Badger to the Bone (Honey Badger Chronicles #3) - Shelly Laurenston Page 0,33
time.
The cat had grabbed a grizzly cub lounging in his own yard and was dragging the poor screeching kid to a nearby tree.
* * *
The Ako Pride had ruled the Tanzania cats long before the Chinese had their first emperor. But it wasn’t until the late 1800s that Imani’s great grandmother, her great aunts, and their males had traveled to the American shores. They’d lived in Harlem in those days, but that’s when shifters of other breeds and species had been scattered throughout the country.
If one wanted to find shifter-only towns on the East Coast, one had to go to parts of the South that seemed to be filled with nothing but dogs from the Smith Pack. Not a lot of cats wanted to deal with Smiths in any town or city, but the southern soil seemed to strengthen the Smiths in ways that had made Imani’s kin more than a little uncomfortable. When several houses became available on a Queens street a couple of decades back, the Ako Pride had purchased them and moved in. Finding out there were bears a street or two over and wolves in the other direction with their annoying howling every goddamn full moon had almost sent them running back to Harlem. But their cubs had loved having yards, a couple with in-ground pools. Who could willingly leave that? So they stayed and did what all lions did: expanded their territory.
It was Imani’s grandmother who’d realized that waiting for more lions to move in would put them at risk of full-humans snapping up newly available homes. So she’d decided to have other breeds of cats move in as houses became available—no matter how annoying those cats might be. Tigers, cheetahs, leopards, jaguars, cougars, lynx—all of them would be welcome as long as they had the down payment and could tolerate the damn howling. It took some time, but eventually the local full-humans found the constant silent staring of unfriendly neighbors more than enough reason to move out to Long Island or out of the state completely. Leaving the Pride with all they’d ever wanted:
Several streets that belonged only to them.
Which meant that when a She-tiger casually showed up with a Smith riding in the car with her, Imani didn’t take it well. How could she? It wasn’t just any Smith that Cella Malone had brought to her territory. It was Dee-Ann Smith. A She-wolf who was a standout killer in a Pack of standout killers. Only Smith’s father was feared more. An oversized wolf strangely named “Eggie.”
It was such an annoying move that Imani felt the need to say something in the most diplomatic way possible.
“Who told you it was okay to bring this heifer with you?”
“Mom!” her daughter snapped from behind her while one of Imani’s teenage granddaughters snorted out a laugh before quickly turning away.
“That is not friendly,” the She-tiger replied with a wide smile. A smile Imani had never trusted and had always wanted to slap off her face. But this particular cat wasn’t some lone kitty roaming the world. This was Cella Malone and the Malones were not only Siberian tigers, they were Travelers and, as a group, nearly as dangerous as the Smiths. Just less insane, which was at least something. “Everyone knows that Dee-Ann is a very close associate of mine.”
“Who, exactly, is ‘everyone’?” Imani looked at her granddaughter over her shoulder. “Ever notice that narcissists always say, ‘everyone knows this about me’? Or ‘everyone knows who I am’? Is that you, Malone? A narcissist?”
“My daddy says,” the Smith cut in, voice low, “that’s the way of all cats.”
Imani studied the dog a few seconds before asking, “Can your daddy even spell ‘cats’?”
“Okay,” Malone quickly said, stepping between them, arms out although neither had moved. “Let’s keep this civil.”
“Why are you here, Malone? What do you want from my Pride?”
The She-tiger’s back straightened, her mouth set in a grim line, and she solemnly intoned, “Your firstborn.”
When Imani’s fangs angrily slid into place, Malone began laughing.
“I’m kidding!” she finally said, wiping away actual tears. “You’re all so serious! Loosen up.”
“You expect me to loosen up when you bring a dog to my territory?”
“Call me ‘dog’ one more time . . .”
Imani looked over at the big-shouldered female standing behind Malone. Her short brown hair was covered by a Tennessee Titans baseball cap; her ancient-looking blue T-shirt had a Pabst Blue Ribbon logo, and her jeans were so old looking, they might have once been worn by an actual old-timey