Page 56 of Love the Way You Lion (Rise of the Resistance #3)

The Cat Goes Solo To Seek An Old Rival

DELILAH

T aking a deep breath, I inhale as I look at the scenery around me.

It’s smoggy, crisp, and full of delicious-smelling treats that are both on legs and emanating from the shops that line the corridor.

London is a beautiful city, and if I were here with my husband, I would enjoy it as fully as possible.

Hell, even if I were here on assignment, I might take in the stores and give Taurus’ fortune a good ding.

However, the reason that I am here is not as pleasant as those alternatives, and I cannot indulge. I want to be as steely as I can be for this errand, so I can get back to Talia like I promised.

Scratch that—I have to be made of iron and fire to complete this task.

Looking around, my gaze falls on the bookshop at the end of the block.

Its position is on a corner, flush against the buildings on either side.

I’m not fooled by that choice of location as it gives a vantage point to observe 180 degrees of entry.

I’d bet a month of extra training sessions that the back of the building has little to no space to maneuver and that the subterranean levels connect into tunnels and old London siege escape paths.

I would expect no less from her.

Twirling the stem of the water glass in my fingers, I watch the passers-by come and go as humans do.

Some in a hurry, some distracted, some trudging along—I’ve always known that most of them are not conditioned to be the apex predators that their biology suggests.

Even before the mutation, I knew that something separated me from the rest of the people I lived, worked, and played with throughout my life.

Now I know: magick.

It’s not the only thing that has redefined my self-image—the beast has her own role—but I know as surely as the sun rises in the East that I have never been one of them.

It explains much of my childhood and young adult life.

I always felt like a square peg in a round hole—too smart, too wild, too angry, too passionate—to fit in, no matter what the situation was.

I took control, not because I was driven to lead as much as to ensure that I did not grow bored.

Though I suppose I can’t claim that control is something I’ve always yearned for.

My beast and I have made our peace, particularly since she mated with his demon.

We work together rather than against one another most of the time, and for that; I am grateful.

My magick is another story—it’s as untamed as the foliage in my sacred space.

Hours tick by as I learn the patterns of traffic on foot and on the street.

Patience has never been one of my virtues, but training for the Company has taught me the value of reconnaissance.

I know enough of my prey to feel confident, but not of her current base of operations.

Without a solid plan, this could go horribly awry .

After all, the last time I saw Heraclea Titania St. James, she was falling from the roof of a skyscraper—that I threw her off.

New York City, a decade ago…

“You haven’t won!”

She looks at me with satisfaction, a silky purr escaping her lips.

The jade-green eyes behind the fake librarian glasses dance in amusement, and she tosses her wild mane of coal, silver, and gold over her shoulder.

The lights of the city glisten on her ebony skin as she pops her hip out, throws her head back, and fucking laughs.

“Oh, little girl. You are the cutest thing on this side of the Hudson. Haven’t you learned by now that I always win?”

Balling my fists in rage, I dig my nails into my palms; the pain focuses my mind for a moment. This bitch has been plaguing me since middle school, and no matter where I go, she turns up like a bad penny. My life goes to absolute shit every time she shows up.

Trust me, I can fuck up my life well enough on my own without Clea around to give me an assist.

“Fuck you and fuck your stupid-ass riddles. I don’t know why you are always here, but get the hell out of my city and leave me alone!”

Tapping her four-inch heel-clad foot, Clea stands like a goddess out of a comic book.

Her style is never the same, not even from day to day.

This evening she’s wearing a gold lame mini dress that leaves nothing to the imagination, matching designer hooker heels, and chunky gold jewelry.

Without the glasses, she’d look like she was ready to tour with Beyonce .

As if she’s read my mind, she smirks, clicking a long shiny fingernail against the corner of the frames. They immediately turn into designer aviators, and her look is complete. “Is this better, sugar? I can’t have you judging me for something as trivial as the wrapper for my candy.”

