I miss Ross Thorne.

Miss how his adoring eyes used to follow me everywhere, and his relentless support. Haven't seen him for the last few days so I'm a little worried. It's possible he somehow given up on me and on my humiliating secret and no longer wants to see me anymore. What if he's already gotten bored of me?

I mean, I am not that complex. Sure, I've got some skills but once you get past that, what else is there? Maybe he already sees me as a posh empty-headed Instagrammer, boring underachiever, not worth the effort.

The silence is deafening. A yawning gap where answers are supposed to be.

His core is smart, full of bazillion explanations and rational, but he is also someone who is sweet, childlike, playful and emotional. My heart clenches at the memory of his warm palms cradling my kitten form. I smile at the vivid flashback, at the giddy feelings that had romped through me at the time.

Memories of that wondrous day dissolve into wisps of smoke and disappointment as I remember my "parents'" phone call.

I need to hear Ross' voice and feel those warm feelings again. I never trusted anyone in my life so far but he is giving me the reasons to start.

When I flop on my bed and call his number without hesitation, it goes straight to voicemail.

"Sorry I've missed your call. Hopefully I've been beamed onto a spaceship by friendly aliens and am now working as an ambassador for Earth. I'll get back to you when I can. Live long and prosper."

He's probably at school now. Like all normal teens, duh.

Maybe he ran late this morning and didn't have time to stop by. He seems like the sort. It has to be, because I'd hate to think about what it might mean if he skipped out on me on purpose. From what I have seen of Ross Thorne in the first trimester, he was mostly quiet and didn't have that insistent hunger for attention about him. In school, he just sat there writing and smiling like he was in on some joke no one else got. Which would normally be annoying to me, since I was used to everyone paying attention to me. Not to some scribbles.

But now I found it endearing.

I quietly laugh to myself as I trim my overgrown nails for the third time this morning.

He's not bad looking either. Tall, with broad shoulders, cute stubble. He has a lean, muscular frame. He also has a chin dimple! Who doesn't like chin dimples?

And those eyes. It wasn't so much the color-but their intensity. The way they followed my hands and took in my entire setup. Like he saw everything. Not just my hair or my looks or even my money and fame, like most guys, but everything. And he didn't even know me for all that long.

My "parents," on the other hand. People who supposedly have known me for seventeen years.

I growl and strangle an invisible neck.

Can't wait for Ross to drop by so I can tell him the news.

"You look happy, señorita Bea," Amparo observes from the door. "Feeling better today?" She adds cautiously.

I am a bit miffed with her too, to be honest. She must have known everything all along. Throughout my whole childhood. And she never told me a word.

I nod, choosing not to mention Ross. The fury mounting in me is actually pretty great, but Ross is the real reason I feel so good this morning.

I never realized how much I like being the center of a guy's attention. Not in the sexual, I-wanna-rip-your-clothes-off sort of way. In a me-me way. It's that feeling of being super-interesting because all the questions are about me. He could have talked about his classes or favorite games or whatever, but instead he's asking about my day or what I'd do with my "superpowers" as he calls them.

He's interested in me.

My longest relationship so far was with Axel. Two months. He was sexy and athletic, and he brought me flowers. But most of our conversations tended to be about football or practice or the team. I watched football on TV with my dad sometimes, but I'm not, like, in love with it or anything. I guess that's what you get when you date a wide receiver. I get it, though. People tend to talk about the thing that defines them.

But that was nothing like the conversations Ross and I have.

They are profound, clever, and kind.

The sound of someone clearing his throat behind me makes me turn around. I can't stop the smile that leaps onto my face. It's Ross! I mean, I shouldn't be surprised. The guy has shown up for two tutoring sessions in a row, barely concealing his puppy-like adoration.

If he didn't seem so awkward, honest, and sweet at the same time, I really would worry he was a serial killer stalking his next victim.

"Ross," I kinda hate how breathless I sound. My silly expectations are accompanied by an equally silly smile, and all my doubts vanish.

He first mumbles into his chin, something I can't hear. It's kind of adorable. Then he gives me a shy wave.

"Hi." He scratches his nape. "Sorry I didn't come over yesterday. I had to help mom and Gus around the house. You know, repairing the tool shed. I barely got away this morning as is."

"But shouldn't you be at school?"

"Oh." The red in his cheeks deepens. "You know, I figured I'd call in sick. Mom will back me up."

Ross Thorne, skipping classes because of me?

I feel a pang in my heart as I realize he always goes to such great lengths to be there for me. The contrast of my own "parents'" lack of involvement hits hard. The life as I knew it was just an illusion.

