Page 12 of Tiger Born

“Well, that may be how we escaped. Stellan is hard to pull off a hunt.”

“I never saw the other one. Marsden? Can I ask now?”

He puffed air out of his cheeks. He’d known this was coming. It was just a complicated answer.

“I can’t give you the full explanation.”

“Give me what you can. I deserve to know why he came after me years ago, and I deserve to know why he came after me last night. What do I need to protect myself from?”

Agitated, Dame scratched his forehead and leaned his elbows on the table, clenched his fists. “Stellan has a tiger problem. When he was Turned, something went wrong.”

“Turned,” she repeated softly as she poured what looked like a thick beef stew into a huge bowl. “What does Turned mean? You’re not born this way?”

“Hardly anyone is. Being a shifter means someone hated you enough to poison you and ruin your life. No one chooses this.”

She cast a glance at his chest, then lifted those pretty blue eyes to him. “The healing is pretty cool.”

“The tiger is hard to control, and we have to live in hiding. We can never make mistakes. Add to that a brother who doesn’t give a fuck about any of that.”

“Who Turned you?”

He shook his head. “Too deep,” he said, remembering her communication rules.

“Was it a girlfriend?” she asked softly.

“You’re asking me about girls?” he asked, confused. Was she curious about his dating history?

“Yes.”

He cleared his throat and parted his lips to explain his relationships, then hesitated. “Misty, that can’t happen between us.”

She put the bowl of stew into the microwave and turned it on, then cast a glance over her shoulder. “What can’t happen?” Her tone sounded so innocent.

Did she find him attractive? Did she like him? Nah, she must’ve just been a curious personality. He was no doctor. Hell, he wasn’t even human.

“We don’t pair up. We can’t.”

“Sounds like a lonely life. Why can’t you?”

“It’s not allowed.”

“Who makes the rules?”

“Cats.”

“Why the rule?”

He leaned back and rested his hands on his hips. This was the first time he’d ever talked to a woman about this. “Do you want babies someday?”

“Yes.”

“Eighty percent of our babies would be stillborn. They wouldn’t even look human. You would have to mourn animals you can’t get to air.”

“Oh my gosh,” she whispered in horror. “The twenty percent?”

“Would be born human, but the eyes stay.”

“What does that mean?”