Feral Northern Shifters 2

Ethan ignored his stomach too, which was now growling with hunger. The cat was not quite skeletal, but his hipbones jutted out and ribs could be counted. The bony spine made Ethan appear vulnerable, but Bram knew, from holding him, that Ethan had hidden wells of strength left.
After a while, Bram suspected that Ethan was trying to make some statement by the amount of time he was spending in the bathroom. Well, Doug had said the cats would want to show control and as long as they showed it by thorough personal grooming, and not by attacking anyone, it seemed relatively harmless.
Ethan finally stepped away from the mirror, the sharp planes of his face evident, his newly short sandy hair already displaying its curl. Bram handed him a towel. When Ethan finished drying himself, he wrapped the towel around his waist.
“Want some clothes?” Bram asked.
“You mean I get some?” Ethan’s hand clasped the towel, knuckles white, and his voice, striving for snide, quavered slightly. He probably heard it himself, because his face heated up and his shoulders stiffened.
Trying to react casually, Bram walked over to the table to pick up sweats and a T-shirt, and gave them to Ethan who deigned to take them. He was shaking, probably from hunger and exhaustion, though perhaps also from trying to maintain his pride in what had to be a difficult position—being held against his will.
“You had clothes before. You actually ripped off the last pair of sweats,” Bram explained and Ethan shot him a glare of disbelief as he pulled on the clothes.
“Your food’s cold.” Doug didn’t hide his impatience as he pointed to the table.
“We cats don’t care about food temperature.” Still Ethan walked over and gingerly sat on the chair, as if the action was a strange one. A long time had likely passed since he’d last sat on a chair.
“That so,” drawled Doug as Ethan ate a mouthful, and Bram wished Doug would shut up and let the cat eat in peace. “How many cats have you known besides yourself?”
Ethan drew his mouth in a tight line.
“None?”
Ethan ignored Doug and instead ate at great speed. Even fast for a shifter, he was almost inhaling the food.
Leave him be, Doug . However, Bram couldn’t say that to his alpha.
“I’ve spoken with one other cat shifter,” Doug informed Ethan, who shot him a wary, startled look. “Callie prefers her food hot, though like most of us shifters she isn’t picky.”
As Ethan finished what was on his tray, he looked up at Bram, then Doug. “Callie. A female,” Ethan said in obvious disbelief. His contempt would have been more effective if his expression didn’t resemble one who was cornered and if there wasn’t a tremor running through his body. Ethan needed more sleep, and less fear. Bram could smell the fear even if Ethan fought to keep the emotion off his face.
“I was surprised too.” Doug nodded as if he and Ethan were in agreement. “Females are rare enough among wolves.”
Something in Ethan seemed to collapse at that. Bram wondered if Ethan was remembering the shewolf, Lila, who had been his companion those eight years ago. Doug didn’t pursue the conversation. Perhaps he finally realized he’d said enough. Instead he picked up the empty tray. Before he left the room, he threw a water bottle at Bram. “Get him to drink.”
When Bram approached Ethan, the cat ducked away and dragged himself over to the bed. He pulled himself up into a ball and lay with his back to Bram. So he simply placed the bottle on the table and sat on the chair. Now that Ethan seemed more aware of his surroundings, it felt invasive, this watching. But there was no question, the cat required surveillance. To be rehabilitated, Ethan needed to remain human. Making this breakthrough, conversation, was a critical first step, but they had a long ways to go.
After a while Ethan’s breathing changed and Bram let out a silent breath of relief. The cat shifter was back asleep.

Chapter Four
    Ethan woke with a start, eyes opened, fists clenched. Fists . He groaned. He didn’t miss the paws that much. After all, human hands were capable of more interesting actions. But Ethan missed his claws. They had protected him on more than one occasion.
    He’d woken from a nightmare, another human trait—having nightmares that scared the shit out of you. His cat wasn’t much given to vivid dreams. He was sick of the nightmares, and what was he doing in these clothes? He began to rip them off.
    Someone stayed his hand