I let out something between a whimper and a grumble and I crumple on my bed, swallowing tears.

The bed creaks as Ross sits down next to me, leaving a good several inches of space between us. Still, I can feel the heat from his body. Slowly, he lifts one hand and places it on my shoulder, waiting for my reaction. It's an odd boundary to cross. I'm even more aware of his breath, its erratic rhythm.

But then Ross relaxes into the touch, as though it feels good.

He runs his palm back and forth across the fabric of my oversized T-shirt, the only kind I dare wear these days, his skin warm underneath. Then it's not just his palm, but his fingertips, too, his thumb tracing circles on my shoulder. A hug would have been too much, too out of my devil-may-carish character, but this—this, I can endure.

The entire time, I'm radically aware he's sitting on my bed. This is where I sleep, where I dream, where I text him. This close, I can tell his irises aren't just one color, but a whole spectrum of hickory brown. Long lashes brush the lenses of his glasses. They're a shade lighter than his hair, and I'm mesmerized by them for a moment—how delicate they are, a hundred tiny crescent moons.

When my eyes flick open to meet him, he immediately drops his hand from my shoulder, as though he's been caught doing something he shouldn't be.

Besides, the average amount of shoulder-comforting time has passed.

"I'm sorry," he says, and we've been quiet for so long that his words jolt me. He has nothing to apologize for.

I stand up and clear my throat. "What for? It's my family who should be sorry. Things aren't ideal at the moment, as you can see."

"It's the same with me and Gus. Mom is also miffed about the toolshed."

"At least your parents never lied to you."

He opens his mouth but then closes it.

"About where you come from. My whole world turned 180 degrees last night. Not 360, I know," I add, wiping the teary residues off my cheeks. I can't help but smile at discovering yet another mental jinx, firm proof of the unbreakable bond Ross and I share.

"Damn, I'm a mess," I say. "But it's nothing you can use against me now, Ross." I threaten him with my finger and give out a forced laugh. "The crying."

"I'd never do that. I want you to know it's okay to cry around me. It's not a sign of weakness. It's a sign of expressing your feelings. You've been through so much for the past two weeks."

"Cross your heart and hope to die?" I tug on one of the kiddish promises, promises that sounded so serious in that other life.

Childhood.

"Ross, I need to tell you something," I say, my voice trembling slightly. "I'm adopted."

"You..."

"Yes.  The people who called themselves my mother. My father. Who wore their faces, inhabited their bodies. They are lies. Fakes, you see? My real name was Bojana, just like Koshka said."

Ross looks at me, his eyes filled with surprise and curiosity. "Bojana? The bellicose girl? That's a beautiful name," he replies, his voice filled with reassurance. "And it suits you."

I snort through my tears.

"Look. No matter your name or your past, or your perception of yourself, you're still the same amazing person."

"Beast."

"Beast-person." His teasing words wash over me, filling me with a sense of acceptance I never grew to know in my life.

"Still not freaking out?" It comes out a bit harsher than I intended.

"Never. Thank you... for telling me this. I hope you know I'll keep this as safe as if it were my own secret. No—safer."

"I—I haven't told anyone," I say. "Please don't act weird around me now. That's why I was behaving so weirdly when you got in. But I don't want to keep this a secret, at least not from you. So. If you have questions, go ahead and ask them."

"I do. I have a bazillion questions, but I'll manage to pick one. Will you try and find your biological family? The... Shadowpaws clan?"

"Dad thinks I should not, but I am curious. My Mom said I could decide for myself whether I wanted to access the adoption records and meet them. Even allowed me to change my name if I wanted to." I start messing with the blanket. "It's a costly process. Now that I know I am not really their child, I don't want them to pay for my college expenses. I don't even know how I feel about them buying me all that stuff. I don't want to ride in their car or sleep in their mansion. This is the worst thing that could have happened to me, Ross. To not be who I thought I was."

"I'm so sorry, Bea. It breaks my heart most of all that your life has turned upside down in these past seven days. I understand why you won't use your adoptive parents' funds, even if you could, and had all the right to, even if they want to give the money to you willingly."

I start crying again. Not full-on sobs, just soft little hiccups that make that watch on Ross' wrist bob up and down as he closes it around mine.

"Bea, I—I'm so sorry."

My shoulders tighten. "Don't be. My Mom and Dad fucked up. That's on them. They fucked me up last week, they've been fucking my upbringing up, and that's all on them."

Ross is struck silent. Because truly—what can you say to that? Nothing he could say would make it okay.