I throw up my hands in disgust, growling loudly. “I don’t fucking care if you have magick, Clea. It didn’t impress me as a kid, and it sure as hell doesn’t now. Go home.”

Her laugh is throaty, and she waggles her finger at me. “Uh-uh, little girl. I’m here to stay—as long as you are. If I were you, I’d hide all of my friends and lovers. You know that I have no trouble claiming what is rightfully mine.”

Hate can be a venom to your soul, and mine has always been crawling through my soul like vines wrapping around an ancient temple.

I work hard to create space and relegate those parts of me to a compartment that I can manage, but my past with Clea always proves an impossible fire to quench.

I can feel it snaking through my veins as I watch her strut and pontificate.

“—and if I remember correctly, the score is Delilah zero, Clea seven.” Her smirk is cruel as I remember all seven of those incidents, and my chest aches with the re-opened wound.

“Jesus, fuck, Clea. What the hell did I ever do to you? Why have you made my misery your life’s mission?”

Shrugging, she studies her nails. “I get bored easily.”

Rage burns inside me as I think of my childhood best friend, Elysia.

She defected to Clea’s camp upon her arrival in sixth grade.

They made my life hell until I transferred to a different school system for middle school.

The first boy I had a crush on, Drew, fell victim to her charms within a week of her arrival in seventh grade.

The next girlfriend I had, Rayna, moved to another state when Clea sicced the popular kids on her the next year.

Every time I found a handhold, she was there to push me down. Each year she found a friend or crush—Jax, Mellie, Shayna, Nikolai—and either claimed them as her own or drove them away for fear of her wrath. I spent my school years alone and fighting an enemy that might as well be invincible.

“Bored?! You get bored?!” I screech, my anger fueling each step as I move closer to her.

She watches me, lips quirked in amusement as if I’m a character in a TV show that she’s grown fond of. “Yes. Bored. You must know what it's like to be moving eighty miles an hour in a fifty mile an hour zone, even if you can’t compete with me.”

Halting, I tilt my head, knowing exactly what she means. “So? That means you can get your jollies by destroying a human being every single chance that you get? What gives you the right?”

That’s not the question I should ask, but it’s the one I most want the answer to. I should ask how she finds me and ingratiates herself into my life every time I think I’ve escaped.

“Deli, Deli, Deli. You still have not learned that I have no interest in torturing humans, nor do I owe you answers to your excruciatingly tiresome questions. The only thing you will ever get from me is failure.” Her sunglasses disappear, and I can see her eyes glittering with glee.

Taking slow, measured steps, she crosses the distance between us to give me a smug grin.

What in the actual fuck? Why does she always do this? What the hell did I do to the Universe to deserve her?

My eyes rake over her, assessing her attire and comparing it with mine.

I’m dressed in a tiny plaid skirt, fishnets, a half-buttoned oxford, and steel-toed Docs.

My ‘rude grrl’ phase might piss my parents off, but it’s made this confrontation much easier.

She doesn’t have the upper hand in her clubbing clothes, and I do.

“Clea, I don’t know what you call your campaign of terror, but I’m an adult now. I’m not letting you get away with bully bullshit from high school. You haven’t seen me since graduation, and a lot of things have changed.”

A perfectly sculpted brow arches. “Do tell, little girl. I’m on the edge of my seat.”

I roll my head on my shoulders, drop my bag, and roll my sleeves up to my elbows.

She watches as I flick the few buttons undone on my shirt and tie it under my breasts.

Feeling my movements freed up, I crack my knuckles loudly and drop into a defensive stance.

“I won’t let you ruin what I’ve built here.

I’m studying what I love, and I will be on stage someday, listening to the crowd roar. You can’t take that away from me.”

Her eyes narrow, and she watches me, admiration flashing for a second before she lets out another laugh. “Oh, honey. Who has convinced you that the Great White Way will have you? I must meet them and congratulate them on a crueler trick than I ever could have played.”

