An Angel with Horns

Chapter 13. Verdadera Naturaleza

"PRIVATE PROPERTY: TRESPASSERS WILL BE PROSECUTED"

The rusty sign nearly snapped from its posting when Andrés blasted by it.

With each and every banking turn, Gazelle found herself clinging to the snowmobile for dear life. She had a suspicion the Jaguar was showing off for their starry-eyed guest, who, having barely set foot out of the Vidal household, seemed to be enjoying the time of her life.

"Slow down!" Gazelle bleated into the headwind. "It's a snowmobile, not a fighter jet!"

"Oye! Ignore her, Andrés!" Cattleya shot back, lifting herself so that her mouth rested beneath his ears. "Show me what this sled can do!"

Andrés spared no hesitation in his decision, only a teasing glance behind him as the snowmobile reared into the air. Cattleya cheered and wrapped herself around his leather jacket, holding the feline not because she needed to, but because she could. And Gazelle, in spite of sisterly judgment, felt just a bit glad that Andrés had ignored her request.

Svalbard yard was the site of an ancient steel mill originally used in the construction of the climate wall. The buildings, once towering symbols of industry, now sagged under the weight of ice and neglect. Andrés was careful to navigate around them, lest he sink into some concealed basement or snag up old machinery.

As they descended through the concrete labyrinth, a deafening roar grew like wind and water on a furious sea. They careened into a vast amphitheater, where thousands of luminescent eyes reflected back at them. Cattleya stifled a yelp, and she clutched Andrés with such speed that it forced a gasp from him.

The crowd was enormous. It spanned from one edge of the complex to the other, thrumming like an angry beehive. Even Gazelle was shocked by how much the mishmash of ripped jeans, leather jackets, flannels, and unkempt fur had grown since her previous visit. As far as they could see, adolescent mammals drank, jibed, and awaited their turn to join the rave hidden at Svalbard's center.

When the ocean of bodies grew too thick to bypass, Andrés parked his sled. He stepped off the side with an easing grin and found the wide-eyed passenger behind him.

"So, Catt? Whaddya think?"

He offered his paws to her, and she accepted them, meekly.

"They," she murmured through clenched teeth, as if speaking a truth too potent for wandering ears. "They're all... Predators?"

As the observation left her lips, she must've realized how clumsy it sounded. She flashed a sorry look to the Jaguar, her cheeks flushing to the farthest end of the color spectrum.

"That's not a problem, by the way! I love predators."

Yikes. Gazelle pinched her nose and groaned. Clearly, being locked away for so long hadn't done her sister any favors in the way of subtlety.

"Hah! You've got a keen eye," the jaguar guffawed, acknowledging the countless wolves, foxes, and other big cats in attendance. "Grunge is a pred genre. Didn't your big sister tell you that?"

"She didn't tell me anything about it, actually," Cattleya twisted a glower to the eldest gazelle.

"Catt," she spoke softly, "if you think this is too uncomfortable for you, just say the word. We won't stick around any longer than you want."

Perhaps it was the fact that Gazelle's words were spoken in deadly earnest, that the young gazelle's expression faltered. She looked to Andrés, then to the riot around them, debating.

"No," she huffed after some time, her voice vanishing into the cold. "I'm not going anywhere."

She met her sibling's look, her sterling gaze blaring with resolve.