Feral Magic by Robin D. Owens Page B

one would be dishonorable.  If she wished more from him than sex – expected more from him – he could not possibly give it to her.
    She stared at him and a large breath sighed from her.  She stroked his face with feather touches and he stood, let his desire show.  And waited more minutes before she curved her hands around his face and stared into his eyes, her gaze as blue as a deep water lake.  She wet her lips and his groin clenched with need.
    "I know that what might pass between us might be short.  But it would be so sweet, Dak. We could make it joyful," she whispered.  "Say –"
    The infernal food machine buzzed, and she flinched.  Favel gave an irritated baby roar from the other room, close to changing into cub form to escape the chair.
    Her breasts rose as she inhaled another deep breath and withdrew her touch from his face.  "Later.  We'll...connect...later."
    Dak feared he wouldn't be able to resist the temptation of more of her touches, of the prospect of sliding into the silky warm tightness of her body.
    *~*~*
    After eating the surprisingly good food, Dak let Brandy take Favel up to her bedroom to rock into sleep.  Dak decided to confront the house cats.  Best to handle them in panther form. 
    The moon helped him change quickly, mending more of his wounds.  By the time he changed back, his ear would be whole.  Excellent for listening to Brandy's quickened breathing if they mated – no, if they pleasured each other during sex.
    He'd opened the door with hands before he changed, then sauntered out to the backyard, stretching his form luxuriously, twitching his whiskers at the smell of flowers and herbs and the groundcover he padded over.
    As expected, the cats noticed him.
    You are staying!   The black and white cat, Tom-Tom, sounded outraged.  He sat, tail wrapped around paws, eyes slitted.
    Dak felt a smug cat smile form.  Yes, I am.  And for as long as I am here, you had better mind your actions around me or you will go missing.   He extended the claws of his right forepaw, examined them.  No blood.  Two bites would take care of you.
    The cat's eyes widened.  He shrank a bit, but did not stand and hiss or leave.
    You wouldn't do that! the long furred black said.  He stood at the edge of Dak's vision.  Not from strategy, but just because he liked the plant patch he squashed.  It smelled great.
    We are beautiful and an asset to all! Tom-Tom said.
    Ten thousand cats look just like you, Tom-Tom, Dak said.
    The cat huffed.  That is not so.  Brandy says I'm beautiful and I AM.  She likes My black tail and white rump especially.
    Brandy loves Us.  She says so all the time, Gypsy said.
    Tom-Tom – such a stupid name – fixed his yellow gaze on Dak.  Brandy would be...not content if you harmed Us.
    Not happy, Gypsy agreed.
    But they had both stilled, trying to wrap their little minds around what Brandy's love meant.  They were cats.  Their love for her was different than a human's or a shapeshifter's.
    If she disappeared they'd be scared and confused...until they found a new person to care for them or learned to live on their own.  Then they wouldn't really remember her, perhaps only the echo of a lost love.  If they managed to follow a thought, they'd think Brandy would feel the same.
    Dak had the advantage, but kept his triumphant purr rumbling inside, too low for the creatures to hear.  He knew full well that Brandy would grieve for the animals, would throw him out if she found out he ate her cats.  Maybe even if she thought he considered eating the cats.
    He wasn't a cat eater unless in dire straits, in true danger of death or starvation.  With only one exception:  the White Tiger Klatch.
    But these cats didn't know that.  He rippled his back in a shrug.
    They backed down.  Gypsy lowered himself into the plants as if he could hide below the bent stems that ringed him – black in gray-green.  Dak snorted amusement.
    Tom-Tom glanced aside and lifted a forepaw to lick his