Page 31 of Peacock Me Like a Hurricane

I skim down the page, hunting for the answer.

Fuck! Six to eight weeks?! Are they kidding me with this?

Why in the hell am I in heat, anyway? The primary purpose of that is procreation, which isn’t possible with clones. Everyone knows they shoot blanks. One of the best things about mates inthe Rift is that none of the dudes can knock you up, so every shitty form of birth control is unnecessary.

Blanching, I suck in a breath. Am I stuck like this until I get…? If I can’t, am I stuck forever?

Motherfucker.

They might have to lock me in a padded room. This gets worse every day. Each time I indulge, I’m more out of control. Thank the Goddess clones are so resilient and my healing is so prolific because I tear us both ragged.

Flipping through the related links, I’m fascinated, especially because of the comment Diz made about feline DNA. There’s obviously a connection. I’d love to ask him, but I know it hasn’t been enough time for him to have anything conclusive to offer me.

I growl in impatience, noting how familiar—and embarrassing—the details are. My nose wrinkles as I consider the possibility that Diz might not help with this aspect of things. I guess I gotta find a vet? Worse comes to worst, I suppose I could let the eggheads at the Company take a gander at me. They’ve probably beendyingto get their grubby hands on me.

Ugh, no. I’m no one’s lab rat.

Not that I don’t trust Taurus to keep them in line, because I do. It’s the thought of someone using me as their personal lab experiment gives me an Aldous Huxley style wiggins. But I may not have another choice. I can’t go on ripping everyone to shreds forever.

Something has to give.

If only that damned phone would ring.

The Cat Tries To Avoid A Cat-Astrophe

DELILAH

“Oi, love. You know you have to make an appearance. It’s Shea’s birthday. You have a relationship with him, casual though it may be, and he’ll be hurt.”

I sigh and look at Rafe pleadingly, but he shakes his head. “The parties here are huge Mardi gras-style festivals that last an entire month. Taurus won’t want to go, and I wouldn’t ask him to. Plus, I have way too much on my plate: loss of mates, in heat, taking flack over that fucking bar, Beltane, and a secret mating with Taurus. Knowing Tamara, it will be absolutely debauched to prove that she can throw a bacchanal like we do. I don’t want to be in public with all of those huge targets on my back.”

“It’s not Shea’s fault that his woman’s a fruitcake, love. You know that it’s poor form not to pop in, even if it’s brief.” Hex tilts his head. “The rest of us can go for longer, but you have to show up.”

“You’re both right.” I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose. Shea will try to get me alone so we can get frisky. He’ll expect it for his birthday and it’s a way to show off at his party. Sadly, that is very much how many people work nowadays.

With the heat, it will be hard to resist, even though she is not a fan of Shea. He’s too weak.

I crack my neck as I muse. “I have to figure out how to get in and out without getting cornered. Hopefully, the folks from Rita’s family will keep Tamara’s family busy enough to cover for my short and sweet drive by. I also have to find a present that doesn’t encourage clinginess. It can’t be too impersonal;, but it also can’t make him think I’m game to start up again.”

“No one knows about Taurus yet except for Sari. She’ll try to out you in public, so you have to avoid her. Pretending to do it accidentally will incite panic and help her beef up their position on the karaoke dump.” Philomena gives me a cool look, her eyes cutting to Siren.

I bet the book at my house has already run the statistics on that scenario. Hex never misses an occasion to play the numbers. “Luckily, she knows extraordinarily little of the big picture. I told her enough to tantalize her curiosity, but not enough for her to let the dogs loose.” I close my eyes, feeling exhausted by all of the shifting three-dimensional chess games with people who are supposed to be my family.

Why do they make everything so damned hard?

“How is the puffed-up fowl, anyway? You said you had to heal an injury?”

I grin. This is a delightful story and I’m so glad she asked. “Yep. He’s doing fine now, but he smashed his hand up. It was wounded pride more than anything. He said he was going to Milan to pick up a new duster from this hairy little Italian guy that does his tailoring. Apparently, he gets handsy and I’m super sad that I’m not there to see it.”

Rafe blinks, then bursts out laughing. “The picture in my head is priceless. How’d he smash his hand?”

Hopping up on the counter, I prepare to relay the tale that took me an hour to get out of my arrogant mate. I don’t thinkhe’d mind me telling my family. Honestly, since Rafe is out of his studio andtalkingto people, it’s important for me to keep the good mood going. I watch as Leo and Sandrine commandeer a big armchair and Hex wiggles into a place next to Siren on the couch. Victor joins Caesar on the loveseat and I smile because everyone’s getting settled in.

“He got a text from the Company for a job. I guess since he freelances, that’s how the reqs come in. Taurus told me that the agents can only call in as ‘not interested’—clones don’t get sick—or ‘over my rotten corpse’. That means the job doesn’t fit with your beliefs or whatever.”

Rafe leans against the bar, cutting his eyes to Victor, and they share a look—they know a bit about this topic.

Philomena pours herself another martini from her shaker and sighs. “One would think they’d try calling in dead given the lackadaisical clones that live here.”

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