Bristling, I step forward, fists up as I invade her space. “You won’t get the chance to find out, bitch. I’m ending this here and now. This is our last dance, Heraclea Titania St. James, and when I’m done, you can crawl home to your absent parents and lick your wounds alone.”

Within seconds, we launched at one another and hit the rough gravel on the rooftop with a thud.

Clea and I have been physical before, but that was before I took two years of mixed martial arts.

Instead of the girly, hair-pulling slap fights we had in the past, this time we were at it for real.

The tang of blood hits the air, and I don’t know which one of us got injured, but it won’t be the last blood drawn tonight.

Rolling to the side, I pop to my feet, bouncing on my soles as I watch her get up.

No one in the universe should be that quick on their feet in four-inch heels.

The Goddess is not with me this evening, and I don’t know if she’s sided with Clea or angry at the violence.

I circle her in criss-crossing steps, eyes sharp and posture tense.

Her arm shoots out and I duck, her right hook missing my face by a hair.

Cracking my neck again, I dart forward, aiming for her gut.

She weaves and I tumble, somersaulting over glass and debris with a snarl.

This is a street brawl, and luckily for us, there’s no one up here to stop it.

“Well, isn’t that cute? The kitty cat has some moves. You have been busy.”

My grin is feral as I advance on her. “That I have, Clea. I am not a fool. As much as I prayed you would stay the hell away, I knew you wouldn’t. You’re like a bad case of crabs—you just keep coming back, no matter how many times I try to get rid of you.”

“Crabs, huh?” She snorts, dodging my left cross. “I knew you were a witch, but I wasn’t aware you were whoring yourself out. How did I miss that?”

Growling, I lunge and knock her to the ground, getting in a few jabs to her ribs before her feet hit my stomach and push me off.

Her shoes go flying with me, and she leaps to her feet with the grace of a predator.

I crouch as I catch my breath, watching her for a telegraph of her next move.

She grins like a Cheshire cat, dancing away backwards.

“Here, kitty, kitty… I’ve got a nice ass-beating for you… ”

I ignore her taunts, knowing that her ability to bait me has worked to my detriment in the past. It allowed her to give me a shiner days before my first Homecoming and break my wrist before a solo in the sophomore musical.

I reported none of it, preferring to fight my own battles.

My parents thought I was clumsy, and I let them.

I have always known that with Heraclea Titania St. James; I was on my own.

“You will never let it go that you got away with poisoning Hecate, will you?”

Her grin widens. “Whatever do you mean? I would never harm an innocent animal.”

“You poisoned her, and she died, you goddamn psycho!” I screech, the pain of that memory making my heart ache. Of all the things Clea took from me, my only lifeline being a fat black cat that I’d rescued was the worst.

Eyes glittering in an unworldly fashion, she takes a step back and waits. “What if I did?”

I don’t know what comes over me, but the red haze of rage covers me so completely that I charge like a rhino. Hitting her square in the gut, I send her flying backwards and, like a horror movie come to life, I watch her fly backwards over the edge of the roof.

Her shriek echoes off the skyscrapers and building as I rush to the edge and look over, watching her flail on her way down. Whirling around, I wait for the sound of a crunch and a car alarm going off, unable to look at the gore that awaits below.

I killed her.

Holy fucking goddamned shit.

I fucking killed her .

Panic takes over, and I run to the shoes, bag, and shirt on the ground.

Scooping them up, I clutch them to my chest as I head into the building and down the steps as fast as I can without tumbling down them.

After thirty floors, I hit the basement, eyes wide as I look for a way out.

I find a locked door that must be for maintenance and knock it down with a spinning roundhouse full of adrenaline.

Looking out into the alley, I scan for witnesses before beating a hasty retreat into the darkness. If I can get away, if I can avoid anyone seeing me, I may not end up in prison for the rest of my natural life. Just as Clea predicted, Broadway was now no longer an option.

In fact, I will have to lie as low as possible until I know for sure that her case is closed. To do that, I’ll have to drop out of school and disappear.

Even in death, Heraclea Titania St. James is ruining my life.