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 Copyright © 2022 M.F. Moody

All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner
whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in
critical articles and reviews.

The unauthorised reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of

this book may be scanned, uploaded, or distributed via the internet or any other means,
electronic or print, without the author’s express permission.

Note from the Author:

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, and incidents are products of the
writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any
resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, or organisations is entirely
coincidental. The author does not have any control over and does not assume any
responsibility for third-party websites or their content.

Published in the United Kingdom.

Cover Design: Merel Pierce

www.merelpierce.com
 To those hard-working peddlers of smut, who paved the way for me to write
about reverse harems, knots, spines, and all the freaky types of penises that are out
there. Keep writing, inspiring, and bringing joy to us readers. We love your kink, and
are always thirsty for more.

※※※

And to those underestimated ferocious felines, the Pallas' cat and the African black-
footed cat. You guys are fluffy, adorable bundles of death and destruction. This book
wouldn't be the same without you.
Pred Academy,
Colorado.
 1.

Today is the first day of the rest of your life. That’s how the saying
goes, right? Along with “Seize the Day”, and “You Only Live Once.”
Well, today is the first day of my new life, the day I take my place
among other big cat shifters.
Praedonius Felidae Academy looms over me as I approach, the
hackles on my snow leopard’s back standing to attention at the
unknown threat. Its imposing sandstone edifice has no warmth or
welcome, only arrogance, where it proclaims its name, erection date
—1876—and school motto—Ubi quondam di ambulaverunt, nunc
stamus[i]—carved into the portico housing the immense glass double
doors. Stone steps lead up to the entrance, with pairs of cast bronze
winged lions perched atop plinths to either side and along the
landings. Walking up between them for the first time, feeling their
stone gaze staring as if into my very soul, is nerve-racking, to say
the very least. I can fully empathize with condemned prisoners
mounting the steps to the executioner’s block in times past, because
that same mounting dread and lack of empathy is projected as I
pass each one by. My mind is so scattered, my nerves wound so
tight I can’t even begin to comprehend what life will be like for me
once I pass into those hallowed halls. Especially as I am coming
somewhat late to the party.
Taking a deep breath, I make sure that my white-blonde hair is
smoothed back in the twin ponytails sitting low at the sides of my
head, my long bangs tucked behind each ear. Pulling my sunglasses
from my pale green eyes, I cross the threshold into my new reality. I
take a moment to inhale the myriad scents and perfumes
surrounding me: lynx, bobcat, tiger. Oh, leopard too! But mostly the
air shimmers with the heady musk of lion and lioness. My own scent,
subdued on its best day, is practically non-existent, completely
smothered by everyone and everything else. My inner snow leopard
chuffs at me, proud of how she can hide her scent if she wishes;
after all, it’s one of the talents of our kind.
I stride down the crowded hallways, regaining confidence with
each step, glancing at the clusters of my fellow students all waiting
for the school day to begin. Here there’s a group of lions, their dense
musk lingering on my tongue. Over there at a fork in the hallway is a
collection of cheetahs, the scent of dry grass giving them away. Wet
loam heralds a cluster of jaguars, and the sweet aroma of petrichor
warns me of a solitary tigress as I pass by. Each and every species
has their own distinct scent, the knowledge ingrained through
instinct and genetic memory rather than learned behavior.
Heading straight for the administrative wing, I follow the signs
directing me to where the hallway expands into a waiting area,
benches lining the walls, with a half-glassed office enclosure
squatting to one side. I approach where the glass opens with a
sliding window to the older lady seated behind the counter. Although
the skin on her face is rather smooth, there are definite wattles on
her neck, and up close I can see the fine lines surrounding her eyes
and mouth. Her feathery strands of hair are a mixture of blue-black
and silver. Without even looking up at me as I stand there, she holds
her hand out for my paperwork, a bored intonation in her drawled,
“Name and transcripts.”
Fumbling slightly, I hand over the package of documents, before
blurting out, “Sila. Uh, Sila Kadyn.”
The woman looks up at me then, her hazel eyes surrounded by
long, thick eyelashes. Her measured gaze takes the entirety of me
in, sniffing and nodding before perusing my papers.
“I see you’re a late transfer, here from Prion Intermediate? You’ll
need to fill in these forms after you’ve been to see the guidance
counselor.” She hands me a sheaf of papers, and I glance down at
them briefly before my eyes meet hers as she dryly intones, “We’ve
had some—issues—with your class requests, and we need to ensure
you’re prepared enough to successfully complete them.” She clacks
away at the keyboard in front of her, pausing to read something
before continuing the rapid-fire tapping. Then the sound of a printer
starts up, the ink an acrid wave hitting my nose and tongue. Turning
back to me, the woman hands me several more printouts and points
back toward the hallway.
“You’ll want to turn left as you leave here, then take the second
hallway to the left. Ida Paratus is our guidance counselor, and hers is
the fourth door on the right. Best be going now, so you don’t miss
too many classes.” She smiles then, and it transforms her face from
bland, bored, and even somewhat judgmental, to open and friendly,
like a cherished grandmother or great-aunt. Politely smiling back, I
thank her and back to the corridor, before turning and following her
directions in a daze.

◆◆◆

The paneling of the door I stand before is covered in a cork

message board, which in turn is coated by multiple comic strips and
cartoons, pinned notes, and fliers describing various clubs and
activities that Pred Academy offers. Tucked up high, barely
discernible from behind sheaves of Post-it Notes, glints a name bar:
Ida Paratus, Guidance Counselor. I knock, barely a tap really, but she
obviously heard me, an imperious “Get in here!” only slightly muffled
from behind the wood.
I open the door quietly, all my previous confidence vanishing. It
absolutely reeks of leopard in here, and the Amazonian behind the
desk at the back of the room sits up straight as I shut the door
behind me. Her skin is the deepest ebony I have ever seen on a
person, and a crown of sable box-braids perch regally atop her head.
Her almond-shaped eyes sit between perfectly arched brows and
cheekbones so sharp they could cut glass. Her lips are stained as
though she’s been drinking a rich burgundy, and I can’t draw my
gaze away from the matching talons that grow from the ends of her
fingers as she brushes non-existent hair away from her face. She is
dressed quite casually, for all her other elegance, and she beckons
me closer, gesturing to a comfortable seat opposite to where she’s
sitting.
“Hello, I’m Ms. Paratus, but you can call me Ida. I’m the guidance
counselor. What can I do for you today?”
 Her voice is warm, smooth, and deeper than I’d expected, but
despite this, still feminine. She is an African goddess in the flesh. I
can barely gather my scattered thoughts enough to clumsily thrust
the top printout at her. Ida glances down at it, perusing it
perfunctorily, before sitting back in her chair.
“Well, hello there, Ms. Sila Kadyn, and welcome to Pred Academy.
I see we have a few things to discuss, but first things first. Tea or
coffee?”
I blink as my brain fritzes for a moment.
“I... I’m sorry, did you just ask me if I wanted a drink?”
“Why yes, I did. I realize that coming here from Prion will be
somewhat of a culture shock to you, but even so, you’re no longer a
child. You’re what, eighteen? Nineteen?”
“I’m nineteen.”
“Come, then. We’re both adults, there’s no need for your
nervousness. You’re attending one of the best transitional academies
in the country, so why not behave accordingly? Tea or coffee?”
I blink again, my brain mulling over her advice. She’s right, I’m not
a scared little girl. I’m a grown-ass woman about to take the next
step in adulting.
“Oh. Coffee then, please?”
Sauntering from her chair to a coffee maker tucked away in a
corner of her office, Ida makes me a cup—following my
specifications before settling back with her own steaming mug. I
take my first, rapturous sip. I am rarely allowed coffee at home, my
adoptive parents finding it too harsh a stimulant—in their opinion—
but I had fallen in love with it the first time I’d tried it back when I
was sixteen.
“Let’s get down to it. Prion Intermediate, while a competent and
well-regarded institution in and of itself, is not quite suited to a
shifter of your particular needs. You’re seeking to attend college and
not simply enter the workforce, military, or emergency services,
which is what you would be limited to if you had stayed at Prion. I
understand your other half is a snow leopard?”
“Yes, that’s true.”
 “How in the world did a snow leopard, from the pantera genus, be
allowed entrance into an institution specifically catering to the
prionailurus, otocolobus, and felis genera? Weren’t they afraid you’d
eat them?”
I snort into my coffee, choking slightly as it goes down the wrong
way. Coughing and spluttering, tears in my eyes, I shakily place my
mug on the desk and wheeze until I stop laughing. Wiping the tears
away, I shrug at Ida.
“Because my adopted parents are both Pallas’ cats, and that was
their alma mater? Besides, everyone knows that snow leopards are
solitary, and although we’re damned good hunters, we aren’t known
for attacking those outside our prey chain.”
Ida nods and taps at her notes. “Well, some of the staff have
raised concerns regarding whether you have the ability to succeed in
several of these classes. Prion, as I said, is highly respected, but
their teaching methods aren’t geared toward college prep. While
they provide sufficient qualifications for such occupations and
interactions with human society, it is nowhere near the level needed
if you wish to attend a reputable college and obtain a degree.”
“You mean they’re fairly relaxed in regards to ambition, and are
definitely not bloodthirsty or aggressive in their methods in any way,
shape, or form?”
“Exactly that! Your transcripts are impressive, that’s for certain,
and you were wasted at Prion, but do you have what it takes to
make it in Pred Academy? You have access to a greater choice of
subjects than Prion can offer here, including AP and introductory
college classes, and your snow leopard will also be challenged and
tested. The next two years of your life will be filled with situations
where you may struggle emotionally, academically, and physically.
There’s no shame in admitting that it’s too much, that you need a
lighter workload or a different career path than you’d anticipated.”
“Well, one thing my parents taught me is that it’s not the size of
the beast that matters, because even a lion or tiger can be taken
down by a smaller, more determined adversary. It’s determination,
passion and drive to succeed, and being flexible and adaptable in
new or unfamiliar environments which will ensure success. If you
knew anything about me, you’d know I’m determined, generally
feisty, and according to my Babi when I’m cross with him, “more
stubborn that a mule shifter in a snit.” I’ve done all that I can to
prepare for this and am being hosted by a local jaguar family.
They’ve already taken me out on a hunt to check the agility and
abilities of my snow leopard and are willing to work hard with me to
shore up any deficiencies I might have.”
Ida pierces me with a steely look, reaching through my eyes into
my soul and searching for something only she can see. Apparently
finding it, she nods, sits back, and taps one burgundy talon on the
sheet in front of her once more.
“Okay. I’ll sign off on your enrollment, speak to the staff, and we’ll
set up a meeting schedule between you and I for once a week
during your first month, and then once every two weeks until the
mid-term break. That’ll give us a good indication of if and where you
may be struggling. Do you need me to give you a copy of your class
list and timetable?”
I riffle through the papers on my lap and nod. “Yes, please. I don’t
think the admin lady gave me that.”
“Oh, Doris? No, she wouldn’t, not if you had to see me. That one?
Keep on her good side, and you’ll never have to worry about
anything again. If you cross her or treat her as less-than because of
her animal or her job, she’ll make damned sure that your schedule is
full of conflicts. You’ll always receive the email or memo at the very
last possible moment, and she’ll cut off your print and copy
privileges. She abhors it when shifters believe they’re better than
others due to their animal and will cut down entitled behavior if she
spots it. I’ve seen staff come and go who thought themselves better
than a simple ‘admin assistant,’ and they didn’t even last a full term.
She’s a treasure.”
Beaming at me, Ida hands over my class list and schedule, and I
note that I have the first session of this morning’s timetable clear.
Happy coincidence, or conscious design? I look back up at Ida, and
she winks at me. “From now on, unless you’re meeting with me, you
have a late start Monday mornings. Aren’t you a lucky one? It seems
you’re making friends already.” With that, she turns back toward her
desktop, effectively dismissing me.
Okay, that’s fine. It means I have the better part of the next two
hours to orient myself to this place. I’ll just map out where I need to
be every day and use this time to my advantage.
 2.

