A. Arthur: Shifter's Claim

“How long have you been a reporter?” he asked her.

She’d already told him her name was Priya Drake and that she’d lived in D.C. all her life. Bas admitted, even if only to himself, he wanted to know more.

“A while,” was her roundabout answer. “How long have you worked for Reynolds?”

So this was what they were going to do. He almost chuckled. Asking her to come down here for drinks had been a twofold mission for Bas. She’d admitted that she’d been coming to see Rome, but Bas hadn’t believed her reason why. The stale stench of lies in the hallway as she’d spoken was the first giveaway and the way her eyes kept darting between him and the door to Rome’s room was another. She needed to speak to Rome, like Bas had felt he needed to touch her, to get just a sample taste of her. That was a strong need that he figured went beyond wanting to know who a man was backing politically.

“I’ve known him for the better part of twenty years,” Bas replied.

“I hear he’s a bitch to work for, a perfectionist with a quick temper.” She’d set her glass down on the black napkin, sitting back and letting her hands fall into her lap.

“On the contrary, he has a very mild temperament as long as you stay on his good side.” As did some of the shifters who lived among the humans. They almost had no other choice but to be that way, it helped to keep their secret.

“And you stay on his good side, don’t you?”

“I stay on my side,” was Bas’s instant response. “Why do you care who he backs politically? He’s in the private sector so it doesn’t matter who he decides to put his money behind.”

“It matters,” she said quickly, too quickly for this to be a simple political story, as he’d already surmised. There was a passion behind her words, an urgency that only continued to pique his interest.

He sat forward, placing both palms on the table and looked directly at her. “Why don’t you tell me what you’re really after?”

She opened her mouth to speak and Bas held up a hand to stop her.

“Tell me the truth and I’ll see if there’s a way I can help you. Lie to me again and this evening doesn’t end as well as we both hope. Take your choice.”

She didn’t frown, but arched an elegant eyebrow and nodded. Right now she was probably thinking that she had an inside lead, that since she believed Bas worked for Rome, she could get him to provide the real information she wanted from Rome. That was not remotely possible, but Bas was enjoying the little light of excitement in her eyes at the possibility.

“I don’t usually bow to threats,” she replied after a short pause, and then immediately faltered.

It was quick, a blink of her eyes, a look toward the window, then back at him with her composure firmly in place. Fear, with its tangy citrus-like scent, filtered between them, and Bas was immediately concerned. Had someone else threatened her? Shadows possessed a very protective nature where females were concerned. That’s why the feel of his cat pressing firmly against his human form was no surprise. It was rearing up, ready to defend if need be.

“At any rate,” she began again with a sigh. “There’ve been some incidents in the past few months, the gruesome murder of Senator Baines and his daughter, a huge bank heist by supposed masked robbers, and the grisly and still unexplained death of a stripper at Athena’s. All crimes unsolved.”

Bas nodded. “It’s a shame how much violence is still present in the world.”

She tilted her head then, staring at him as if that remark had changed something in her mind. Then, with an almost imperceptible shrug, she continued. “There have been rumors, maybe you’ve heard them.”

“I don’t usually listen to rumors. They’re rarely true,” he told her.

She sat forward then, pushing her wineglass to the side and folding her arms on the table. Her voice lowered as she spoke. “Some say the bank robbers stood and walked tall like men, but had the looks of big cats. Eyes, sharp teeth, everything except walking on all fours and wagging a long tail.”

Through their monthly and sometimes weekly conference calls, Bas had learned of the incidents that had taken place in D.C. even though he lived across the country. Each incident that she’d mentioned had been a concern for the Assembly as it threatened the exposure they wanted so desperately to avoid. Still, he kept his composure. “Some say I have cat’s eyes,” he replied lightly. “Are you accusing me of being a cat?”

She contemplated his words before replying. “That’s not what I said. The way the senator and his daughter’s bodies were mangled definitely leads toward a nonhuman killing except the bodies weren’t found in an alley or in a wooded area, for that matter. And that stripper, she was just about ripped to pieces.”

Bas didn’t like to raise his voice or show much emotion. It gave the other person the upper hand, he thought. If someone knew what button to push to get a reaction out of him, they’d likely push it all the time. That act would surely get someone killed, there was no doubt. His cat teetered on the brink of rage and painful hunger.

“I thought the stripper was filled with some type of drug that may have actually been the cause of death.”

She was instantly shaking her head. “There’s no drug that will shred human skin like that. Something sharp and something vicious had to be involved. I saw the body myself! It was horrible,” she exclaimed.

He wondered how she’d managed to see that body but remembered she was a reporter. The lengths to which the press went to get a story these days had long since ceased to amaze Bas—disgusted him, yes, but not amaze.

“And just how does this relate to Roman Reynolds and his political views?” Because that was the real question Bas wanted an answer to. The rest he would leave for her inquisitive mind to try and figure out, hoping that she never really would.

That’s when she did it again, faltered. He had a feeling she didn’t do that often, or at least tried not to. She didn’t seem to like it judging from how fast she tried to rebound. This time it was with a slight shake of her head as if she were trying to clear it of some thought she’d rather not have. Bas was beyond intrigued now, he’d almost venture to say he was vested somehow in this female he’d just met and was insanely attracted to.

She cleared her throat before looking at him again. This time there was something missing in her eyes. The glow of excitement that had been there when she’d spoken of those murders, the tinge of outrage in her tone as she’d talked about the stripper, was now replaced by a sullen look that spoke of uncertainty.

“Some say Rome’s friend Xavier is the one who killed the stripper. The FBI even investigated him for it. They didn’t prove it but Xavier left the FBI. They say he was seen with one of the cat people in the alley behind Athena’s one night,” she told him in an even more hushed tone. Then she squared her shoulders and said with a little more clarity, a bit more force, “I want to know what Reynolds knows about the murders and the cat people.”

And there it was, the dreaded ax that Bas had been praying wouldn’t drop. The scenario the Elders of their tribe back in the Gungi Rainforest hundreds and hundreds of years ago had feared. It was one of the reasons some of the Elders refused to leave their jungle in Brazil—exposure.

“You should find another story to pursue. This one sounds preposterous and is most definitely a waste of your time. Does your editor know you’re working on this? Why hasn’t he tried to show you how far-fetched it is?” Why hasn’t someone tried to stop her before she gets herself killed? His teeth clenched at that unspoken question.