Blood of Gato

Cain didn't even glance at the paper. His eyes stayed locked just past William's shoulder—straight on Leticia.

"You're tied to it, aren't you?" William asked, giving the letter a small shake.

"And why does that interest you?" Cain countered, voice dry.

Leticia let out a theatrical sigh and folded her arms across her chest.

"Seigneur, cher, will ya stop playin' Mister Riddle already? We get it—you all dark an' broody, so mysterious. But now, pourquoi pas, jus' gimme it straight: what were ya doin' last night in Mateo's house, and pourquoi dat letter smell like you, eh?" She wrinkled her nose.

Cain lowered his chin for a heartbeat—ready to stall—but then changed his mind. His lips twisted into a thin, cruel smile. Eyes narrowing, he spoke.

"Yes. I'm connected. I wrote the letter, for the cops—if they decided to come sniffing after Dalia." He stressed the name slowly, firmly, as though correcting a hopeless schoolboy. "That was her name: Dalia. The girl wasn't any better than her rapist. Both of them were running drugs through Mexico, hiding behind tequila shipments. And tequila's sacred." He smirked at his own line. "I started watching her after I heard from the news she'd seen you, Gato, butcher her boy toy. I decided it'd be smart to get rid of the witness before she blabbed. Why'd you even leave a witness to your crime?"

William flicked his eyes to Leticia—and found her giving him that exact look: See? Told you. Who the hell leaves a witness? He rolled his eyes.

"I didn't have time back then," William said flatly. "We were going to handle it. You just got there faster." His mouth twisted—and for a second, he almost looked ashamed. "Sounds filthy out loud, but… thanks, I guess. For shutting her up before she outed me."

The words scalded his throat; nausea stirred low in his gut. Murder sounded too casual now, too routine.

"My pleasure, friend," Cain replied as if discussing the weather. "One day, I hope you'll do me a favor in return."

"So dere's his value," Leticia drawled lazily, eyes coasting over Cain's hands. "Means we don't gotta dirty our own lil' fingers, non?"

"You… killed Daria yesterday?" William asked, already grimacing at the slip.

"Dalia," Cain corrected without a hint of goodwill. "And no. I killed her and buried her two weeks ago. At night. It was quite romantic. I went to Mateo's house because of you. When I left five bodies outside the apartment of that girl... what was her name... Sophie, I think. You didn't respond to my message. So I decided to look for you directly. I followed Sophie, found out that you're a student at Bulman University, and then followed your scent."

William rubbed the base of his neck. Cold fingers of unease crawled there.

"Lovely," Leticia purred, predator's spark in her eye. "Now he a stalker too. William, I'm findin' more reasons by de minute ta twist dis hound's neck. Honest-ta-God, I don' even know pourquoi we pulled him outta dat house… coulda left his ass wit' de smoke an' flame. Fire woulda cleaned up nice, cher."

Cain's lips curved into a smile that carried no warmth.

"You burned down that bastard's house, didn't you?" he asked, almost idly.

Silence followed. William looked down at the letter. His fingers folded it again, neat along the creases, avoiding Cain's gaze. Leticia bit her lip, sliding him a sideways glance. The air hung thick with a faint tang of ash—like smoke clinging stubbornly to the fabric of William's jacket.

No one answered. No answer was needed.

"Cool," Cain chuckled.

"If it's not a secret," Leticia drawled, idly tugging grass blades through her fingers like prayer beads, "how long ya been awake in dem powers o' yours, mon chou?"

"Four years an' five months," Cain answered after a short pause, like he was cross-checkin' an internal calendar. "Truth is, I've only met a few others like us. None of 'em were like me—or like Gato." He tilted his chin toward William.

"I see…" Leticia drew the words out slow. "An' what 'bout you, cher? What do ya know 'bout yo'self?"

"I'm a therianthrope. Jackal subtype. Or, simply put, a Dogman," Cain said evenly, scratchin' at his beard.

Leticia gave a satisfied little humph. Less lecture, better.

"And you, Gato? What are you really?" Cain turned to William, his amber eyes curious, not mockin'.

William hesitated, his shoulders rounding forward as if some unseen burden had settled on 'em. The wind shifted his hair, an' for a split second, his pupils slit down to narrow slivers, sunlit feline.

"What do you think?" he asked, answerin' the question with a question.

"I think you're an Eluranthrope," Cain said careful-like. "If I'm wrong, forgive me. But with eyes like a cat's… the possibilities narrow."

William bit the inside of his cheek. This jackal knew more than he liked. Cain wasn't just brawn an' feral rage—he had knowledge to spare. Knowledge William himself, younger in the blood, didn't yet have.

Leticia suddenly hid a laugh behind the back of her hand, shoulders shakin'. Cain looked at her, puzzled.

"Did I say somethin' funny?"

"Oh, pardon, bébé," she fanned her hands like catchin' her breath. "It's jus'—ya say 'Eluranthrope' an' I once met one! An' lawd, he got it in his head to stick his claws in his ears 'cause de noise too loud."

She mimicked the motion, jamming invisible fingers into her head.

"BAM! Right through—popped his own brains like a pecan."

Cain snorted—and then he cracked, lettin' out a harsh, gravelly laugh. The sound climbed into the branches; the crickets answered in shrill chorus. Leticia lost it, her giggles bubblin' louder. For the briefest blink of time, they forgot they'd almost torn each other apart minutes ago.

Only William didn't join. He watched with baffled disgust.

"He… survived?" he asked, hesitant, with an almost childlike hope.

"Who, dat fool?" Leticia tilted her head, then waved dismissively. "Mais non, of course not. Eluranthrope don' heal so good, an' wit' brains, dey not exactly workin' full speed. In both sense o' de word."

"So I was wrong," Cain concluded, wipin' the corner of his eye with the back of his hand. "What are you then?"

"I…" William started—

"He's blue-blood, bébé. Direct descendant o' Bastet hersel'." Leticia finished with a grin.

William clicked his tongue, narrowing his eyes at her. Inside, he wished he could rip her tongue from her mouth—but outwardly, he smiled bright an' false. "Thanks. I almost forgot."

"Always happy to help, cher," she chimed, beamin'.

"Well now," Cain whistled, spreadin' his shoulders like an actor on stage. "Guess we ought to be more respectful. I'm dressed poorly. Perhaps…" he dipped his head in a mock-bow, "…I should kneel?"

"Pfft, nah-nah, dat ain't near 'nough," Leticia tossed back with a smirk, her eyes gleamin' again. "We gotta drop to our knees proper an' kiss de boy's boots. Take turns, so we don' squabble who go first."

Cain chuckled. She grinned. A handshake of humor sparkin' between them like new partners on the same cruel stage.

William sat rigid, the muscle under his eye twitchin'. Somewhere high in the crown of the trees, a squirrel chattered angrily—as though voicing William's very thoughts.

"I already regret not killin' both of you when I had the chance," he said through his teeth, smilin' with a politeness so sharp it made you want to take a step back.