Rest, Cather. He’s safe
.
Silly kit. What did Hill know? He was being seduced by the confident voice and the touches that knew just where to press and where to stroke and where to scratch.
“Your coloring is beautiful,” the man told Hill, and Cather could feel that his lover was enjoying every touch, arching into it.
Traitor.
He found the shadows. They were Darri’s, and Darri was gone. Cather would never let himself enjoy anything ever again.
I can’t live in the dark, Cather
.
He closed his eyes tight.
Fine. Don’t
.
Hill would figure it out or not. He didn’t care. Cather kept telling himself that.
Hill chirruped unhappily.
No. No, don’t be like that
. He hated that Cather was curled up on his own, drawing away.
Hill tried to stand up, but he was too weak, too tired.
“Easy, kit. You haven’t had any food in far too long.” The man’s hands were magical, so gentle, but firm enough it felt like a proper grooming. “I’ve got meat in the fridge in the other room. I’ll bring it out in a bit.”
He looked back over his shoulder, but Cather wasn’t looking at him.
“It’s okay, kit. He’ll come around -- I’m not going anywhere.” The man’s fingers curled, scratching behind his ears. “I’m Jag, pretty kitty. I bet you’ve got a great name.”
He did. He had a glorious name. Hill. Hill and Cather.
“If you shifted, you could let me know what it is. In the meantime I’ll just keep on with the nicknames.” There was a thread of laughter in the man’s -- Jag’s -- voice. He seemed very nice and he gave the best scratches. It had been so very long since he’d felt those. Cather didn’t know what he was missing, being a stubborn kitty. This was worth coming out from under the covers for.
Of course, Cather had been the one who was strong enough to wait for Darri to come and find them in the first place. Darri, who they’d killed. Their beautiful lover, the strong one. Their savior, their master.
The ear-scratching turned to petting again. “Shh. Shh. Easy. Easy.”
How had Jag known he was upset? Hill keened, calling for help, for comfort and care.
“Oh, kit. I don’t know what’s wrong, but you’re okay. You’re safe. You’re cared for.”
Hill keened again and Cather leapt up at the sound, finding the energy somewhere to charge at Jag, snarling.
Jag put his hands up, but didn’t run away or look scared at all. “Hey kitty, it’s okay. I’m not hurting anyone. You’re both good.”
Cather stood up to the big man, huge paw planted on the floor as he roared. Jag didn’t back down, though, proving himself either stupid or brave.
Then Jag shifted. One moment the man was standing there, the next he was a stunning black jaguar with beautiful silver spots. Jag roared, the sound echoing around the room. Then he lay down on the bed, curled up and unthreatening.
Cather crumpled, legs collapsing underneath him, fuzzy chin hitting the floor. Jag immediately shifted back and ran to Cather, gathering him up and laying him down on the bed next to Hill. “Oh, dear boy, you don’t need to expend all your energy here. I will keep the both of you safe and secure. I’m going to get meat so you can both get some much-needed sustenance. Come lie with him, kit.”
Jag rubbed Hill’s head and pointed at Cather. “Go. I’ll be right back with food.” Then Jag disappeared through the door in the wall.
Hill head-butted Cather.
Wake up. Wake up, Cather.
There was a soft sigh but nothing else. His love had used up every last bit of energy standing up for him. Unnecessarily. They weren’t in danger here -- Hill could feel it. He yowled softly, looking for Cather to crack an eyelid or something. Anything. When that didn’t happen, he started grooming his mate, smoothing the dull, rough fur.
The door opened quietly -- Jag returning -- and Hill’s nose was flooded with the scent of fresh meat.
Oh
. Oh, he was hungry. This could be a good place. Couldn’t it? He rumbled, so confused.
“The food is safe,” Jag assured him. “I’m going to shift back and have a bite -- show you that there’s nothing in it.”
Jag laid a large plate piled high with meat on the ground, then shifted and snatched up a piece, moving away from the plate to sit and eat it. Jag took his time, then began to groom, licking his paws, then cleaning his muzzle, his whiskers.