My first stop after leaving Ida is Doris, heading back to see her
and hand in the completed forms, and thank her for her help. We
get to talking a little, mostly about my transfer here and away from
Prion.
“Yes, I saw that in your paperwork. Why Prion? Why not Magnus
Institute?”
“Oh, my adoptive parents are both Pallas’ cats. That’s where they
attended, but I want to go to college, and I knew Parvus Felidae
Academy wouldn’t accept me.”
“Oh, they’re Pallas’ cats? I’ve always thought they were such
interesting creatures! So much attitude and personality, yet in such a
small package. It reminds me of my husband Teevr. He’s an Asian
small-clawed otter. Such a big personality inside such a small body!”
Doris pulls out her cell, flicking her finger across the screen before
presenting it to me. On the screen is an image of a short man with
dark skin and hair, absolutely covered in tiny little otter pups, and
then another of the same man surrounded by about a dozen tweens.
They’re all grinning up at the camera, their teeth a blazing white
against the tan of their skin. Thick and luscious lashes fan their
cheeks.
“This is Teevr and our grandchildren. They all take after their
parents, who also take after him. All of them otter shifters.”
“They’re otterly adorable, the lot of them.”
We laugh at my pun, but then something that Doris said strikes
me.
“Wait, you said that they all take after your husband. What about
you? Are you not an otter shifter too?”
Doris laughs raucously, batting one hand toward me as she shakes
her head.
 “Oh no. In fact, I’m not even close to the same species as Teevr.
He is my fated mate though, which is why all of our children are able
to shift.”
Doris leans over and whispers in my ear, chortling once more at
my stunned expression. She looks up toward the clock on the wall
and waves me away, telling me, “You might want to get a move on.
You’ve only got an hour or so before you’ll need to head to class.”
I stagger away, my mind still reeling over what I’ve just learned.
I’m definitely taking Ida’s advice to stay on Doris’s good side. It’s
actually quite funny really, because Doris’s parting words to me were
how she isn’t even a cat shifter, but an Aves; she’s a gods-damned
cassowary. Prehistoric murder chickens in disguise, and scary as all
fuck. I’m serious.
Do you remember that fearless human activist from Australia
whose wardrobe consisted of nothing but khaki? You know, the one
who managed to survive an assassination attempt by a sting-ray
shifter on behalf of an international property development company?
He’d happily take on venomous snakes and enormous crocodiles
without blinking—although it turned out the big crocodile in his
sanctuary was actually a childhood friend, one who fell on hard
times and needed a place to crash for a while. The croc shifter’s now
bloody famous, and when not performing in his crocodile skin, works
as one of the keepers—but that fearless human, even he ran from a
cassowary!
For the next little while, I wander around Pred Academy, checking
out where I am against the map as I let my brain digest all the new
information. I’ve discovered what is likely to become my favorite
place on the grounds, if not in the whole of the city. The library here
is transcendent. I feel like Belle when she stumbled upon Beast’s
library—one of history’s greatest romances, a minotaur shifter and a
human girl—and it’s three stories of laddered, book-filled shelving,
with walkways and catwalks cutting across and along the entire
building. If I knew I could get away with it, I’d find a dark corner,
and build myself a cave out of cushions and dividers and live there
forever.
 Unfortunately, I don’t think that the librarian or his assistant—
orangutan and little owl shifters, respectively—would allow that. In
the next building over, the cafeteria reminds me of a hipster
restaurant. It’s not the type of place that serves fast-food, and even
though there is a buffet section, the whole atmosphere has a relaxed
and casual vibe. The food is wholesome and fairly healthy, and isn’t
overcooked, limp, soggy, or simply unpalatable. There’s plenty of
meat options for us carnivores, and their selections of salads and
baked goods are enough to satisfy even the most hardcore foodie.

◆◆◆

By the time I make my way around the main buildings, the bells
are chiming—yes, chiming!—to signal the end of the first session. I
have half an hour before second session begins, and I still have to
find my locker and stash my unneeded textbooks before finding my
classroom.
Within minutes, the hallways are flooded with students, the
comforting chatter of conversations drowning out the clatter of
footsteps and the clanging of locker doors. Just being able to stand
back and people-watch is an indulgence I don’t often get to partake,
and when movement catches my eye, it lands on one of the most
strikingly perfect girls I’ve ever seen. Tall, svelte, with long honey-
blonde hair, and her sky-blue eyes almost glow in her impeccably
made-up face. She has that airbrushed look, as if she cannot
imagine leaving her house looking anything less than perfect. You
know the type I’m talking about—high maintenance.
A cloud of perfume smacks me in the face, attempting to beat me
into submission with its potency. Her scent is confusing. Underneath
the flowery perfume I can barely smell the musk of her lioness,
entwined with a sickly-sweet stench that makes my stomach roil.
However, there’s a delicious aftertaste, crisp and fresh, like snow on
winter pines. It’s quite subtle, as if she’s been rubbing up against
someone with that scent. I don’t understand why she’s wearing so
much perfume over the top of her natural scent. We shifters can and
do wear it, but it’s like she’s bathed in the stuff, and it’s giving me a
headache.
“You’re new.”
It’s a statement, not a question. Her eyes travel over my
comfortable and casual jeans and tee, startling in their contrast to
her own V-necked sweater and pleated skirt. She sneers as she taps
one foot, the cute white espadrilles matching her skirt, her exposed
toenails painted a dusky pink to match her sweater. I shrug then
respond, “Well spotted.”
“Well, newbie, let me tell you how things operate around here. I’m
the head lioness.” She flicks her hair over her shoulder in a practiced
move and I roll my eyes. “I’m the one who leads and controls the
females of this Academy. If I tell you to do something, you do it. If I
warn you away from someone or something, you run away. If you
have a problem, you come and see me. Do you understand?”
I blink, taken aback by her rudeness and complete lack of
subtlety.
“Well? Are you stupid or something?” The girl slows her speech as
if I’m feeble-minded.
“Do. You. Understand. What. I’m. Saying?”
I see red.
“I see your mouth flapping and hear the garbage you’re spouting.
However, I don’t understand your audacity, nor do I care for your
tone.”
She sniffs, and I wonder for a moment if she is trying to scent me,
or is just being imperious, but then she answers my unspoken
question for me.
“What type of cat are you? I can’t scent you at all. You are a
shifter, aren’t you?”
The little clique of lionesses that have shadowed her every move
giggle and titter like a bunch of morons with only a single brain cell
to share among them.
“I’m a snow leopard. We can subdue our scent markers on
demand. I know it’s not something you lionesses can do, although in
your case it would definitely come in handy.”
 Most animals have some form of camouflage, but it’s rare to find
shifter species like mine who can hide something so inherent to us
all. Scent is key in the shifter world; it’s how we tell each other
apart. I don’t add that she probably wouldn’t be able to smell
anything over the absolute fog of perfume she’d drenched herself in
anyway.
“Oh, you’re one of them. Well, at least you’re technically a big cat,
and not a wannabe like an ocelot or a serval, or even, gods forbid, a
Pallas’ cat. I can never take those things seriously. They always look
so moronic.” She turns and laughs with her feeble-minded followers,
and I curl my lip in disgust.
I could leave things alone, laugh along with her, or simply ignore
her, but that entitled bullshit she’s spouting is exactly the same type
of drivel that my parents have been fighting against their entire
lives. Just because their animals’ forms are smaller than most other
cat shifters, it doesn’t make them any less worthy of respect.
I cross my arms and stare at the back of her head in derision.
Feeling my obvious disdain for her, she turns back, surprised to see
how unappreciative I find her shitty sense of humor. She narrows
her eyes at me, trying to make me uncomfortable and to accede to
her obvious superiority, but fuck that for a joke.
“You do realize the most prolific and successful hunter in the
entire Felidae genus is the African black-footed cat, right? And it’s
fucking tiny. It has three times more success in its hunts than an
entire Pride of lionesses do in one of theirs. Three times more. So I
wouldn’t disparage cats smaller than you simply for their size, or
even how they look, because African black-footed cats? Those things
are adorable fluffy bundles of death. Oh, and my adoptive parents
are both Pallas’ cats, so fuck you and the ignorant horse you rode in
on.”
Turning my back to the bitch, I slammed the door to my empty
locker and stalked away, spine straight.
“How dare you! Who do you think you are? You better get the
fuck back here and apologize to me, bitch! Don’t you walk away
from me! Get back here!”
 I flip her the finger over my shoulder as I head to the cafeteria for
a coffee. Great. My first day here and I was already pissing people
off. Can it get any worse?
 3.

