How to Tame a Cat (ManxMan)

Chapter Three: Uninvited Guest

The diner had been quiet when I showed up, but as I was leaving, happily sober once more, a few truckers showed up, taking a break from their long drives across country for some coffee. I didn't know anyone working there, though, so I chose not to stick around after eating an oversize cheeseburger. This might not be a very big town, but I don't really keep tabs on anyone but those who interest me. And even if I did know one of the staff, I probably would have only stuck around for a couple more minutes.

As I push open my green Jeep door, I am hit by two scents, both familiar. The first one, the fresher one, is wolf. Dylan, to be exact. My guess is that he arrived about half an hour ago and has been in my house ever since. The older one is my new...acquaintance, Ryland. It seems that he passed through this area while I was still at the club. Either he lives farther out in the forest than I do or he is trying to taunt me by messing with my territory.

Since I do not particularly want to go inside and face Dylan quite yet, I turn towards the pressing matter of the lion marking my territory with his annoyingly strong scent. While I am not really the type to mark things with urine like a normal wild cat, I have no trouble covering up the marks he left with my own. Particularly the ones he did to a few of the trees around my cabin by tearing the trucks up with his claws. Anything left by his facial scent glands will be too hard to remove, so those will unfortunately have to remain.

I glance at my front door, looking for activity, before yanking my shirt over my head when nothing happens. I can see myself in the rear-view mirror and take note of the slightly lighter shadow to my normally brown eyes. Like most cats, my eyes glow a little when overly emotional. It has to do with the eyes trying to change. And, right now, I am feeling pretty stressed.

Big cats might not have the same slit eyes that house cats have, but they all have the reflective layer over the eyes. And because of what we shift into, the same can be said about feline and canine Weres. Even when we shift, our eyes remain the same color-wise, but they end up look brighter in certain lighting. Most of the time, humans don't pay enough attention to notice, but it is still wise to carry around a pair of sunglasses during stressful times.

Never know when someone might want to take a group photo.

After stepping out of my car, I unbuckle my belt and slide my jeans off. I toss them into the car before closing the door and shifting. The time it takes to shift typically depends on what you are changing into. Wolves, with their longer snouts and higher bone count, have a harder time shifting than cats, who have a more humanoid figure and fewer bones. Some cats have fewer than others. My species, the black leopard, only has about two hundred, making it easier for me than a lion, who has around two hundred and fifty, to shift. My change normally lasts for about thirty seconds. Though, the more stress I am under, the quicker I change. It is a survival instinct. After all, if we were to have slow shifts that last ten to fifteen minutes, we'd A) be in a lot of pain for an unnecessary amount of time and B) would be more likely to be caught in the act, either being killed out of fear or captured for scientific research.

My bones crack painfully as they change shape and fuse together. A few strong shudders along my spine make me drop down to the ground, my fur growing out from my skin as I fall. While there is no scientific understanding for how our hair grows so quickly to cover our bodies, it is assumed that there must be some magic involved with the change. If the Fae have magic, then why not the shifters, which were thought to be created by a witch's magic? We were not, of course, as witches only started appearing in the more recent centuries while Were creatures have been mentioned in tales as old as time itself.

The door to my cabin opens as soon as I finish the change, suggesting that Dylan was giving me some privacy. I glance at his silhouette in the door frame. Light filters into the yard from behind him, giving my already decent eyes an easier time in spotting the specific trees that Ryland tore up. I could easily pick them out by scent, but I prefer to do it by sight, as I do not really want to stick my nose into a bush he marked. I don't really think he is the type to mark his territory like a wild animal, but you never know, and I would rather not test that theory.