Free A Lion After My Own Heart by Cassie Wright

shut up. But before things go where they have to go, I just want to tell you that I think I understand."
    He gives me a sidelong look, the glance of a man peering out of a cell in which he's voluntarily caged himself for years. "And what do you understand?"
    "You." Before he can interrupt or laugh, I plow on. "I'm a journalist. I've got these instincts, always have. For a story, for the truth. I can look at a person and know them through and through. I can read a story and tell if it's real or fabricated. And you. You caught me from the start. Your eyes. Your lips. Your - your everything. I've never met a man more sincere or more... obfuscated."
    I shake my head in wonder. The words are pouring out of me, from where I don't know. I haven't even vocalized these things to myself, but now, sitting here with him, it's all coming together. "You're running for mayor, but you're a werelion."
    Alexander's hand curls into a fist under my mine and his eyes slide forward again, his whole frame becoming tense. For the first time I'm reminded that I'm sitting next to a feral predator, no matter how fine the suit.
    "You're a werelion, yet you deny it. You haven't been back here in forever. You couldn't be more different from your father."
    "My father?" His eyes go wide with surprise. "You've met him?"
    I laugh bitterly. "I've had the dubious pleasure. I'm surprised he didn't offer me a chance to serve him as a beast of burden."
    "Ha," says Alexander, but there's no humor in his voice. "That must have taken some work. My father doesn't take visitors."
    I give a nonchalant shrug. "I didn't give him much of a choice. But I saw what kind of man he is. And I think - I think you're trying to define yourself by being his opposite."
    Alexander sits up straight, rearing back almost like an offended horse shying up onto its hind legs. "Who are you? How do you know this?"
    "I told you." I feel apologetic. "I'm a reporter. I've got a sense for story. For people. For the truth."
    Alexander shakes his head, and for the first time I can see his control slipping. It's too much. He stands and walks toward the door.
    I stare after him, mind blank, and then leap to my feet. I hurry out after him. He's striding across the bridge of flowers, looking glorious in the afternoon sun, his golden hair burning like a halo in some classical painting. I actually run after him, feet pounding on the bridge's gravel path between the banks of bushes, and grab him by the arm.
    Alexander whirls with such ferocity that I actually cower back, sure that he's going to attack. His eyes are blank, but then he passes his hand over his face.
    "Look," I say, with no idea what I'm going to say next. "Talk to me. Tell me what you're doing. Tell me if I'm wrong if I'm wrong. But if I'm right..." I try to catch his eyes, but he's staring at the ground. "If I'm right, then tell me why. Tell me what's going on. Because there's a wave coming. A tsunami of press coverage that's going to tear your background apart and shove it all into the limelight."
    I realize I'm begging. Pleading with him. I know how much exposure is coming. How much damage this might do not just to him, but to shifter-human relations. This is my one chance to make a difference. To save this man from the pain that's coming his way. And I realize that I really want to. I want to help him, more than I can express.
    "I-I didn't expect you to understand so much." His voice is husky. Alexander takes a deep breath, almost a shuddering one, and then finally looks at me. His gaze is bleak.
    "I didn't either." I feel small and vulnerable before his gaze. Like I've forced myself into a private space uninvited. "But I think I do. Which is why you need to talk to me."
    "OK." He nods, once, twice, with increasing conviction. "OK. I'll talk. But not out here."
    "Where, then? The bar?"
    "No. Come with me." And with that, he turns and begins striding back across the bridge.
    I hurry to follow. "Where to?"
    "My apartment," he says, not