I really am a fucking idiot. Of course things could get worse. It

turns out the entitled bitch’s name is Catherine of all things—which
only goes to show her parents lack any imagination by naming their
feline daughter—Cat—and so far she’s in all my classes. Session two
begins with her stalking in, eyes blazing with outrage. She spots me
standing there and dominance whips around the room. Stomping up
to me, she shoves her meticulously made-up face inches from my
own, her fury almost tangible, practically suffocating me with her
wall of perfume.
“How dare you speak to me like that and then walk away from
me! You’re lucky I didn’t shred you where you stood. Apologize to
me right now, and maybe I won’t make your life a fucking misery for
your duration at Pred Academy.” She stabs at my chest with a pointy
fingernail. That shit hurts.
“No.” I cross my arms to protect my boobs from further assault.
“What the fuck did you just say?”
“I said no. I will not apologize. You made a sweeping, and
honestly offensive, generalized statement about smaller cats. You
insulted my parents.” I step forward, into her space, making her
stumble back a step. “You walked up to me, didn’t even ask my
name or give your own, demanding to know my species. And then
you spouted off a bunch of bullshit rules, which to be brutally
honest, I think are ridiculous.” I sneer at her and show her the
Student Portal open on my phone screen. “You aren’t part of the
student union. You aren’t even a student liaison. In fact, you don’t
appear anywhere in the Student Portal. You are a lioness with an
overblown sense of entitlement and ego, and I’m not going to feed
either of them. If you want to apologize to me, then maybe we can
start again on better footing. Until then, leave me alone.”
 I say this in steady voice, never raising it, never wavering, my
eyes locked on hers. I can feel her power rising, pushing down on
me, trying to force me to submit. Holy shit, is she strong. I think
she’s one of the strongest I’ve come up against, but my Babi didn’t
raise no weakling. I’d participated in plenty of challenges in the two
years following my first shift, jockeying for dominance. Now though,
at our age? Catherine is doing this purely because I refuse to kiss
her ass. But I’ve never been the type of person—or shifter—who
turns a blind eye to bullying and prejudice.
I glare at her, my stubbornness keeping my knees locked and back
straight, even as my eyes water as the next wave hits me. I rock
back slightly at the force of it, feeling it pummel me as though it’s a
physical wave, and although my clenched fists shake and jaw grinds
with the effort, I keep standing. It is only when we hear the teacher
walk into the room and clear his throat that she looks away from
me. The relief is immense as she releases her hold on me. I’m lucky,
because I think if she’d pushed any harder, or for any longer, I would
have crumpled like a wet tissue.
“Okay class, welcome back! Ladies, take a seat please so we can
get started.” He stops as he looks at me properly, before beckoning
me over. “Oh, just a moment, you’re our newest transfer. Come up
and collect your materials for this class.”
I head toward the front of the room, snubbing Catherine
completely. I can practically feel her eyes boring into my back with
red-hot hatred, but I ignore her.
Fuck her and her egotistical rhetoric.
I may be a solitary creature, and typically more timid than the
bigger cat shifters, but I still have teeth and claws, and I can take
down a bloody mountain goat by myself. Have you seen the horns
on those things? I’ve seen first-hand the damage they can do,
although I’m lucky to have never been on the receiving end. They’re
no joke, and regularly break bones.
Taking an empty seat on the other side of the room from
Catherine, I open my books and take notes. This class is
Introduction to Human Customs and Religions and is essential for
those choosing to move forward into college or work in the human
world. There are enough religious nutters out there who believe
shifters are demons and would put us to death if we venture into
their countries. Not to mention the anti-shifter groups crying about
how we are unfairly subsidized and provided for while they starve
and languish from their government’s neglect. Knowing how to
identify these utter whack jobs and successfully avoid them is vital
to our desire to keep breathing.

◆◆◆

The next session, Human Government Organizations and the IRS,

is also spent with hatred burning into the back of my head, along
with numerous spitballs and even chewing gum. Fuck. My. Life. This
bitch is gonna be the death of me unless I can come up with a way
to manage her.
Cleaning out my hair in one of the women’s bathrooms is not fun,
but at least it’s quiet. Well, it was quiet until the distinct scent of
lioness wafts to my nose. Oh gods, did she follow me? We’re
supposed to be adults, yet she’s behaving like a petulant child. We
might miss out on those human “middle school” years due to
learning about our shifts, but c’mon! Am I going to have to try to
fight off a fucking Sault[ii] of lionesses? I mean, I’m pretty sure they
want to assault me, so, you know…
“Oh, my fucking gods, I thought this day would never end!”
The lioness pushing through the door is not Catherine, nor is she
one of her lackeys. Short, curvy, with a riot of tight black curls and a
warm and glowing chestnut-colored skin tone. Her hazel eyes land
on me, scanning me from head to toe with a shrewdness I don’t
know whether to appreciate or be terrified of.
“Ah, you must be the new girl who pissed in Her Maj’s Cheerios
this morning. I think I’ll make you my new best friend.” Stepping
forward, she offers me her hand. “I’m Petra Silvani, and anyone who
can make Queen Cat look like her own rear end is already legendary
in my books. Please don’t hold our shared species against me.”
Clasping her hand in mine, I reply with, “I’m Sila Kadyn. I didn’t
mean to piss in her Cheerios, but she was rude and offensive, and
she should know better.” A firm shake and our hands drop, as I
continue. “She insulted cats from the smaller genera, in particular
that of my adoptive parents. Babi always told me to stand up for the
little guy, even if he outweighs you in human form, because they can
get into places the bigger guy can’t...including his intestines.”
Petra erupts in a roar of laughter, her hand clapping me hard on
the back, but I don’t mind. It is done in friendship and solidarity, not
aggression, and to be honest, I really need a friend right now.
“Alright. Sila, from now on, you’re with me. I don’t hang with the
usual crowd of lionesses, not ‘glamorous’ enough for Her Maj and
her ilk, but I’ve found a group of friends that are loyal and
trustworthy.” She pauses for a moment, side-eyeing me. “Sila, that’s
an—unusual name. Where’s it from?”
“Russia. It means ‘strength’ or ‘power.’”
I love my name. When my parents adopted me, they wanted to
give me an identity that embodied my fighting spirit, as well as my
heritage. I was found near the base of Belukha mountain as a cub,
barely alive, and all they could figure out was that I was a snow
leopard. They gave me the name Sila because they knew I’d be a
fighter, and Kadyn, after the local name for the mountain.
“Sila Kadyn. It suits you. Well, Sila Kadyn, let me introduce you to
shifters who aren’t raging narcissists, and see if we have any classes
together.”
Walking out from the restroom, hair free of gum and spit, with a
new friend in tow, I feel more positive about today, even with having
to deal with Catherine.
“Hang on, you call her Queen Cat?”
“Oh yeah, and she hates it! Not because we’re mocking her by
giving her the title ‘Queen,’ but because we shorten her name to
Cat. She will happily tell you that ‘it’s Catherine, a noble, elegant,
respected name, not my fucking species!’”
“In that case, I think I’ll call her Kitty-Cat when I’m feeling nice,
and Puss when I’m not.”
Petra lets loose another guffaw of laughter.
“Oh, the look on her face the first time she hears you call her
either of those names? I’ll pay a lot of money to have a front-row
seat to that! Yep, Sila Kadyn, I think you and I are gonna be fast
friends.”

◆◆◆

Having spent several hours with Petra at a café downtown, it’s

quite late when I return to where I’m staying. It belongs to the
Oncas, the lovely family of jaguars who are hosting me. Iago, the
father, used to vacation next door to where Babi grew up, and their
friendship has lasted over the years.
I’d grown up in upstate New York, had gone to elementary school
there, then enrolled at Prion Intermediate after my compulsory two
years at the local Shifter school. While my parents and I moved to
Colorado so I could attend school here, Boulder was ridiculously
expensive and they’d found a somewhat more reasonable place in
the outskirts of Golden. When Iago learned of this, he offered to
have me stay with them, refusing to take no for an answer. From
their place I can walk to Pred Academy in under twenty minutes,
less if I ride a bike.
Elena, Iago’s wife is waiting up for me in the kitchen when I walk
in, an empty mug in front of her.
“Sila, you’re back! How was your first day at school? Which classes
did they enroll you in?” She stands and moves over to the fridge,
pulling out a covered plate of food to reheat in the microwave. I love
Elena’s cooking, and from the smell of it, she’d made chilito de
chipotle quemado for dinner. Yum.
“Hey Elena. It was fine.” I give her a quick rundown of my Monday
schedule as I sit at the table. Elena sets a tall glass of homemade
horchata in front of me, then places the now-steaming plate down. I
dig in with gusto.
As I eat, Elena’s happy smile blows away the rest of the worries
I’ve been holding on to.
“What else do you have? Is your schedule busy?”
“Uh, Tuesdays and Thursdays I have Shifter/Human Politics and
Treaties, then Human Mythology or Shifter History?, and Shifters:
Fact or Fiction. Wednesdays I have Human Customs and Human
Governments again, as well as Shifter Biology and Mating Rituals. It
seems as though I have a fairly light Friday though, with College
Prep during session one, and then Active Shifting session two. I have
free time after that.”
“Oh, that sounds wonderful! Have you chosen your electives yet?”
I continue shoveling food into my mouth, only pausing to gulp
down more of the deliciously sweet and creamy drink.
“No, I’ve got until the end of next Wednesday. I’ve got a standing
meeting with the guidance counselor every Monday morning for the
next month, so I’ll probably go through it with her then. I like the
idea of studying Political Science, but there are a couple of subjects I
need more information about before I decide. I think I’ll take
mountaineering for Active Shifting though, sounds perfect for me.”
I smirk at Elena’s soft chuckle, her head shaking at my joke, wisps
of dark hair falling loose from the bun at the top of her head. We
continue talking as I eat, then collect my dirty dishes and stack them
in the dishwasher.
Once I’m done with the dishes, she walks over, arms wide for a
hug. It isn’t a hardship for me to show her affection, as I love Elena
and Iago both, and their kids Matías and Lucía are actually pretty
cool for newly shifted tweens. I step into her embrace, give her a
firm, fond hug, before patting her back to tell her I am done. Elena
lets me go and turns toward the master bedroom down the hall as I
head upstairs to the guest room they’ve set aside for me.
Today has been draining, and it’s only day one.
 4.

