But that was impossible. She was probably just petite, like Abby.

Or so I thought, until she lifted her head, pushing tangled strands of hair aside with one arm while she supported her slight weight with the other. Huge hazel eyes stared up at me, a little browner than they’d been in cat form, and much larger than they should have appeared because of how thin her face was. Her cheeks had more hollow than bone, and her chin looked sharp enough to draw blood.

Still, she had the makings of true beauty, and I had no doubt that once she’d put on a few pounds—like, twenty or so—she was going to break tom-hearts all over the world. And, if she was half as fierce as the gleam in her eyes suggested, she might break a few heads, too.

I liked her already.

Sixteen

I smiled at the now-human tabby and rose onto my knees, extending one hand to help her up. But as soon as I moved, she scuttled away from me on all fours, hair trailing the floor, eyes wide and frightened.

As she moved, I caught fleeting glimpses of the front of her body, and the enforcer part of my brain kicked in, looking for wounds or scars that could have come from an initial infection. She was almost certainly not a stray, but I didn’t want to overlook any evidence in what could turn out to be a landmark case.

Unfortunately, she had no such marks. Other than odd scrapes and several deep bruises, the most serious injury I saw was the medicated gash on her hand, exposed because the bandage had fallen off during her Shift.

When her back hit the corner, the tabby hugged bare legs to her chest and stared at me over a pair of dirty, bony knees. Her focus roamed from my face to my tee, then to my faded jeans, as if seeing them for the first time. She’d seen them before, of course, but not with the full range of colors the human eye dealt with.

Then she twitched, as if with sudden understanding, and her gaze flicked back to mine. Her cheeks flushed, and she looked away, hugging her legs tighter.

She was…embarrassed.

My Pride—all Prides, as far as I knew—paid little attention to nudity associated with Shifting. And even some nudity not associated with Shifting. But there were some exceptions. My mother, for instance. As with humans, levels of comfort and acceptance varied widely, most of us falling somewhere in the middle of the spectrum, with the odd few on either end.

So it was possible that the tabby’s entire Pride was more conservative regarding gratuitous nudity than we were. But this wasn’t unwarranted bare skin. She’d just Shifted. There was no way to do that with clothes on. At least, not without ruining them.