Hill crawled to the plate, nose working hard, then he pounced. The meat was as fresh as any he’d ever had and it tasted amazing. Jag made a soft, approving sound but didn’t move from his out-of-the-way spot.
Cather. Cather, come eat. Please
.
Nothing.
While he might have wanted Cather to join him, Hill couldn’t wait. He ate until his snarling belly was full, until he felt replete and sleepy. There was still meat left, still plenty for Cather if he changed his mind.
Jag went over to the water bowl and drank. Then he shifted, once again becoming a man, and wandered to the bed, sitting next to Cather and petting him. “Do you think he’s being stubborn, or is he so exhausted he can’t wake?”
Hill knew Cather’s heart was broken. He was lost. Totally lost.
Jag went on. “When you’ve eaten and drunk your fill, why don’t you come and sit with us, curl up around your mate? I’m going to shift back into my jaguar and curl up with you, if that’s okay?”
Hill cleaned his paws, his face, then hopped up to snuggle with his silent, still mate. Jag became a cat again, lying next to him, his body so warm against Hill’s back.
Hill called to his lover.
Cather. Mate. Love.
There was no answer. None at all.
Jag began to rumble, the sound incredibly soothing. Hill groomed Cather’s face, then settled, his body heavy, his belly full. Aside from Cather being out of it, this was better than things had been in a long time.
Hill would take it. For now.
Jag spent the night curled up with the kitties, moving in his sleep from next to them to around them. He already had a protective streak a mile wide going with them, and he expected that would increase as he got to know them better. He was glad at least one of them had eaten. He just wished the other had as well, or at least hadn’t expended all his energy needlessly protecting his mate.
He stood on the bed when he woke up and stretched, a yawn spreading his jaws wide. There were no windows in the mauve room, but he could feel in his bones that the sun was already up. He began to groom his paws, his claws, his face. He would have loved to have groomed the kitties as well, but if they woke up to find him doing that, they would likely balk. They weren’t in the right headspace yet. He always had to tamp down his desire to help and heal, his need to make it better as soon as possible. Patience was the way to go.
Soon they would be better; soon they would be well enough to leave. That thought sent a pang through him. He wasn’t ready to think about them leaving -- he’d only just met them. And that made him stop grooming. He’d never been unhappy about the prospect of his rescues becoming well enough to leave before. Strange. He examined that thought, then he pushed it away.
He returned to grooming, making sure he nudged the friendlier kit now as he did so. The slightly smaller one’s eyes popped open, rolling for a second until they focused on him. What a lovely chuffing sound the kit made. Jag purred softly and licked his paw, then dragged it along the smaller kit’s fur, grooming him. The little one rolled over, stretching out long and tall.
Oh, pretty, and such lovely thick fur. He put a single paw on the exposed chest and began to lick the belly, dragging his tongue along the pale belly fur. It was dull now, but soon, with food and care, it would be perfectly soft and shiny.
Jag continued to groom, waiting to hear some response from the kit. The little one rolled over again and nuzzled Jag’s paw, the motion sweet, needy. Jag licked the sweet muzzle, rumbling out his pleasure at the contact.
The kit batted at his compatriot, who didn’t even crack an eyelid.
Jag would bring in more meat shortly, and if that didn’t rouse the kit, he was calling in the doc. Yowling softly, worried, he continued to groom the more lively of the two.
Cather. Cather, wake up
.
The call was clear, sure, and Jag shook his head, trying to clear it. He would have thought it was his imagination, except it had been loud inside his skull.
Cather. That was the unconscious one’s name, and the little one was beginning to worry about him. Jag could read all that in the one word that swept through him.
Cather swatted at the other kit and missed.
Cather, please! Don’t go. Please. I don’t want to die
.
Jag yowled loudly. Nobody was dying on his watch. He shifted, landing all naked and rubbing up against the little one’s soft fur. He dug his fingers into Cather’s fur, feeling for and finding a heartbeat.
“You have to wake up now, Cather, or I’m going to get the doctor. You’re worrying the little one.”
The skinny body was too light, too still, but one eye opened nonetheless.
“Hello, Cather. Welcome back to the world. I’m getting some meat now for you. While I’m gone, you assure the little one you aren’t going to leave him.” He rubbed the skinny belly, then gave the little kit some love too before padding out the door to the rest of the suite.