Walking into Pred Academy Monday morning of my second week, I

head to my meeting with Ida for first session. After the complete
cluster-fuck with Catherine my first day, I was overjoyed to learn
that she was in. Every. Single. Gods-damned. Class. With me.
I can kind of understand why she behaves like such an immature
shit, though. Shifters pretty much lose two years of schooling when
we hit puberty and shift for the first time, so when we go back the
focus is on developing the skills we’ll need to move further on in life:
Mathematics, English, and a basic all-encompassing science. Topics
like sex ed, history, foreign language, social studies, and the rest are
pushed to the backburner. Because of this, every student is required
to take classes about human society, governance and their laws.
Lucky me gets to share them all with Catherine.
On the upside, Petra has invited me into her circle, and I actually
feel a lot better because of it. She is friends with another lion, two
bobcats, an Iberian lynx, a cheetah, and a clouded leopard.
Apparently mixed groups such as this one aren’t uncommon, as
there are plenty of cats at Pred Academy that are either from smaller
collectives, or don’t have anyone else from their collective here with
them. None of the group care for Catherine at all, and Cyril, the
other lion, has been ousted from most Pride groups since he’s
proudly and openly gay. Yeah, I can see the irony there too.
Ridiculous.
Knocking at Ida’s door, the strident “Come in already!” draws away
the tension I’ve held in my shoulders. I stride in, grinning at the
beaming guidance counselor as I enter, and immediately say “Coffee
please. Do you need me to make it?”
Batting her hand at me, Ida gestures to that comfy chair, and
heads to the machine. Once we are both seated with steaming mugs
of liquid vitality cradled in our hands, she looks at me, waiting for
me to speak.
“Yeah, so my first week was...interesting...to say the least. I’m
finding the classes to be manageable, although they are challenging.
I’ve found a group of people who I get along with, and we’re
becoming friends.” I pause here, not sure if I should get into the
details of what is turning out to be a childish prank war with
Catherine, at least on her part.
“That all sounds very promising, but what of the, for want of a
better term, ‘cat fight’ you are having with one Catherine Lönnberg?
I mean, harsh words between students can and do happen, but for
such petty behaviors such as spit-balls, glue or thumb tacks on
seats, or badly doctored photographs being plastered throughout the
hallways?” Ida’s face radiates her disapproval at such actions. “This
kind of behavior is immature at best, and something I’d expect from
prepubescent shifters. It’s completely unwarranted and inappropriate
for a place such as Pred Academy.”
I blink with surprise, not realizing she knows the extent of the
petty bullshit that has been occurring since we last spoke. I grimace,
knowing I have to come clean.
“I know, and I agree.” I recount my unfortunate first encounter
with Catherine and then take a scalding gulp from my mug. “She
didn’t like when I called her out on her bullshit, refused to kiss her
feet, or told her that she needed to apologize. When I wouldn’t back
down, she tried dominating me, but luckily Mr Werner called a stop
to that when he walked in. Honestly, I probably could have handled
things differently, but that kind of ignorance and bigotry is one of my
hot-buttons.”
Ida places her mug on the coffee table between us, tapping her
nails on the lacquered surface.
“Yes, Claude felt the oppressive force of Catherine’s dominance as
soon as he neared the actual room, and said you’re lucky you
weren’t a sobbing, hysterical mess at her feet with the pressure she
was forcing on you.”
“I know. I could feel myself beginning to buckle. She’s stronger
than me, but I’m extra stubborn. I’ve been trying to avoid her as
much as I can.”
Ida hums and leans back in her chair, her fingertips pressing
together against her chin.
“That’s a very mature and intelligent way to look at things. Maybe
you could convince your friends to follow that lead? Or perhaps curb
the ‘catty’ name calling?”
I flush at that direct hit. Yeah, Catherine might be pulling the
childish stunts that make me physically wary or uncomfortable, but
I’m not innocent. The first time I called her Kitty-Cat, she almost lit
up like sky on the Fourth of July. When I called her Puss though? I
thought she was about to launch herself straight to the moon, she
was that enraged.
“I can’t promise anything, but as I said, I’m trying to avoid her. If
she pushes me though, I’m going to push back.”
Ida gives me an unimpressed look but doesn’t say anything
further. Maybe she agrees with me, maybe not, but at least she’s
addressed the issue and can honestly state that she’s taken me to
task over the whole shit-show.
“Let’s move on and talk about your electives. I have to say I’m not
surprised by the ones you’ve expressed an interest in. What is it that
you’re hoping to study in college?”
I relax back and discuss with Ida how I want to major in Political
Science at college, with the hopes of obtaining a career where I can
make a positive impact on the lives of the more overlooked Felidae
shifters. In our particular part of the world, the big cats sit at the top
of the clade, and those who were smaller, have small populations, or
are considered to be physically weak are either ignored or abused,
for the most part. Growing up as a “big cat” shifter in a “small cat”
shifter world was eye-opening. If anything, I will do my best to
improve the lives of Mami and Babi, and the sacrifices they’ve made
to give me a loving and supportive home.
Before I know it, the bells are chiming, and our session together is
over. Standing to usher me out, Ida lightly touches my shoulder in
warning.
“Be careful with how you tread around Catherine. Her family is
quite powerful and influential, and she’s the princess of the Corbin
Pride. Her father is that Pride’s Mane, or second in command after
the Leo. She’s being groomed to one day take the place of the Leona
of the Gatto Pride, and that’s an arranged mating you don’t want to
interfere with. If that alliance goes ahead, it will make them one of
the most powerful shifter enclaves in the world.
“Unfortunately, ever since that announcement, Simon Gatto has
displayed an arrogance and cruelty that is almost as bad as
Catherine’s at times. Hopefully it is a passing phase. Watch your
back, Sila, I’d hate to see them tear you apart, literally or
metaphorically.”
I nod, as I appreciate the information and warning, and am
curious about this Simon. I head off to meet Petra and the gang and
want to grab another coffee before I walk into the cesspit that is
Introduction to Human Customs and Religions.

◆◆◆

I shuffle into my Shifter Biology and Mating Rituals class on

Wednesday afternoon and take my seat, wondering what class has
in store for us. I may be innocent when it comes to sex and mating,
but it can’t be that hard to insert Tab A into Slot B, can it?
Our teacher walks in, a petite Bornean Bay cat shifter with a pixie-
cut hairstyle in a vibrant blue. I wonder if dyeing her hair has any
impact on her animal half’s fur coloration when she shifts. Indah, as
she’d told us to call her last week, is epic. Although her features are
recognizably South-East Asian, she is anything but typical. Not only
is her hair-cut and color striking, but she has multiple piercings in
her ears and on her face, and ink covers her arms and disappears
under her sleeveless vest. I haven’t gathered the courage to ask
about her piercings and tattoos when she shifts, but it’s something
I’d love to know. Her fashion style is a cross between steampunk
and hipster, and although she is tiny, she is fierce. I think
Shakespeare must have seen her in a vision when he wrote that line.
“Today we’re discussing the basics of mating, the three types of
bonds, and how physiological differences between species can
impact mating. I’ll also be dividing the class into assigned pairs,
because you will be working on a project together based on a
hypothetical scenario, to determine what type of bond a couple
would form.”
Half of the class groans, the other half are already pairing up and
discussing how they’ll split the work between themselves.
“Hold your horses. I said that I was going to divide you into pairs
that I would be assigning. No little buddy-buddy partners here,
because I want you to learn how to work with others outside your
own genus, as well as working with people you may not get along
with otherwise.”
Oh, shit. I look up at Indah at that, and can see her eyes flicking
between Catherine and me. Fuck. She’s gonna pair us up, I can
almost feel it. I brace myself for a term’s worth of entitlement and
bullshit up close as Indah begins to bark out names in pairs.
“Krista and Cyril, Max and Ryssa, Báo and Catherine, Petra and
Charleton, Simon and Sila…”
Hang on, wait a moment, back up there. I’m being paired with
Simon? I look around, and sure enough, each pairing so far has
been split into male/female. That is, until Indah splits the last four
pairs to be same sex. Okay, fair enough. Indah is for equality with
mating. Good to know she’s not homophobic.
“Gay pairings are abominations! They can’t produce any offspring,
so why should we have to consider them as mating?”
Oh look, there’s Kitty-Cat making a nuisance of herself with her
unwanted opinions. Poor Báo, he’s a really sweet, quiet, and
studious guy, and I have a feeling that Kitty-Cat is gonna walk all
over him.
“Catherine, how about you focus on your own pairing, and the
work you’ll need to submit. Now, to ensure that the workload is split
equally, and that one person isn’t doing everything...” Indah looks
specifically toward Kitty-Cat and her little cronies, who have all been
paired up with either quieter or smaller shifters, before continuing, “I
will be assigning each person an individual online drop-box. You will
be required to submit your drafts and final conclusions in these, and
they’ll be password-protected as well. Your final grade for this class
will be made up of this online work, as well as a joint presentation to
myself and your classmates from each pair. If you have an issue with
this, unless you can provide me with a letter stating why this is an
issue from a recognized medical professional, then suck it up and
deal with it. You’re adults, not kids, and I’m not going to pander to
your egos just because you don’t like what you’ve been instructed to
do.”
I seriously love this woman. She’s the kind of shifter who hasn’t
let her less-dominant nature hold her back. I think I want to be her
when I grow up, just a bit larger, fluffier, and with a more
magnificent tail. Seriously, have you seen what a snow leopard’s tail
looks like? It’s long and fluffy, we love to hide our faces behind it,
and we also have a tendency to bite and carry it in our mouths
because it’s actually pretty fun.
A body hitting the chair next to mine startles me back into the
here and now, and I look up to see Simon Gatto lounging beside me.
Oh, shit.
I look back toward Kitty-Cat, and yep, she’s pissed and glaring
daggers at me. What? It’s not my fault he’s my partner in this.
Blame Indah. She’s the one who set the pairs.
I look back up at Simon, taking him in. He smells good, and it’s
strangely familiar. This is the first time I’ve ever really been in close
proximity to him, and I think I might be drooling a little. This guy is
hot. I mean HOT. He’s tall, maybe a little over six feet, with that
sandy colored hair that’s either a very dark blond, or a very light
brown. His eyes are a blend of gold and hazel, and he has dimples.
Honest to gods dimples.
I don’t know what he looks like under his clothes, but going by his
body shape, I imagine he’s pretty stacked, similar to an Olympic
swimmer or diver...or at least, the human ones. His shoulders are
broad and taper down to a pair of reasonably narrow hips. He looks
like one of those guys who could do thirst traps all day, and you’d be
left still wanting more at the end. On top of all of that, he smells
absolutely divine. Underneath that dry lion musk, I smell hints of
Siberian pine, the clove-like scent of mountain aven, with a fresh, icy
aftertaste. He smells like home. Even my snow leopard is intrigued
by that underlying scent.
 He eyes me up and down, and I’m surprised to see appreciation in
his gaze. I’m not tall, svelte, or athletic like the majority of lionesses
and I reckon my stand-out features are my naturally white-blonde
hair and my pale green eyes. Think of your stereotypical Nordic ice-
queen, and that’s pretty much how I look, but without the stature.
“So, you must be the one responsible for Catherine’s bad moods
lately. She failed to mention how intriguing you are. I’m Simon, from
the Gatto Pride.” He offers me his hand, and I gave it a quick, if firm,
shake before dropping it like a hot coal. My hand is all tingly, and
there’s an undercurrent thrumming in the air which has my snow
leopard watching Simon closely.
“I’m Sila. Are you and I going to have a problem because of
Catherine and my disagreement?”
Simon throws back his head and laughs. Oh shit, I think I just
ovulated. What the fuck, body?
“Disagreement, hmm? Is that what you’re calling inciting her to
rampage through the Prides, cursing your very existence, all the
while harassing the younger cubs for the best way to ‘prank’
someone in her class?”
I groan and palm my face. “Look, I’m not interested in warring
with Catherine. She pissed me off. I’ve never been the type to stay
silent when someone is being a dick. I’m not going to apologize for
what I said, but honestly, I just want to go to my classes, do the
work, and put the effort in to get into a decent college.”
“Well, maybe I can get her to back off, seeing as how we’ll be
working together for the foreseeable future. We can’t have her little
snit impacting on my grades now, can we?”
I give him a derisive look, although I don’t know if he notices.
Lions tend to have a reputation for being self-absorbed, and so far,
besides Petra and Cyril, they’re all living up to that expectation.
Sitting next to Simon, smelling him every class, and trying to
concentrate will be a challenge, one I can’t afford to lose. Finally,
after some bitching from particular parties, we are all seated with
our “partner” for the foreseeable future, Indah starts the lesson and
proceeds to blow our collective minds.
 5.

