, and I wonder if he caught any of that. Is his understanding of our language any different in this form compared to his human one? I don’t know, and I don’t have a way to ask.

But I do know he wants more of our language, and that’s one thing I can do for him. So while Rabbit is sleeping late, I start building a fire in our firepit. I head inside the store, to the children’s section, and find a picture book. One is just zoo animals, which doesn’t suit my needs, but another has pictures of common things like cars and trees, and I bring that one with me.

I poke at the fire, checking on it, and then put some of the long strips of venison on the spit. To think I spent so much time searching for smoking supplies when a quick read of a book told me that I could smoke the meat by cutting it into strips and roasting it over the fire. Figures. I season the meat and add some crunchy leaves to the coals to make things good and smoky, and then head back to Murr’s side. I sit down in front of him, and open the book.

The first few pages of “A” words aren’t all that useful. I don’t know that Murr’s going to care about apples or ants or angels. I flip ahead and pause when I see something useful. Showing him the book, I tap the picture of the cartoonish car. “Car.”

A moment later, I’m no longer talking to a massive dragon, but a golden man. He scoops up the tabby that was unceremoniously dumped on the ground and carries it with him to my side. Murr sits across from me, folding his legs in the criss-cross-applesauce way I was taught in grade school, and puts the cat in his lap. He strokes its ears as he studies the picture, then my face. “Cah?”

“Close. Carrrr.” I roll the R and then point at a broken-down SUV a short distance away. “Car.”

He blinks, and I can tell he’s not grasping it. I flip to the next page and show him the cartoon printed there. “Cat.” I tap the leg of the cat settling into his lap. “Cat.”

Murr frowns and takes the book from my hands. He brings it to his face and squints at the picture hard, then the cat in his lap. I can practically see the lightbulb go off over his head. He points at the picture. “Cat?”

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