The fridge had been restocked with fresh meat overnight. Deer, by the color and smell of it. His own stomach grumbled. He’d have to shift back and share with the kits. He loved fresh venison.
He could hear rowling and yowling, the little one chastising Cather unhappily. A beautiful pair of bottoms, he’d bet they both were dominant in different areas, making do as they had to. What they needed was an Alpha, a ruler of the pack.
He shook his head. Not him. That wasn’t how this worked. He was supposed to remain aloof. He didn’t claim boys of his own, no matter what.
He shook himself and brought the meat into the kits’ room, eyes immediately going to the bed. The kits were gone, all but the tip of one tail, waving back and forth on the floor. Oh, he knew this game. He totally did, and it was an excellent sign.
He closed the door behind him, then slowly put down the plate of meat, setting it in the corner, never letting his eyes slide away from that tail. Then he pounced for it, shifting in the air and landing on all four paws. The little one spun, popping out from under the bed and swatting him. He chuffed merrily, twisting to try to catch the sweet little lynx. The kit was quick, though, and Jag wound up banging his head into a wall when the little one twisted away from him at the last minute.
Not little.
The wee one puffed right up.
Jag stood for a second and shook his head, clearing it. Then he pounced, landing on the little one and bringing him down. If this one didn’t want to be called little, Jag needed a name.
Cather came out from where he’d been hiding, spitting and wild, defending the wee one with all he had. Jag turned, staying between the little one and Cather. He puffed himself up and yowled, telling Cather to back off. He wasn’t here to hurt anyone -- they were playing.
Cather braced himself and roared, the sound sharp and loud, but there was pure exhaustion behind the cry. Jag called back, making sure the sound wasn’t aggressive. Then he went over to the plate of food and took the top piece of meat. He retreated to the other corner of the room. From there he could keep an eye on Cather and the wee one and make sure they ate.
Hill
.
The name filled his entire mind.
My name is Hill.
Okay, little one. Your name is Hill
.
He liked it. He went back to eating, pleased to know both their names now.
Hill crept out from under the bed, nostrils flaring.
Nummies. Share?
Yes, sweet Hill. As much as you want
.
He’d heard of this kind of communication, but never shared it, not even with his brother.
Thank you
. Hill touched noses with him, so soft.
He licked Hill’s nose, chuffing softly. He liked this one. A lot.
Cather? Cather, food. Aren’t you hungry?
Hill asked.
The answer was a
harrumph
.
Jag shook his head. That was silly, to continue to grow hungry from pride or stubbornness.
Eat
. He shot the word at Cather.
Cather curled in on himself even tighter. Stubborn boy. Hill went to the food, though, stealing a piece of meat and bringing it over to Cather, nudging it toward him. Cather’s belly snarled, but the stubborn kit didn’t reach for the bite.
Jag stood and went over, grumbling at Cather.
Eat
.
Cather gave him his back, flipping his tail. Jag swiped at it with his paw. Hill’s eyes were huge, watching them like it was a tennis match.
Eat
, Jag repeated as loudly as he could. He pushed the meat closer to Cather. He wasn’t letting the stubborn idiot pass out from hunger.
Jag kept his eyes fastened on Cather, refusing to back down. Hill purred, tail lashing, trying to comfort them both. Jag wanted to give Hill a lick or two and let him know it was okay, but it was more important to get Cather to eat.
Let me die
.
Oh, no, he didn’t think so. No. No. He would force-feed Cather if he had to. He would never let his kits go. The thought was sharp, sudden, and utterly overwhelming.
He growled, almost snarled.
Eat. Now
.
Cather spun around, tried to attack him, and Jag wrapped the little lynx in his arms, covering him completely.
Cather screamed, and he heard,
No! No! Darri! Darri-love! Master, save me!
Hill moaned, and the sorrow was sharp, overwhelming.
Oh fuck, these poor, poor kits. They’d endured a lot of horrors.
Safe. Safe. Safe.
He sent it over and over, not letting Cather go. He had the kit, and Cather was going to have to accept that.