Page 27 of Beasts of Mine

The leopard's whiskers shifted.

You said I was beautiful, the leopard replied, and the quiet amusement in his voice made the warmth in my face considerably worse.

“Yes, well, enjoy the compliment,” I told him, adjusting one of my settings while avoiding direct eye contact. “I'm not repeating it.”

You may take your photographs, the leopard answered, settling his head across his front paws again with an air of complete satisfaction.

I looked at him over the camera.

“Thank you,” I told the leopard, unable to stop my smile despite being annoyed that he'd somehow won that exchange.

I lifted the camera.

Everything else disappeared.

It always did.

The first photograph was good, but the angle wasn't quite right. I shifted several inches to the left and lowered myself closer to the ground.

The leopard watched me.

I adjusted the aperture.

Waited.

A breeze moved several leaves overhead, changing the light across his face.

I took another photograph.

Then another.

His head turned toward the sound of something moving beside the creek.

Click.

His ears shifted.

Click.

Then those golden eyes returned to me and looked directly through the lens.

I pressed the shutter.

The instant the image appeared on the back screen, I knew.

There it was.

The photograph.

Not because he was a leopard. Not because the lighting happened to be perfect. There was something in his expression I couldn't explain.

Calm. Intelligent. Focused.

Almost as though he were the one studying me.

I lowered the camera slightly.

The leopard hadn't moved.