Page 43 of Beasts of Mine

Accuracy is important, the leopard replied, lowering his head again with maddening composure.

A laugh escaped me before I could stop it.

“You are impossible,” I told the leopard, shaking my head as I reached for my camera again.

So you've mentioned, the leopard replied, closing his eyes while the corner of my mouth remained stubbornly lifted.

I should have been annoyed. Instead, warmth lingered in my chest as I settled beside him and listened to the rainforest continue around us.

Birds argued high in the canopy. Monkeys shouted farther along the creek because someone had discovered fruit. Something hidden beneath the leaves complained about the wet ground, while another animal insisted more rain would arrive before evening.

Only a few days earlier, those voices would have been indistinguishable from the other sounds surrounding me. Now I knew which animals were hungry, which ones were irritated, which bird thought my hair was strange, and which ones had apparently decided my nonexistent love life was everyone's business.

The rainforest no longer felt like scenery surrounding a temporary assignment. I was beginning to recognize individuals, their habits, and the places where I was likely to find them. Some animals recognized me in return, remembered previous conversations, and apparently felt completely comfortable inserting themselves into decisions I hadn't even realized I was making.

For the first time since I'd arrived, I didn't feel as though I was only watching this place through a camera. I was participating in it, becoming part of the constant exchanges and small routines I'd once only observed from a distance.

That realization probably should have occupied more of my thoughts. Instead, I glanced toward the leopard resting beside me and watched one of his ears immediately turn in my direction even though his eyes remained closed.

A smile pulled at my mouth before I could stop it.

The animals were ridiculous. They were nosy, dramatic, and entirely too invested in pairing me with a leopard.

I knew why I thought the suggestion was impossible.

What I couldn't quite explain was why Cat never seemed nearly as interested in correcting them as I was.

CHAPTER SEVEN

MALEK

Evie stayed later than she usually did that afternoon.

By the time she finally tucked her camera into its padded case, the light reaching the creek had changed from the pale gold of early afternoon into the deeper amber that appeared before the canopy swallowed most of the sun. Evie sat with one leg folded beneath her, checking the last of the photographs she'd taken while Red watched from a branch overhead with the unmistakable disappointment of someone who had been told repeatedly to mind his own business.

She'd spent most of the afternoon arguing with animals about my suitability as a mate.

I had enjoyed that far more than I should have.

“All right, Cat. I need to get back before Mara decides I've finally been eaten,” Evie told me as she slid the camera into her bag and adjusted the padded divider around the lens. Several strands had escaped the braid hanging over her shoulder, curling against her damp cheek and neck while she checked each compartment with the same care she gave everything connected to her work.

She would be wrong. If I were going to eat you, I would have done it before you started bringing chicken, I told Evie, lifting my head from my paws while the humid air carried the familiar mixture of field soap, warm skin, and the faint medicinal trace of her blockers toward me.

Evie stopped with one hand wrapped around the strap of her bag and slowly looked in my direction.

“Wow. Good to know the chicken is what's keeping me alive. Here I thought we'd built a friendship,” Evie replied, one eyebrow lifting as she settled the heavier bag against her hip and gave me an exaggeratedly wounded look.

The chicken helped, I told Evie, dragging my tail once through the dry leaves as the corner of her mouth twitched.

“You're terrible,” Evie informed me, pointing one finger in my direction before turning toward the shallow crossing. She tested the first slick stone with the toe of her boot, shifted her weight onto it, and glanced back over her shoulder. “And don't start anything with Red after I leave. He's annoying, but I'm pretty sure eating him would be bad for local biodiversity.”

He starts it, I reminded Evie, stretching one foreleg ahead of me while she crossed to the next stone. From the branch above us came an indignant squawk.

Lies, Red declared, ruffling his scarlet feathers as he leaned forward and glared down at me. Spotted one is violent. I am charming.

“You are both exhausting,” Evie told us, laughing as she reached the opposite bank and looked between me and the macaw. “I'm not refereeing this tomorrow.”

Red flapped his wings once.