Black Beast Read online

  His willingness surprised Catherine. David had been a precocious child. Always needing to prove himself. Diving the deepest, running the fastest, climbing the highest, being the smartest. He lived a life of superlatives. Had he always been this quiet, this passive?

  Or was he just better at hiding his true nature now?

  She tried to remember the conversations they'd had together, as children and as preteens. She knew some of them had been surprisingly deep—or at least, they'd felt that way at the time—but Catherine found she couldn't call forth a single word. They'd all burned away to ash on the wind.

  Annoyed, she glanced down at her watch. Only eight-fifteen. Another fifteen minutes to go. This must be what being in limbo felt like. And the teachers wondered about her proclivity for tardiness. She looked back up from her watch just in time to see David's eyes dart away from her again. This time, he had definitely been smirking. Hadn't even bothered to hide it, for fuck's sake. What was his problem? He'd as good as admitted that she was the victor. That should have ended it. He wasn't allowed to behave this way. Not unless he wanted a fight.

  Under the pretense of pulling out her notebook, she sneaked a look at him through the screen of her hair. He was wearing a checked shirt, blue jeans. His slender frame belied his wiry strength and animal grace. He masked his abilities well, but Catherine caught little glimpses of his true nature sometimes in the way he walked. Other students noticed it as well, although they didn't know what exactly it was that they were seeing, so they simply chalked it up to confidence.

  It wasn't fair. Catherine had the same walk, and the same people said that she was out “looking for trouble.” She didn't look for trouble. Trouble looked for her. Unfortunately, it also tended to find her. She didn't see why the humans were so loathe to ascribe the trait of confidence to a woman.

  Maybe it frightened them, to admit that a woman could be master of her fate. There was no reason to suppose males were innately superior by default. It was foolish, really. In many species—spiders, angler fish, sharks, hyenas—females were the dominant sex, or formed matriarchal hierarchies. Such behavior was even visible in humans, to an extent.

  But Catherine could see why people chose to envision David the way they did. He crossed all his T's. Dotted all his I's. Looking at him, one would never guess that he wasn't human, or capable of being anything less than what he portrayed himself to be: perfect. He looked just like any other attractive teenager: tall and well built, clear skin, onyx eyes framed by thick, short lashes with no limit to their depths. The boy had intense eyes.

  And they were boring right into her own.

  Catherine was so startled she forgot to listen for the footsteps of the instructor. Locking eyes with a shape-shifter was aggressive. Very aggressive. One generally didn't do that unless one wanted to fight.

  Or fuck.

  Predator growled, and began pacing, while Prey cowered and whined.

  David didn't look like he was interested in either, though. His gaze was level, curious, and a little sad. That was odd. Why would he look at her in that way? Especially after sneering at her?

  Predator shoved those thoughts aside impatiently. She didn't care why, had never cared much for deciphering mixed signals. People who didn't make their intentions clear from the get-go weren't worth her time of day.

  Catherine hiked up her chin a notch higher. She wouldn't be the first to look away. If he was going to continue issuing these pathetic challenges, she would win.

  David's mouth opened, as if he was going to speak. Then Catherine heard the sound of footsteps, a metallic clicking, the squeak of hinges. Catherine managed to scramble out of the way before the door handle slammed into the wall she'd been leaning against.

  “I apologize for the wait,” Mr. Hauberk said. “You may come in. Take your seats—quickly and carefully now.”

  Catherine shot a sharp look at David. His eyes were downcast, back on his lab notes, but he seemed to be repressing a smile. She shoved through the crush of students, eliciting grumbles. She ignored the dirty looks that flew in her direction. She was used to them.

  Stupid David.

  She took her seat. Middle row, middle column. Lab stations were generally set up early in the morning. Today, though, the counter tops were empty, devoid of any equipment. Catherine tried to think of that as a good omen but most likely there was a test she hadn't studied for.

  She scanned the front of the room. Last week they had studied the various stages of meiosis by examining prepared slides of white onion-root tip under a microscope. Something she should have been an expert in, considering it was a lesson plan copiously incorporated into every young adult novel since Twilight, but no, she was a hopeless case. They all looked exactly the same to her.

  There was a mason jar on Mr. Hauberk's desk that hadn't been there on Thursday. The old-fashioned kind you could only really find at garage sales. What was in there? A piece of wood? But the ecology section wasn't until next week. She tried to remember what they'd studied before cell division. Mendelian squares and genetics. That was no help….

  “Class, it is now two-ten. Please turn your attention towards the front.”

  He went through roll with the rapid-fire precision of a drill sergeant.

  “I have some very exciting news for you.”

  Exciting was a word that did not belong in a classroom. Ever.

  “You're a very privileged group of students.”

  That meant he was going to make them do something hard.