You know something? Shifter dicks are fucking freaky! I mean,

sure, I know a male duck has a corkscrew dick, and that a female
duck actually has a corkscrew vagina, but the fact that it translates
to their human side as well? HOLY SHIT! A duck dude’s dick pretty
much has a groove spiraling up the shaft, and tends to be on the
longer, if slightly thinner side of the scale.
Duck dude’s dick. Try saying that three times in quick succession.
Luckily for the rest of the Aves classification, their dicks are
standard, even if their feathered half doesn’t have one.
Then there’s the Canidae shifters and the fucking knot they have
at the base of their dicks, even in their human form. I’m kinda both
impressed and horrified at the thought of something like that
swelling inside of me and preventing a dude from withdrawing for at
least half an hour after he’s cum. I mean, what if he’s a shit lay, and
you’re stuck with him until he deflates? What do you do then? Make
small talk? Read a book? That would be all kinds of awkward. Not to
mention that a lot of other mammalian shifters have a freaking bone
in their dicks. Yes, their boners contain actual bones.
And then there’s my lovely clade; the Felidae have spines on their
dicks. Yes, spines. I mean, I don’t imagine it’s anything like fucking a
cactus, otherwise we’d be extinct by now, but jeez, great way to
freak a girl out there.
Simon, the smug, sexy bastard chuckles when Indah imparts that
piece of information. Why does he have to be so smexy? I guess he
could tell the virgins in the class, or at least those of us who’ve
never seen an erect cat shifter dick before.
After thoroughly brutalizing us with that horrifying information,
complete with pictures—yes, pictures!—of the dicks that look like
they belong to some sort of alien, Indah moves on to the three
different bonding classifications; Common, Fated, and True. Yeah, I
know, the names leave a lot to be desired, but when she explains
further, it kind of makes sense. Common bonds are the most
common, and include several different types such as conscious
bonds—where you make a conscious choice to start a relationship,
kind of like normal dating—and familial bonds—those created within
family groups. Fated bonds draw you to each other, and through
some wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey shenanigans, override any specie
and genetic incompatibility. Humans call them “soulmates.” True
bonds are when your animal halves bond first, and essentially decide
for you.
Simon gives me his opinion in a running commentary as Indah
cycles through each category, and he surprises me when he
whispers in my ear, “Did you realize that if you’ve already bonded to
someone, either with a true or conscious mating, it trumps a fated?
It’s like the universe won’t allow you to double-dip a mate.”
I turn and look at him, confused. “What do you mean? How do
you know this?”
“Well, think of it. Have you ever heard of someone bonding to
another, and then their so-called fated mate arriving at a later point
and going, ‘Hey, that’s my mate, you can’t have them!’?”
“Well, no, but—”
“That’s because it doesn’t happen. Catherine and I learned about
it when we went through the counseling involved in arranged
conscious bonds. We had to agree to pretty much release the hope
that we’d find our fated before they’d allow us to continue.”
“You’re mated already?”
“No, not yet. We both kind of hope that our fated might make an
appearance, even though our families would rather tie us together.
We’ve agreed to hold off until after college, and if they haven’t
turned up by then, we’ll go ahead with the bond. We’ve known each
other forever, and this gives us a chance to experience life a bit
before being locked down in Pride politics.”
Interesting. Catherine walks around like everything is a done deal,
as though there is no doubt in her mind that she will be mated to
Simon, and that she will become the future Leona of the combined
Prides. But if it’s not set in stone, if coming across their fated mate
could end all that for her, why does she act that way? I sit back and
take notes for the rest of the class, that thought churning constantly
around in my head.
 6.

As the weeks progress, Catherine does back off somewhat, and I

can only guess it’s at Simon’s behest. Petra and the gang welcomed
me with open arms, and we spend a lot of time outside of classes
together. Ryssa and Báo love going over to the cat rescue, and the
number of times we have to drag them out from under the mounds
of purring cats is ridiculous. I’ve grown closer to Petra and Cyril in
particular, and the three of us are usually found together in a corner
of the library, if we aren’t in the cafeteria.
“Ugh! Charleton can be such an ass!” Petra pouted.
Petra, Cyril and I are all clustered around a table at the back of
the library, working on our various assignments.
“Why, what’s he done now?” I ask.
“I’ve been badgering him about meeting up to work on this
project Indah set, and he keeps giving me the run-around. I mean,
yeah, he’s sending me information, and he’s doing most of his share
of the work, but still. It’d be so much easier if I could sit with him for
an hour or two and talk it over. Plus, we need to practice for the
presentation.”
Cyril rolls his eyes at Petra’s dramatics. I know he hasn’t had any
issues with Krista, as he happily gloats about their “study dates”
whenever Petra goes on a rant. I’ve been pretty lucky with Simon as
well.
I tune out Petra’s complaints as my inbox pings with a new
message. Speak of the devil and all that.

Here’s my edited draft. I’ve already submitted it to my drop-box. I

can’t make tomorrow’s meet-up. S.

I groan and hurriedly send my response.

 Thanks for the draft. I hope everything’s okay. Are you sick?

Simon’s response is swift.

No, just got a hot date with a hot lioness. I have better things to
do than sit around and study. You need to get a life, lol.

That’s Simon. On the one hand, he’s responsible and studious,

sending me the information as and when it’s needed, never leaving
anything to the last minute. On the other hand, he’s a shit who will
cancel our plans if something more exciting pops up. At least he lets
me know in advance. Small mercies.
“Who was that?”
I look up and grimace at Petra.
“Simon. He’s canceled our study session tomorrow because he’s
got a date with Catherine. Want to come over for dinner tomorrow
night? Cyril? How about you? I’m sure Lucía will be happy to see
you.”
We all three laugh at that. They’ve both spent several dinners with
me over at the Oncas, and Lucía has developed a little crush on
Cyril, even though she knows he bats for the other team. As we
pack up our gear, I push my irritation with Simon away. He can have
a life and go on dates, it’s none of my concern so long as he doesn’t
screw up my education. So why does it feel so wrong? And why does
he smell so right?

◆◆◆

The only blot marring my time at Pred Academy is my growing

fascination, even obsession, with Simon. Back from the mid-term
break, I’m walking arm-in-arm down the corridor with Petra, mulling
over the extent of my distraction. I thought it might’ve been my
imagination, how it felt as though I could smell him no matter where
I was, and to test it out, I close my eyes and inhale deeply. My snow
leopard helps, sifting through and discarding the smells that don’t
belong to the object of our obsession, and when she discovers that
ice-coated pine and cloves scent, she latches onto it as if she was
lost in a storm at sea and it was the only life preserver in the world.
It grows stronger and I open my eyes to see Simon walking past
with a group of friends, and the world around me ceases to exist.
Everything inside of me is urging me to go to him, to rub myself up
against him and stake my claim, and it’s not until Petra shakes my
shoulders and yells in my ear that I come back to the here-and-now.
“Sila! Are you even listening to me?”
I turn back toward my friend, an embarrassed flush burning up my
neck and face as I apologize.
“Sorry Petra. What were you saying?”
Petra looks at me, concern vivid in her eyes.
“Sila, what’s going on with you? You were really distracted before
break, but I thought things had got better, since you were fine away
from here. We’ve all noticed how you seem to space out at random
times. Is everything okay with you?”
Sighing, I scrub my hands down my face, trying to figure out how
to describe what’s going on in my own head and body, when I don’t
even know what’s going on myself.
“I’ve become obsessed with Simon. Everywhere I go, it’s like I can
smell him, and when we’re in close proximity, it’s like nothing else
exists. His scent seems to be growing stronger and stronger, and I’m
finding it increasingly difficult to ignore and keep my hands to
myself.”
“Wait, what? Simon? As in Simon Gatto? The same Simon Gatto
who struts around Pred Academy like he’s too good to slum it with
the rest of us? That Simon Gatto?”
I nod.
“Has he said or done anything to you to cause this?”
I shake my head but admit just how closely I’ve been watching
him.
“He’s been nothing but friendly in general, although I have noticed
him sniffing the air sometimes, especially if I’ve just walked away.”
The next question she asks me leaves me flummoxed.
“Sila, do you think you could be fated? I mean, that’s one of the
signs, right?”
 I stand there, struck dumb as my mind churns. Fuck. FUCK! That
is one of the indicators, isn’t it? Those pheromones, that scent
designed to draw you to your mate, of your favorite things or
memories, or in my case, of my birth home. Although I barely
remember my early childhood in Russia, my snow leopard does. I
can hardly believe it, but Simon scents of the Russian steppes to me,
and once I realize this, my snow leopard chuffs in agreement,
flooding my mind with her formative memories of the area where
we’d been born.
Completely flabbergasted, I start pacing, wringing my hands
together before tearing them through my hair. My mind races with
my discovery, and I don’t know what to do about it.
“What should I do?”
Petra stands in front of me, preventing me from pacing, as she
meets my eyes and squeezes my shoulders in her hands.
“Well, first off, don’t panic. Panicking won’t help, and it’ll just make
you hyperventilate and then pass out. So don’t panic and breathe.”
She stands there, breathing deliberately slow, and I instinctively
match my breaths to hers. It takes a couple of minutes for my heart
to settle, and once it does, I nod my thanks.
“Okay, good, just keep doing that. Now, the second thing you
need to do is to go talk to him somewhere private and ask him if he
feels the same way. I mean, I think he’s an arrogant jerk most of the
time, and I know he and Catherine have an arranged mating set up
some time in the future, but—”
“He told me that they’d deliberately postponed the whole thing
until after they both finished college, just in case something like this
happened and they found their fated mates.”
“Okay then, there you go! They’ve already done the hard part,
although I’m surprised that Catherine thought that far ahead. All you
need to do is to talk to him, get him to admit that he feels the same
way, and then ride off into the sunset together!”
Petra beams at me, but although I am no longer panicking, I still
don’t feel this is the way to go. There is something holding me back,
an inexplicable flare of warning, and it’s confusing both me and my
snow leopard. Petra must see the indecision on my face when she
gently asks me, “Sila, honey, do you even want Simon as your fated
mate? Do you want to go ahead with the bonding?”
“Well, yeah, but—”
“But nothing then. If that’s the case, if it’s what you want, you
need to find him and talk to him, get it all sorted out. Not today,
obviously, but you’ll have to do it soon before you end up jumping
his boner at the back of Shifter Mating. I don’t think Indah would
enjoy you guys giving a practical demonstration on fated mates
fulfilling their bond.”
Snorting at the thought of Indah sitting there lecturing the class,
critiquing our performance and handing out pointers while Simon
and I fuck, I elbow Petra in her side as my shoulders drop back
down from where they’d been hanging around my ears. I feel an
overwhelming sense of relief and gratitude for my friend and hug
her to me as I agree to her plan.
“Okay, I think I need some time to prepare. Maybe I could talk to
him on Friday? That would give us the weekend to sort stuff out, if it
turns out we are fated.”
“Don’t worry, Sila, you know that the gang and I have your back. I
think poor Báo would love a front-row seat of Queen Cat being
ousted from her throne, if what he’s told me about working with her
is any indication.”
I groan at what poor Báo must be enduring with Catherine. I’ve
been lucky with Simon. He gave me his email early on and has
mostly stuck to our prearranged study times. Báo, on the other
hand, has been forced to approach Indah once already regarding
Catherine’s share of the workload, and from the sounds of things,
he’s on the verge of giving up altogether. It doesn’t help that he is
allergic to the suffocating clouds of perfume that she wears to cover
her weird scent, and he can’t be in close confines with her if they
are inside. I suspect he’s completed the entire project and will
submit it as a solo effort. Luckily for him, Báo also has the proof it’s
all his own work, so Catherine will be shit-out-of-luck if she tries
claiming any of it as hers. I want to be a fly on the wall when Indah
fails her skanky ass, because I get the feeling that Catherine has
very little experience in being told ‘No’, and not having the world
handed to her on a platter. The day she finally gets smacked down is
a day I look forward to eagerly.
 7.

