A new voice joined the conversation, this one achingly familiar. “Don’t listen to him, Kyra.” Bella stood next to her, smelling of flour, stew, and spices. She sat down beside Kyra and stroked her hair. “Evelyne’s not the only legend. Other tales end differently. You’ll find your way.”

Bella stood and offered Kyra a hand. Kyra let the cook pull her to her feet, but Bella winced. “Careful, lass. Not too hard.”

Kyra looked down at her own hands. Where her fingernails should have been, she instead had five sharp claws….

Kyra woke up feeling deeply and acutely alone. It was dark outside, and the wind had a frigid bite. She clutched her blanket tighter and blinked back tears.

“I’m sorry, Bella,” she whispered. No one replied.

It was funny, the way life turned out. She looked at her hands, half expecting claws. But what did it matter? Her dagger was just as deadly. Her demon cat kin had spoken of murder as if it were simply a rite of passage.

There was a rustling in the trees. Kyra wiped a quick hand over her eyes as Pashla came into view carrying a large bowl. At first, Kyra couldn’t make out what it contained, but then the smell of raw meat wafted over to her side of the shelter.

“Now that you’re awake, you’ll eat raw like the rest of us. We already risked too much building a fire for you.”

Pashla held the meat out to her, and Kyra thought again of Bella, of gentle hands holding a bowl of lamb stew. Kyra’s breath caught and, to distract herself, she grabbed a piece of Pashla’s meat. It was cold to the touch, dark red and marbled with fat. Kyra dropped it into her mouth, suppressing a shudder as the juices ran over her tongue. She couldn’t bring herself to chew, so she swallowed it whole. It slid down her throat in one lump.

“You do well,” said Pashla. “Even some who grow up with us refuse to eat raw flesh when they’re in human form. The taste is more appealing to a cat’s palate.”

If only the woman would stop praising her for being like them. “Do you always eat like this?” Kyra asked.

“We’ve roamed for many years,” said Pashla. “And we live less comfortably when we roam. This country is fertile with plants and fat prey, but the humans here are better armed. So we stay hidden. No fires, no shelters, sleeping in trees. We stay in our fur unless we need to talk.”

“You can’t talk when you’re cats?”

“We can talk in the way of animals, sharing simple desires or commands. But we can’t speak as we do now.”