  “I would have killed for this experience in high school.”

  Do it, she thought. Put yourself out of our misery.

  “Ordinarily, high school students do not perform vivisections, but I have attained special permission from the school board.” Mr. Hauberk paused. There was a beat of heavy silence, which he milked for all it was worth, before lifting up the glass jar with a dramatic flourish.

  There was a collective gasp of horror as something inside moved. Catherine twitched.

  “What is that thing?” someone in the back cried out.

  It was a cricket.

  With her superior eyesight, that much was obvious, even from the middle row. As Catherine watched, it propelled itself against the glass with a sound like wind rifling through the pages of a book. It seemed panicked, as if wondering what insidious devices kept it from the outside world.

  “Since this is an advanced placement course, many of you are probably considering biology as a major in college, or even a career in the medical field. This assignment will help prepare you for the expectations of the upper-division biology courses you will encounter on that track. As AP students, I expect the utmost maturity from you. From all of you.”

  Was it her imagination, or did Mr. Hauberk seem to single her out in particular?

  “Pass this around the room.” Mr. Hauberk handed the jar off to a girl named Ellen, who yanked her hands back so quickly that she nearly dropped the jar. With a pained expression, and in a voice that would have befitted any world-weary English headmaster, he said, “And please, do try to be careful.”

  Catherine reached for the reassuring weight of her charm bracelet, and frowned when her fingers brushed against the bare skin of her wrist.

  I don't remember taking it off.

  “Notice,” Mr. Hauberk said, as the cricket circled the room, “the three body segments—head, thorax, abdomen. The wings and legs are affixed to the thorax. Not the abdomen. You would be surprised how often this question is missed on exams, so take note: it may appear on one of yours.

  “The female cricket is distinguishable from the male by a long, spear-like appendage called the ovipositor. This is used for releasing eggs into the soil. It is positioned between the cerci, which are sensory organs located on the abdominal regions of most insects and arachnids. Females also have differently-shaped wings. Does anyone know the name for this phenomenon?”

  Blank stares. Oh shit, thought Catherine.

  David, being David, raised his
hand, and so did Karen Shields.

  “David?”

  “Sexual dimorphism.”

  “Excellent, Mr. Tran.” Mr. Hauberk beamed, and then remembered his other volunteer. “Was that your answer, too, Karen?” he added graciously.

  She nodded, lips tight. Her aura flared with her displeasure. Beaten by a shape-shifter. How humiliating that must be, Catherine thought, unsympathetically.

  “You will be working in groups of two to complete this lab on Monday. I expect you to review the chapter on safety in your textbooks and lab manuals prior to the dissection.” He cleared his throat. “You will be assigned partners—” groans from the class “—which I will read to you now. They are nonnegotiable, so don't bother coming to me with complaints about why you can't work with so-and-so. The first pair is…Abrams and Hernandez.”

  Nausea ripped through Catherine, as sudden as it was unexpected. She stiffened, looking around for silver, but the sickness wasn't the same. This sense of malaise came from within.

  “Zimmerman and Renault.”

  Catherine dug the heel of her hand into her forehead. Was it the formaldehyde? Some people were supposed to be sensitive to it. Such sensitivities were always worse for shape-shifters.

  “Shields and Hill.”

  At least she wouldn't have Chase as a partner. Better yet, Karen had gotten him.

  Fuck you, witch.

  “Ramsey and Pilchard.”

  Damn. She'd wanted Johnathan.

  “Tran and Pierce.”

  Wait. David? David was her partner?

  Her hand shot into the air of its own accord. Mr. Hauberk looked at her, eyebrows raised. “A rarity indeed,” he said. “Yes, Miss Pierce?”

  “I don't think I heard you correctly. Who is my lab partner again?”

  Scattered laughter followed her question, although she hadn't been trying to be funny.

  Mr. Hauberk dispersed it with an impatient wave. “David Tran, I believe. Is there a problem, Miss Pierce? Short-term memory loss, perhaps? Or are you complaining about the lab partner I have assigned to you? I hope for your sake that is not the case. He would be an asset to your lamentable grades.”

  More laughter followed.

  “No,” she said. “There's no problem.”

  “Good. Hayes and G—yes, Miss Pierce?”

  She smiled sweetly. “Just wanted to make sure I said thank you, sir. Thank you, sir.”

  More laughter. Mr. Hauberk shot her a defeated look and continued to read from the sheet.

  Once more, the balance of power had been restored. With Mr. Hauberk, anyway. David, she wasn't so sure about.

  Catherine glanced over at him. His face betrayed nothing. If he was displeased with this arrangement, she was left none the wiser. Others certainly were. Disgruntled murmurs tore through the room like wildfire.

  “Poor David. Can you imagine having her as a partner?”