Friday rolls around too soon, and with a stomach writhing with
nerves it takes me a while to track Simon down. When I finally find
him, he’s in the cafeteria surrounded by his Pride mates, Catherine
dangling from an arm like a loose thread. My snow leopard hates the
way she’s draped over him, her hands constantly touching and
stroking him as if proudly showing off her property. I swallow down
a snarl as I approach him from the side, trying to catch his eye, but
instead I catch Catherine’s.
“Oh, look Simon, it’s your little girlfriend. What the fuck does she
want?” Catherine spits out with a petulant sneer on her lips.
Their Pride mates laugh at that, darting me imperious and
taunting glances before lounging back to watch the show. I stiffen
my spine, take a breath, and decide to ignore the lot of them.
Assholes.
“Um, Simon, could I talk to you for a moment please? In private?
It... It’s kind of important.”
“In private? You want to talk to my boyfriend and future mate, in
private?” Digging her nails into his arm possessively, she demands,
“What can you have to say to him that you can’t say in front of all of
us?”
I send Simon a desperate look, hoping he’ll be the halfway decent
guy I’ve been working alongside the past few weeks, and not the
asshole that occasionally surfaces and drives me insane.
Rolling his eyes at the theatrics he’s being dragged into, he huffs a
sigh and plucks Catherine’s hand from his forearm with an aggrieved
look on his face, as if having to speak with me is an inconvenience,
but he will deign to allow it. His drawled, “Fine, whatever,” is laced
with reluctance.
“Simon, surely you aren’t considering giving in to her unwarranted
demands?” Comes the ear-piercing screech of an infuriated lioness.
 He turns to face Catherine, making some sort of gesture with his
hands before moving a few feet away from the group and facing me,
one eyebrow raised in impatience. I guess this is the best I can
expect of him today then.
“What is it, Sila? If it’s about the project, couldn’t you have sent
an email? I was relaxing.”
My gods, he sounds so petulant, but I decide to ignore that for the
moment, and just ask him. He’s usually a lot more pleasant and
accommodating away from Catherine and his Pride mates, and I
wonder which version of him is the act: the half-decent lion, or the
entitled Pride prince. From the corner of my eye, I can see Petra and
the gang creeping into the cafeteria, Petra sending a small wave in
support. Quickly looking away from her and into his expectant face, I
decide to just get it over with.
“Simon, I can’t help but notice something about you and me these
past few weeks, and I think it’s serious enough to bring to your
attention.”
Simon’s eyes rove up and down my body, the gleam in them
unsettling and unnerving. A prickle of unease travels up my spine,
but I can’t back down now.
“You and me? What have you noticed about you and me?”
Swallowing down my nerves, I forge forward. “Well, it’s to do with
your...your scent. Have you noticed anything about mine?”
“Your scent?”
I nod. “Yes. I’ve spotted you sniffing at the air where I’ve been
sitting in class several times, and it’s made me wonder if there’s
anything to it. You see, your scent is drawing me to you, and I...uh,
I think we might be, well, fated.”
I pause then, holding my breath and knotting my fingers together
as I await his reaction.
“Fated? You think that you and I are fated mates?”
I nod in answer.
Simon smiles softly and nods back to me, so I begin to relax.
Smiling at him in relief, I put my hand into his outstretched one. As
our hands touch, my snow leopard wriggles and begins to purr with
ecstatic rapture, but her joy is short lived. Instead of holding my
hand lovingly, Simon grips it tight in his, grinding the delicate bones
together. My snow leopard snarls in pain, not liking where this is
headed, when I abruptly notice something else. Catherine is
standing there, only steps away from us, a look of vicious triumph
on her face. She holds a phone up in front of her, filming.
“I have to admit, I did notice your scent that very first week, even
from across the room. It was even more noticeable after that class
when we were first paired together.” Simon speaks clearly, his voice
echoing across the suddenly silent room. We are the center of the
entire cafeteria’s attention, and although all I want is to retreat, it
looks like he is only too happy to perform for them.
“I noticed that your scent reminded me of some of my favorite
things: the salty smell of a warm day at the beach, the tart
sweetness and tang of a lemon sorbet, and the perfume of the
wildflowers growing at my grandparent’s ranch. I’ve known for some
time now that we were fated mates but never acted on it, because
really, Sila, where did you think this would go?”
He drops my now throbbing hand, and steps back to stand beside
Catherine, that triumphant smirk still on her face.
His face transforms into one of one of disdain and disgust, as he
spits his next words at me.
“Yeah, Sila Kadyn, you were my fated mate. But let me state here
and now, before all our peers, that I will never bond with you. You
are a snow leopard. I am a lion. Not only that, I am the next Leo of
my Pride, and as such, need a lioness to be my Leona. Who are you?
Who are your people? You were dumped at the base of a mountain
in the wilderness, unwanted and unloved. You’re only alive today
because your adoptive parents were probably sterile and desperate.
Your own parents didn’t want you, so why would I?”
I’ve always thought that people who said they could feel their
heart breaking were being melodramatic, but at this very moment, I
feel my heart shatter from his mockery. My snow leopard is writhing
and thrashing inside of me, desperate to get out and claw his mouth
shut. She hates him now, fated mate or not, and she wants to hurt
him as he is hurting us.
 Mami had lost several cubs before she and Babi had turned to
adoption, and never once have I felt anything but loved. But right
now, I’m vulnerable and exposed, and those words hurt.
I struggle to stand tall in the face of his abuse, not wanting to
give either of them the satisfaction of seeing me break. I feel my
snow leopard pushing forward, trying to escape but my feet are
cemented to the floor.
“Sila Kadyn, you are nothing, no-one, and I’d rather lose my lion
than take you as my mate. Catherine and I have been matched by
our Prides. She is the only person I can conceive bonding with. Her
pedigree is impeccable, whereas you are less than the dirt beneath
our feet. She is the Leona I want, and I will happily pledge my
promise to bond with her today if it means I never have to deal with
you again. I reject your claim, reject your pathetic excuse of an
animal, and reject everything and anything you have to offer.”
Silence. The entire cafeteria is filled with an ominous, oppressive
silence. Simon’s enraged lion swirls in his eyes, and the knowledge
that his animal half is present for this rejection tears my snow
leopard apart.
I gulp down air frantically, trying to keep control, my mind
splintering under the agony, my hands clenching into fists so tight
that my nails drive into my palms, the stinging burn doing nothing to
calm me. My enraged snow leopard, now almost feral in her
consuming need for violence and bloodshed, has lost all reason and
is fighting against the strained and shredded link tethering us
together. The silence surrounding me is smothering and deafening,
our audience of shifters now unmoving statues in their disbelief of
what they’ve just witnessed.
Catherine steps forward then. She holds her phone up to my face,
getting a close-up of my agony before she decides to literally
unleash her own version of hellish revenge. Taking advantage of my
vulnerability, her dominance crashes over me like a tsunami, and I
collapse to the ground, my snow leopard screaming out in rage, but
pinned by the strength of Catherine’s authority. She stares at me
with hatred and loathing, pushing down on me more and more,
grinding me into the floor, until my limbs are too heavy to lift, and I
can barely breathe.
“You think you are better than me? You think you have the right to
come here, to my school, ignore my authority, and claim my future
mate? You are nothing. You belong there, down in the dirt. You will
remain there, until I decide you can leave, and even then, you’ll be
slithering out on your belly like the pathetic worm you are.”
A stifling sense of despair and aching desolation pummel through
me, and it tears apart the final frayed threads of control tethering
my snow leopard. Something snaps inside of me, and I feel an
agony unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. She surges forward,
drawing me back into the dark depths of my mind as she takes over
my body. The last thing I see is Petra’s white face running toward
me before everything fades to black.
The Reficio Establishment,
Wyoming.
 Another Random Document on
Scribd Without Any Related Topics
the packing-house business out of Kansas City, although they
brought in 33⅓ percent of all the live-stock that entered the city. So
“we told one of the largest shippers in Kansas City that if they would
come and ship with us we would give them 5 cents reduction from
the tariff, and in order to get them we had to promise to do it for a
year—I think until the first of July of this year, 1902.”
Continuing, the witness admitted the illegality of the transaction.
“Mr. Morton. Yes, sir; it is an illegal contract. It was illegal when
we made it, and we knew that.
“Commissioner Clements. Can you tell how much you paid out in
a year?
“Morton. On this business?
“Clements. Yes, sir. Have you any idea whether it is $50,000 or
$100,000 or $10,000—anything definite? Of course it is a mere
guess and you do not know—
“Morton. Well, I think there was a great deal more than any sum
you mention paid out.
“Clements. By your company?
“Morton. By all the companies. I think we paid out $50,000 a
year or more.
“Clements. Who would have the direction of that? Who would see
that it was paid? Who would direct it to be done?
“Morton. I would.
“Commissioner Prouty. How much does it cost your company on
all its business in any one year to deviate from the published rates?
“Morton. I should think between $500,000 and $1,000,000 a
year.”
By means of private cars, mileage payments, rebates, and control
of rates, the big packers had advantages which enabled them to ruin
the smaller packers all over the country. The Lincoln, Neb., Packing
Company, for example, was “driven out of business,” the manager
says, “by freight discrimination, rebates, and the private car. After
doing a losing business for 5 or 6 years against these odds, the
company closed down with a loss of 75 percent of the investment.”
And this is a fair sample of what has happened to many, many of the
competitors of the Beef Trust.
 CHAPTER XIII.
IMPORTS AND EXPORTS.