"Why didn't my fucking parents tell me this when I was little? How long have they been planning on keeping it a secret? Did they know my shift will begin the closer I am to eighteen? Is that the real reason why they sent me away from them to the middle of nowhere?" I am now positively shaking and I feel the shift coming on, actually coming on.

I want to yell at Ross to run, to leave, because I don't know how long I can control it.

For a long moment, he doesn't say anything, but then I hear him rip through his rucksack and flip open the book. The pages buzz between his fingers, until he settles on one, and he begins to read in a soft, steady cadence.

The words spill softly from his mouth: "There is a library. Than its stone walls its paper walls are thicker, armored with learning, with philosophy, with poetry that drifts. Shielded with flax and calfskin, there brood the books."

Our library. Our safe place. My hands grip the sheets and tear through them, but I manage to hold off the onset of the physical transformation.

Ross' voice sounds closer, warmer now as he reads another two lines. "She had shown him by her independence how it was only fear that held people together. The fear of being alone, and the fear of being different."

His voice is like a soothing balm, easing my mind and calming my soul. It wraps around me like a warm embrace, filling me with a sense of peace. The words he reads dance in the air, creating a sanctuary where all worries fade away. In this moment, I feel safe, cherished and understood for who I truly am.

Ross promptly shuts up, as none other than Gus Thorne trudges by us in a blue football uniform with a huge white G on his chest, his soft dark curls reaching his wide shoulders.

I promptly look away from him and towards the wall, pushing the hood of my sweatshirt over my hair.
Can't let Gus see my ears or my teeth.

"What's up, little bro?" Gus smirks and pats Ross on the back, breaking the spell that bound us. "I knew I'd find you here."

Ross buckles up under the weight of his palm.

Gus turns to me. "Your servant let me in."

I scoff at his choice of word, even if I myself would have used it not so long ago.

Gus Thorne. A star football player. This is his second time going through the senior year since he botched all of his last year's exams. The kind of guy who, this year,  gets Bs because teachers loved it when our team was good and they couldn't be good if Gus Thorne got Ds. He's more protected than a polar bear.

He thinks everything and everyone belongs to him and I hate that about him.

I loathe it because I used to be like him.

I can practically feel how uncomfortable Ross is, and it sets me on edge. He keeps swallowing hard but says nothing, shocked by his brother's unannounced presence in my home.

I hate that. Ross is famous for his smarts, his turns of phrases, and his amazing debate speeches. A future valedictorian. But with his brother, he just... Shuts down. I've seen it a couple of times already.

I can almost hear his thoughts. I am just some nerd with anxiety issues. How could I possibly compete with my athletic handsome older brother?

"You better get home soon to help me out with the shed, did you hear, Rosie boy?"

Ross merely nods and then Gus turns to me.

"Sup, Laurent." I see him tilt his head with a sneer from the corner of my eye. "I've been thinking about you a lot."

I can't stop staring at the blob of ketchup at the corner of his mouth.

Ewww.

"And I still think we should go to the Snowball Dance together. Let me know, eh? You're gonna think about it, right?" He faux-shoots me with his forefingers.

"Yeah." I mutter through my gritted teeth, clenching my fists.

"That's my girl. Later, babe!" He casts me one of his supposedly winning smiles, and, dammit, I can't imagine which girl would even find that charming.

What an irritating guy. Even more when he's uttering presumptuous phrases like "that's my girl".

"Smell you later, nerd." Gus gives a violent thump on the back of Ross' neck and that really does it.

It's fine for him to neg me because it's just a second of his awful company and because I am more than equipped to handle it. But to bully Ross?

Hell to the nope.

Fury boils within me. "How dare you treat Ross like that? He's your brother!" I snap.

I feel a surge of power coursing through my veins as my body elongates, muscles bulging, my limbs becoming strong and agile. My hands morph into powerful paws, claws extending with a satisfying click. My skin is replaced by a sleek, golden fur and my senses sharpen, allowing me to perceive the world in a whole new way.

I stand tall, in the form of a majestic mountain lioness again, feeling the raw strength and ferocity that comes with it. It's both exhilarating and terrifying but at this moment, I know that I'm capable of anything.

The room fills with tension as Gus' laughter fades, replaced by a mix of shock and fear.

"You will never hurt him again," I growl, my voice laced with a raw determination.

A silence hangs in the air, the weight of my words sinking in. Gus stammers, "You... You are that monster? The beast everyone's looking for?"

Whoops.

Aaaand now he's seen me transform.

Maybe that's a good thing.

Now, he'll bloody finally stop asking me to go to the stupid Snowball Dance.

A/N: Theme song: VNV Nation "Illusion"