  David was staring down at his notes, oblivious. Or so it seemed. His hearing was as good as hers. Catherine knew he could hear the whispers. But did he believe the rumors?

  Don't be stupid. Think he'll come running back like some knight in shining armor to sweep you off your feet? You know exactly where he stands. He made that all quite clear three years ago.

  It was an ugly, sneering voice, rather like the ones that were gossiping about her at that very moment.

  Unfortunately, it was her own.

  “Singh and Perez.”

  The malcontent's bitter diatribe was still in full swing. “…always late to class … has this wild look in her eyes…swear I've seen them change color…just look at her staring at David…”

  Catherine realized she was, in fact, staring at him, and quickly looked away from David, who, prompted by the rumors, was starting to look up—and found herself locking eyes with Karen.

  Like David, and Catherine herself, Karen wasn't human. That was the end of their similarities. Karen Shields was a full-blooded witch, practically royalty, and she was looking at Catherine the way one would look at some gooey glop stuck to the bottom of their shoe.

  Predator did not like witches. Neither did Prey.

  Again, when the two of them agreed on something, it usually boded trouble.

  Was Karen trouble? Catherine had never had any contact with her before. What? She mouthed.

  Karen stared at her a moment longer and then slowly lowered her eyes. Somehow the way she did it didn't convey submission so much as extreme distaste. It was a pretty trick. Catherine was annoyed with the witch for knowing how to play shifter games. Because Karen was a witch, and witches had no business dabbling in such matters.

  She is a witch, Catherine reminded herself. A witch with connections.

  Was it possible that Karen was linked to the male witch who had attacked her in the gully?

  Catherine tried to think of what she could have done to merit her hatred. She may have “accidentally” jostled Karen in the ribs a couple of times as they were coming into class, but surely Karen wouldn't have her killed over that. Any shifter would have done the same.

  “…giving Karen the evil eye now. Be careful. She might launch another attack of bodily fluids.”

  Bonnie “Pisser” Sung was the disgruntled gossiper. Why did that not surprise her?

  Catherine channeled the predatory stare of a leopard and waited, leaning her elbow against the lab table and propping up her chin with the back of her hand. Leaning forward the way she was, taking up as much space as possible, she looked far larger than she actually was. Much more intimidating. It was a trick most animals knew, whether predator or prey.

  Bonnie's seatmate noticed first, elbowed Bonnie, and pointed. The two of them stared at Catherine. She stared back, nonplussed, confidant that she was the dominant in this interaction. She was much better at staring than they were. It did not take long for them to look away.

  “…and Sung and Buchanan,” Mr. Hauberk finished, setting down the sheet of paper. He looked quite pleased with himself. Catherine wanted to stuff the paper down his throat and gag him with it. “I'll give you all the rest of class to meet up with your partners and exchange contact information.”

  Gods damn it.

  Technically, this entire meeting was superfluous. She still had his number down by rote. Not that she ever would have admitted this in a million years. Besides, his parents had probably had their numbers changed by now. She wouldn't be surprised if they'd contemplated a restraining order.

  When it became clear that she had no intention of approaching him, David got up and walked over to her desk. He had brought his notebook with him, but far from making him look dorky, the way Chase or a similar boy would have looked in his position, it made him look artistic. Scholarly.

  Not fair, Catherine thought. And it wasn't. But life rarely was.

  “Well.” His face looked more serious than usual. He spoke before she could get a word in, all in a rush. “I suppose we should exchange numbers. Although if you prefer e-mail…”

  “Aren't you afraid of me?”

  David frowned. “Afraid of you? Why would I be afraid of you?”

  “Because I'm bad news,” she said. “Walking trouble. Cursed. Jinxed. A freak. I might steal your first born, give you bad juju, suck you dry. Take your pick.”

  A deep blush rose in his olive cheeks.

  It took her a moment to realize how what she'd said could be misconstrued.

  “That's not what I meant,” she growled, suddenly flustered and angry because of it. “You—”

  “I know what you meant.” His voice was quiet, perfectly composed, but the pink hadn't left his face. What Catherine had initially taken for embarrassment was beginning to look more like anger.

  She opened her mouth, but David was faster.

  “I was hoping you wouldn't bring it up, though. I should have known that you were petty enough—and spiteful enough—to do so.”

  The flames of annoyance became a full-blown holocaust. “How dare you. You have no right!”


  “I'm not my parents' mouthpiece. I'm sorry about what they did, but if this is how you're going to act then maybe—”

  “Maybe what?”

  David faltered, then said, “Then maybe they did the right thing, you know?”

  In that split second, Catherine had never hated anyone as much as she hated David. The feeling coursed through her body, seeping into her senses one by one, and where it touched, nerves whited out. All she could see was a fiery red color that eclipsed everything else, that may have been her own blood boiling before her eyes.