The low rates in favor of foreign goods and of domestic goods

intended for export amount to a serious discrimination. Paul Morton
told the United States Industrial Commission that goods were
carried from Hamburg to Denver for less than the rates from Chicago
to Denver.[113] Complaint was made many years ago that the
Pennsylvania Railroad and other roads charged lower rates, even 50
percent lower, on goods shipped in from foreign countries than on
domestic traffic of the same sort. Investigation revealed in some
cases a far greater difference than 50 percent.
At one time the rate on tin plate from Liverpool via Philadelphia
and the Pennsylvania Railroad to Chicago was 24 cents a hundred,
while the rate from Philadelphia over the same road was 28 cents.
In the Texas and Pacific Case the record showed that books,
buttons, carpets, clothing, etc., were carried from England, via New
Orleans to San Francisco for $1.07 a hundred, while the same articles
of domestic manufacture paid $2.88 on the same trains from New
Orleans to Frisco. Boots and shoes, cashmere, confectionery, cutlery,
gloves, hats and caps, laces and linens, etc., took the same blanket
rate of $1.07 from Liverpool and London to San Francisco, while
similar American goods paid the railroads $3.70 a hundred from
New Orleans to California. In some cases the railroads received only
⅙ as much for the transportation of foreign goods as for domestic
goods. The Interstate Commission held that “any difference in charge
between foreign and domestic traffic is unlawful,” and ordered the
discrimination to cease, but after long litigation the United States
Supreme Court decided that among the circumstances and
conditions to be considered in judging rates are the conditions of
ocean traffic and water competition to interior ports in the United
States, etc., so that a carrier may be justified in making low rates to
secure foreign freights which would otherwise go by competitive
routes or not go at all.[114] The practical result appears to be that
railroads may nullify the protective tariff and discriminate in favor of
foreign shipments to any extent that is necessary to make them
move, regardless of the question whether or no they ought to move
under such conditions.
Foreign manufacturers cannot only ship their goods across the
country more cheaply than our manufacturers can, or at least such of
them as pay schedule rates, but can also get special rates on all raw
materials they buy here and ship over our lines for export. For
example, a Chicago miller pays 21 cents per one hundred lbs. to get
either wheat or flour to New York, while the English miller can buy
wheat in Chicago and take it to New York for 13 cents. In some cases
the rate on flour has been as much as 11 cents more than the rate on
wheat. Since 2 or 3 cents a hundred lbs. is a good profit, our millers
cannot grind for export against the English millers.[115] The railroads
turn down our millers and establish a protective tariff for free trade
England, protecting her millers against competition.
American shippers take such advantage of the low export rates as
they can, but sometimes these concessions are made to the shippers
in one city and not to those of other cities; for example, the railroads
carrying export flour from Minneapolis at a discount refused similar
concessions to shippers at intermediate points.[116]
 CHAPTER XIV.
LOCALITY DISCRIMINATIONS.

Discriminations between localities, though less pronounced in this

period than in the first, were nevertheless multitudinous and vital.
In 1896 the railroads carried Minneapolis flour to New York for 10
cents a hundred, while charging New York State millers 18 cents a
hundred to New York City.
President Stickney of the Chicago and Great Western Railroad, in a
discussion the same year with the representatives of other western
roads before the I. C. C., said: “You charge the Kansas and Nebraska
farmer 13 cents to haul his grain 200 miles while you charge the
grain dealer 6 cents to haul that same grain twice as far to Chicago....
I have been acquainted with this northwestern country for thirty-five
years. In all that time there has never been a year that the corn crop
was moved until after the corn was in the hands of dealers who had
the rate. Once the farmer is compelled to sell his grain, then you
fellows cut the rate for the dealer.” That is, the railroads charge the
farmer shipping to the Missouri River a mileage rate 4 times as high
as the rate to the dealers shipping to Chicago, and freeze out the
small dealers from shipping to Chicago by making secret rates in
favor of the big dealers.
Coal was shipped from Chicago to Omaha and then reshipped to
Grinnell, Ia., 225 miles back toward Chicago, more cheaply than it
could be got direct from Chicago.
“A large manufacturing establishment located in the latter town,
making agricultural implements which were sold principally on the
Pacific Coast, found it advantageous to abandon its plant and
transfer its machinery and employees to Chicago on account of the
unfavorable rates.
 “A large factory for making barbed wire, located in the city of Des
Moines, in like manner abandoned its buildings and transferred its
establishment to Chicago, finding that it saved a large sum on every
carload of wire it shipped, although the wire was mainly carried
directly by or through its old location, 300 miles nearer the Pacific
Coast than Chicago.”[117]
To certain towns in Nebraska and other States the railways have
extended the same rates that apply to Missouri River points, where
the rates to Chicago are very low, while other towns in the same
region have to pay the Missouri River rates to and from Chicago, plus
the local rate from the river point.[118]
The extent to which railroads sometimes go in place
discriminations is shown by cases cited in Cator and Lewis. One of
the towns on the route of the Northern Pacific in Montana incurred
the displeasure of the railway authorities, and they determined to
ruin it and build up a new town. So they refused to stop their trains
in the town or have a depot there. The railroad built a new depot on
lands of its own, 3 miles beyond, and ran its trains through the old
town to the new site, thereby feeding its revenge and enhancing the
value of its own land at the same time, at the cost of ruining the town
already established. The courts sustained the railroad’s claim that it
had a right to run through to the new depot, though some of the
judges dissented, regarding such favor as despotic and destructive of
public rights.[119]
“A town in the State of Iowa, which had thriven under reasonable
railroad facilities, was almost depopulated by a change of ownership
of the railroad line upon which it depended.
“As the result of discrimination forty American families were
driven out of this small town in a single year. Their property was
rendered almost worthless, and with great pecuniary loss from no
fault of their own they were obliged to abandon their homes and seek
new habitations and new avocations. Cases like this were abundant
throughout the West. This merely illustrates what was going on in a
dozen great States where cities, towns, and villages were being
depopulated or their business establishments placed at great
disadvantage by reason of iniquitous discriminations.”[120]
Peopled flocked into the towns and cities favored with the low
rates, and when the competitive rates were removed, as they have
been in many cases, the boom towns collapsed, and the inflated
building and business interests shrunk to skin and bone.
Better accommodations are frequently accorded to places in which
the railway or its officers are interested than to other places. When a
new road is projected there are usually town-lot and land companies
along the lines, in which prominent officials of the road may be
directly or indirectly interested. Their knowledge of the future
location of the road is utilized in purchasing tracts of land at low
values to be used for town sites and sold at high prices after the
railway is built.
“Sometimes the entire road becomes a land-grabbing scheme with
a town-lot speculation attachment. The western half of one of the
principal roads in Iowa was built mainly on this plan. Its natural
route was along one of the old stage roads running through the
county seats of the counties through which it must pass. About these
towns was a well-settled country, with rich farms well improved for
that early day. The towns were moderate in size, but had been
established as trading points for many years, and stores, schools, and
churches had grown up.
“But there was a belt of government land lying between the two
belts of settlement about the respective county seats, which the road
coveted, and if the line passed through the old towns there would be
little chance for the speculative directors to profit by laying out town
sites. So the road was laid out and built through the unsettled lands,
avoiding every old town on its route.”[121]
Sometimes discriminations are made by the use of different
classifications for local and through traffic.[122] The rate on sugar
from San Francisco to Kearney, Neb., was 77 cents per hundred lbs.,
against 50 cents, clear through to Omaha.[123] The rate on lumber
from Wilmington to Philadelphia and Boston was higher than the
local rate from Wilmington to Portsmouth or Norfolk plus the rate
from Portsmouth or Norfolk to Philadelphia or Boston.[124]
The rates from the East to St. Cloud, Minn., were higher than to St.
Paul and other more distant points. The difference against St. Cloud
was 7 cents per hundred on flour and 75 to 85 per ton on coal. This
difference was two or three times the profit made by the miller, so
that the price of wheat in St. Cloud was 6 cents below the price in
Minneapolis or Princeton or Elk River, and the value of land about
St. Cloud was thereby greatly lessened.[125]
A canning factory in Emporia, Kansas, had good natural
advantages and an excellent trade in Kansas, Colorado, Texas, etc.,
when in 1891 the freight rates were changed on the basis of water
and rail competition via Galveston so that canned goods could be
shipped into this territory from New York at rates that drove the
Emporia factory out of business with a loss of $50,000 and the ruin
of the owner who had been the heaviest tax payer in the county.
The Emporia furniture factory, and the Emporia stockyards have
also been ruined, it is said, by freight discriminations. In the Spokane
case the rate to Portland, 2056 miles from the East, was $30 a ton,
while the rate to Spokane, only 1512 miles, was $52 per ton. The
Commission said this was unreasonable. “If a rate of 1½ cents per
ton-mile yielded a desirable margin over the cost, a rate of 3½ cents
pays an unwarranted return.” In a Georgia case it appeared that the
rate from Cincinnati to a non-competitive town, Marietta, was 6
times as much per ton-mile as the rate to Atlanta. The business men
of Spokane paid 2 or 3 times as much for haulage as the men of
Portland, and the business men of Marietta paid 6 times as much in
proportion as those in Atlanta.
The Spokane merchants combined and put their freight business
in the hands of one agent, who could swing every pound of freight to
the Northern Pacific or to the Oregon Navigation Co., or to the Great
Northern, etc. Then the railways pooled against the merchants. The
latter adopted the policy of tendering a reasonable sum for freight,
and if the railways wouldn’t take it, the merchants replevied the
goods and left the companies to sue for the freight. The companies
got tired of that and made some concessions. But Spokane still
suffers from severe discrimination, as we shall see hereafter. Coal
hauled fifty miles to Leadville sold there for $7 a ton, while in
Denver, after an additional haul of 150 miles, the same coal was sold
for $5.50 a ton. The Michigan Central and other roads charged
higher rates on carriages and buggies to San Bernardino than to Los
Angeles, some distance further on.[126]
From Pittsburg to Colorado the rate on rails was $1.60, while the
rate all the way through to San Francisco was only 66 cents. From
Pueblo to San Francisco, 1,559 miles, the rate on bar iron and on
rails was $1.60 per hundred, while from Chicago to San Francisco,
2,418 miles, the rates were 50 cents on bar iron and 60 cents on
rails; and even from New York to San Francisco the same rate of 60
cents was made for rails.[127]
Sometimes the charge is much greater going one way between two
given points than it is going the other way between the same points.
For instance, “Gloves from San Francisco to Denver pay $2 a
hundred. You ship the same packages back from Denver, which has
5,000 feet of elevation, to San Francisco at the sea level, downhill,
like a toboggan slide, and it is $3 a hundred downhill to $2 up.”[128]
The discriminations against Denver are severe both from Eastern
and Western points. Sugar is carried from San Francisco to Denver at
75 cents; to Loveland it is 93 cents; but hundreds of miles further on,
to Omaha, it is only 50 cents.[129] “Mr. Kindel has been driven out of
the manufacture of upholstering goods and of spring beds in Denver
because of similar differences. He wished to manufacture albums in
Denver, but was forced to locate in Chicago because the freight rate
on books from Chicago to San Francisco was $1.75 per hundred and
from Denver to San Francisco $3, while the Denver manufacturer
had to pay 97 cents freight on his raw material (paper, etc.) from
Chicago to Denver, $3.97 against $1.75. So too, the freight rate on
books from Chicago to New York is 75 cents, from Denver to New
York $2.72.”[130]
“The difference in rates on coal oil has been so great that oil has
sometimes been shipped from Chicago to San Francisco and back
again to Denver.”
“Boots and shoes are carried from Chicago to Colorado common
points at $2.05 per hundred, from Chicago to California at $1.50 per
hundred. If a jobber in Colorado wishes to ship boots and shoes to
California he must pay $3, making a total freight rate of $5.05 from
Chicago to California in this way. Cotton-piece goods under
commodity rates are shipped from Boston to the Missouri River for
52 cents per hundred, while the rate from the Missouri River to
Denver is $1.25 for a haul of one-third the distance. The rate from
the Missouri River through Denver to California is only $1.”[131]
No wonder a Denver manufacturer said to the Industrial
Commission: “My city, Denver, and State, Colorado, and all the
territory embraced in the one hundred and fifth meridian section,
are violently discriminated against by the railroads and express
company. We are denied commercial equality, which forbids the
development of our resources. Our freight rates are anywhere from
100 to 300 percent higher per ton per mile than those of our Eastern
and Western competitors.”[132]
Such conditions tend to force dealers to points on the Missouri
River or east of it. The shipper at St. Joseph on the Missouri River,
for example, can get goods from Chicago at 80 cents and reship to
San Francisco for $1.50, while the Denver shipper must pay $2 from
Chicago to Denver and $3 from Denver to San Francisco,—$5 for the
Denver shipper against $2.30 for the St. Joseph man.[133]
 CHAPTER XV.
LONG-HAUL DECISIONS OF THE SUPREME
COURT.

