the vitriol that would follow. But, after a few seconds, she lowered her hand and softly admitted, “You’re right. We were cunts.”
“Seriously, Charlie,” Max said, turning to her sister, “what’s happening? ”
* * *
There were three of them. Big. Tall. With black hair and gold eyes.
The one in front, the biggest of the three, barged in, those gold eyes sweeping the room.
“Where is she?” he growled out.
Since Zé didn’t know what or whom he was talking about, he didn’t respond.
The man stormed closer. “I said”—now he stood over Zé—“where is she?”
The roar of words blew Zé’s hair off his face and he went from a human wondering what was going on to a cat that sensed danger.
He backed up, moving into the living room, his fangs easing out of his gums, claws bursting from his fingers. He shifted, shook off his clothes, and let out his own roar.
The raging man took a moment to look at the two men with him. Then he shifted and turned into what kind of looked like a tiger, but not one Zé had ever seen before. Because despite a few orange stripes he could barely make out, most of the tiger’s fur was black. As black as Zé’s.
Then, still towering over Zé, the tiger roared. It wasn’t like a lion’s, but it made Zé’s sound like a squeak. Yeah, it was loud and powerful and shook the windows of the house.
At that point, Zé was pretty sure he was dead, but that had never stopped him before. He charged the much bigger cat, but ended up flying across the room and out the window with one paw-slap to the head.
* * *
Max ran into the room just in time to see poor Zé slapped out of a closed window, the glass exploding across the yard.
Pissed, Max hissed and launched herself at the tiger, shifting in midair.
“Badger!” one of the other tigers warned. “Badger! Badger! Badger!”
She landed on the shifted cat’s back and dug her fangs into his fur-covered neck, hoping to reach an artery.
The tiger shook himself, sending Max flying. She hit the wall, dropped to the floor, and scrambled back to her feet. She hissed again and charged. The cat tried to slap at her again, but she ducked under his legs, ran under his chest, and latched onto his balls. As she sank her fangs into the skin, he went up on his hind legs and roared, trying to slap her off with his front paws.
“Jesus Christ!” one of the other tigers yelled. “Get her off! Get her off!”
Human hands grabbed her around the waist, but a separate fist began punching her.
“Let him go!” one of the other men yelled at Max.
A flash of black dashed past Max and Zé returned, tackling the one punching her. That man shifted to tiger and their roars and growling rumbled across the floor as they knocked over furniture and got dangerously close to the TV Max loved. Small price to pay, though, for this much fun.
“Fuck!” the last human male exploded. “More badgers!”
Her teammates leaped onto the Siberian tiger and did their best to work their way either up to or down to major arteries. Behind them, Zé and the other tiger rolled by. Considering how much smaller he was than the other cat, Zé was doing pretty well for himself.
They all heard it then, and everyone froze. Because they all knew the sound of a Mossberg 500 tactical pump-action shotgun. Okay, maybe no one but Max actually knew that’s what it was, but still . . .
Charlie stood under the archway, her grip on the weapon steady and in control.
Christ, Max adored her big sister.
“Now,” Charlie began, their aunt Bernice standing behind her, “we can all relax and retract fangs and claws from important body parts, put our clothes back on, and have a calm, rational conversation. Or,” she added with a big grin, “I can start murdering everyone that’s not related to me by blood!”
That’s when Max’s teammates made a run for it, disappearing up the stairs. Disgusted, Max released her grip on the tiger’s balls, dropped to the ground, shifted, and yelled after them, “Are you fucking kidding me? She didn’t mean you!”
Charlie shrugged. “I kind of meant them. Wouldn’t do to have witnesses.”
* * *
Zé had claw marks on his sides and back, and fang bites on his neck. There was blood pouring from his wounds and his head hurt, but despite all that . . . he’d never felt so