Feral Pride by Cynthia Leitich Smith Page B

the Elk or Rhinos, but they can do a lot of damage, too.
    Clyde’s eyes have gone gold. “Because?”
    “Take young adolescents,” I reply. “That’s an unpredictable time. You’ve said so yourself. Or look at those scars on Quincie’s hand. Kieren’s claws did that. I know it was an accident. But if it weren’t for his mother’s healing abilities . . . Don’t you think he’d give anything to take that back?”
    “Do I think Kieren would surrender his free will or Wolf nature to a bunch of arctic asshats and corporate bigots? Not so much, no.”
    “My dad . . .” Is not a corporate bigot? Of course he is. But I believe people can change, and part of me understands why Dad thinks the way he does.
    Last fall, when Yoshi’s big sister, Ruby, was working as a spy for the interfaith coalition, she staked a soulless vampire named Davidson Morris (Quincie’s uncle, no less). Then Ruby lost herself to her inner Cat to the point that she began lapping up his blood.
    Quincie, who walked in on the scene, told me about it.
    I was shocked. Ruby’s tough, every inch a Cat, but also a vegetarian.
    I don’t like the way Clyde is looking at me, and I’m fed up with dominance posturing. Prince Not-So-Charming isn’t alpha to me. I duck out from under his arms.
    “Are you afraid of me?” He sounds hurt. “Seriously? Your best girlfriend is a vampire.”
    Marching toward home, I clarify, “I’m not afraid. I’m annoyed.” He should be able to smell the difference. “Don’t bring Quincie into this. It’s not her fault, what she is. She’s never killed anyone.” She doesn’t play stupid head games either.
    “I didn’t choose
this
life,” my boyfriend counters, trailing after me. “If I killed someone in Lion form, would that be it for us? Would you just move on to the next boy shifter?”
    Now I’m baffled. “What are you talking about?”
    “You don’t think I’ve noticed that you’re werecurious? Or is it that you’re trying too hard to prove you’re not like your dad? Not that he’s such a bad guy.”
    I’ve about had it with Clyde’s sarcasm. “My father is not Lex Luthor!”
    “No, he’s Luthor’s flunky. He’s the guy who writes Luthor’s speeches and announces LexCorp’s new kryptonite ray gun and tells the reporters at the
Daily Planet
that Lex isn’t available for interviews. Your dad’s not smart enough to be Luthor.”
    I’ve never heard this edge to Clyde’s voice before, but shouting at each other in a public park isn’t exactly stealthy. “You’ve lost your Lossum mind.”
    “Have I?” he replies as we cut under the canopy of a pecan tree. “First, my buddy Travis the Armadillo, then Yoshi the Cat, and now me. You keep trading up the food chain. You didn’t want me when I was a bald-tail weremarsupial. You didn’t become my girlfriend until I turned out to be a Lion, too.”
    “Don’t you think you’re selling yourself and Travis and Yoshi short? Not to mention, me.” I poke him in the chest with one finger. “You’re wrong. I
did
want you. You were just too thickheaded and busy lusting after Noelle to realize it.”

ON OUR WAY TO WATERLOO HIGH, Quincie fills me in on the meeting with King Leander and the news that Seth is a hell-spawn demon — unfortunately, not the first I’ve come across. In the snowmen’s island kitchen, I worked with a demon named Cameron.
    In reply, I offer Quincie an edited version of last night’s blowout with Clyde.
    “‘Werecurious’?” As we put the top down on her yellow 1970 Cutlass convertible (nicknamed “the Banana”), Quincie exclaims, “I cannot believe he said that!”
    Me neither, but Leander must’ve been a huge disappointment. I understand now why Clyde was extra touchy on the subject of fathers. “His family’s in Amarillo. Kieren’s out of commission. I’m the person closest to him, so he took it out on me.”
    “Eh,” Quincie replies. “He could’ve taken it out on Yoshi just as easily. I’m