The long-haul clause did not realize the intent of its framers. It
received a series of shocks from the United States Supreme Court,
which produced, if not paralysis, at least a bad case of nervous
prostration.[134]
At first, believing that the law would be enforced in accordance
with its purpose and intent to get rid of unjust and needless
discrimination between localities, the Northern and Western roads
revised their tariffs in good faith in reference to long and short haul
rates, but, later, when they found that the Supreme Court did not
intend to enforce the 4th section, they joined the Southern roads in
practical disregard of it wherever they found it convenient to do so,
and only in a few cases has their disregard been checked.
Within 5 days after the Commission was appointed a large number
of railroads applied for relief from the long and short haul clause;
and in many cases, on the ground of water competition, etc., relief
was given.[135] The Commission held that dissimilar circumstances
existed under the 4th section in case of competition with water
carriers, or railroads not under the Act (foreign railroads and
railroads lying wholly within a single State), and in “rare and
peculiar cases of competition between interstate railroads, when a
strict application of the rule would be destructive of legitimate
competition,”[136] but ordinarily competition between interstate roads
was not regarded as sufficient to relieve them from the 4th section.
In November, 1892, the Commission decided the famous Alabama
Midland Case. The complaint was that rates from the East and
Northeast to Troy, Ala., were higher than to Montgomery, a longer
haul passing through Troy. The railroads pleaded competition at
Montgomery. The Commission held that railway competition would
not justify departure from the rule of Section 4 of the Interstate Act.
Five years later, in November, 1897, the United States Supreme
Court sustained the judgment of the Circuit Court and Circuit
Appeals Court, overruling the Commission, and held that the
existence of railway competition at Montgomery made a substantial
difference of circumstances within the meaning of the exception in
Section 4.[137]
The Court held that competition even of interstate lines is a
substantial difference of conditions which may justify a greater
charge for a short than for a long haul, but said, “We do not hold that
the mere fact of competition, no matter what its character or extent,
necessarily relieves the carrier from the restraints of the 3rd and 4th
sections.”
In the 2d section, which prohibits any rebate or discrimination and
is intended to enforce equality of shippers over the same line,
“‘similar circumstances and conditions’ refers to matters of carriage,
and does not include competition between rival routes;” but in the 3d
and 4th sections “similar circumstances and conditions” includes
competition, which “is one of the most obvious and effective
circumstances that make the conditions under which a long and
short haul is performed, and substantially dissimilar.” The railroad
people think the circumstances are very dissimilar also when the Oil
Trust or the Beef Combine threatens to take hundreds of thousands
of dollars worth of business if they don’t get the rates and facilities
they want, while Messrs. A. B. C., etc., ship their goods and pay the
schedule rates without suggesting any reduction. This dissimilarity is
harder for the railroads to deal with than the other. They can stop
competing among themselves on long-haul schedule rates more
easily than they can enforce equal rates on the big shippers.
In the Chattanooga Case it appeared that rates from New York and
other points via South Atlantic points to Chattanooga were higher
than to Nashville, 152 miles further on. The Commission in
December, 1892, ordered this discrimination to cease. The order was
not obeyed. Suit to enforce it was brought in the Circuit Court, and a
decision sustaining the Commission was rendered in February, 1898.
And in November, 1899, the Court of Appeals confirmed the
decision, holding that the ruling of the Supreme Court in the
Midland Case did not apply, because “normal competition” would
give Chattanooga the same rates as Nashville.[138] But the Supreme
Court in 1901 reversed the lower courts and decided against the
Commission.[139]
The Georgia Railroad Commission Cases, also decided by the
Interstate Commission in 1892, went the same way, the United
States Supreme Court again deciding against the Interstate
Commission on the long and short haul clause, holding that any
substantial competition of markets or railways creates dissimilar
conditions within the 4th section.[140]
The result is that dissimilarity of conditions created by the
railroads themselves becomes the means of freeing them from the
long-haul rule of the 4th section of the Interstate Act.
In the South a method called the “basing-point system” is in vogue.
The railroads name certain towns as distributing centres and
competing points, fix the rates to and from these points, and make
rates to and from other localities by adding to such through rates the
local charges in force between the distributing centres, or “basing-
points” and the said other localities.
The Commission says: “Our annual reports to Congress and
reported decisions in cases have uniformly condemned this
distributing centre theory of rate-making, but the Southern carriers
have resisted our efforts to correct the practice.”[141]
A thoughtful writer in the Popular Science Monthly says: “The
most serious class of unjust discriminations includes those which
have for their victims the entire populations of towns, cities, and
even extensive districts, which are made to suffer from the unfair
adjustment of railway rates. Practically the whole region south of the
Potomac and Ohio and east of the Mississippi has continuously
suffered from discriminations of this kind through the system of
making charges to a few selected cities the basis for through rates to
all other points. Through rates are made to and from about two
hundred of the larger towns, including Atlanta, Birmingham,
Chattanooga, Vicksburg, New Orleans, and Mobile, and traffic
shipped from or to all other points is charged the rate to one of these
basing-points plus the local rate from such basing-points to final
destination. In practice it is common to make the combination by the
use of rates to and beyond whatever basing-point will give the lowest
total, whether on the line traversed by the shipment or not. Thus a
shipment from Cincinnati to a point on the line from that city to New
Orleans may be charged the full rate to New Orleans plus that from
the latter back to the local point. The condemnation of such a system
cannot be too severe. It not only limits the commercial activities of
the towns unjustly discriminated against and restricts the sources
from which they can directly draw supplies, but by hindering their
growth it retards the development of the entire section, including the
cities supposed to be favored.”[142]
In a case decided in 1894 it was found that hay was being carried
from Memphis through Summerville to Charleston for 19 cents a
hundred, against 28 cents a hundred from Memphis to Summerville,
the 9 cents difference being equal to the local rate from Charleston
back to Summerville. “The difference of $1.80 per ton was sufficient
to preclude the Summerville dealer from selling in neighboring
towns in competition with Charleston dealers. The Summerville
dealer was thus practically confined to Summerville for a market,
and even there had to compete with dealers doing business at
Charleston 19 miles away. If $3.80 per ton is profitable to the
carriers for bringing hay in carloads from Memphis to Charleston,
then $5.60 per ton, nearly 50 percent more, from Memphis to
Summerville, which is nearer than Charleston is to Memphis,
represents an extra profit of $1.80, which the carrier did not and
could not show to be equalled by extra cost of transporting a car of
hay and delivering the same at Memphis.” The Commission (June
1894) ordered the carriers not to charge more from Memphis to
Summerville than from Memphis to Charleston, holding that
competition of markets or of railways would not justify a higher
charge for a shorter than for a longer haul. The order was made in
September. In its report to Congress in December the Commission
said, “The order has not been obeyed.”[143]
Social Circle, situated between Atlanta and Augusta in Georgia,
was required to pay a rate from Cincinnati made up of the rate to
Atlanta plus the local rate from Atlanta to Social Circle, while
Augusta, considerably more distant, had rates from Cincinnati no
higher than those to Atlanta. The Commission in June, 1891, ordered
the railroad to cease charging more from Cincinnati to Social Circle
than for the longer distance to Augusta.[144]
Hill and Brother, in the wholesale grain, flour, and hay business at
Cordele, Ga., were in competition with dealers at Albany, Americus,
and Macon, which were made basing-points and had lower rates
than Cordele from the common source of supply. Cordele was shown
to be nearer the coast than the other points, and to have several
railway routes from Nashville, so that it could not be excluded from
the low rate list on competitive grounds. The railroad men said it was
excluded because it was not so large a distributing point as the other
places, but admitted that if it had equally low rates it would largely
increase as a distributing centre; so that the case stood thus: The
railroads did not give Cordele equally low rates because it was not a
sufficiently large distributing centre, and it was not a sufficiently
large distributing centre because it was denied equally low rates; i. e.,
the railroads sought to excuse themselves for wrongdoing by offering
the results of the wrong in justification. The Commission refused to
allow the railroads to take advantage of their own wrong and
condemned the Cordele rates.[145]
The Louisville and Nashville charged $3.69 per ton on pig iron
from Birmingham, Ala., to Cordele, Ga., 267 miles, and only $1.80 a
ton from Birmingham to Macon, 332 miles. On coal the rate was
$2.60 to Cordele and $1.60 to Macon. The Commission decided that
the rates to Cordele should be no higher than to Macon.[146]
La Grange is 71 miles nearer New Orleans than Atlanta, yet the
rates to La Grange were made so much higher than to Atlanta that an
Atlanta dealer could ship goods from New Orleans through to
Atlanta and then back to La Grange as cheaply as the goods could be
shipped direct to La Grange.[147]
To keep traffic from going to Savannah and make it go to the
Northwest or to Pensacola, the Louisville and Nashville made very
high rates on shipments to Savannah. On Savannah traffic the
Nashville haul was short and the receipts small; on shipments to the
Northwest the Nashville receipts were much larger, and in Pensacola
it had a special interest. So the Savannah cotton rate was advanced
from $2.75 to $3.30 a bale, and the rates on naval stores were also
made much higher than to Pensacola or to the Northwest.[148] The
Commission ordered the railroad to discontinue the discrimination
against Savannah, January, 1900, and the Circuit Court sustained
the decision, July, 1902.
The Commission has condemned the rates from New Orleans to
Danville, Va., as excessive in comparison with the rates on the longer
haul to Lynchburg;[149] also the rates on sugar and molasses from
New Orleans to Nashville as higher than on the long haul to
Louisville;[150] the rates from New York, Cincinnati, Chattanooga,
Nashville, and New Orleans, as discriminating against Dawson and
in favor of Americus, Eufaula, and Albany;[151] undue preference to
Sioux City against Sioux Falls, in the rates from Chicago and Duluth;
[152]
and many other discriminations between localities, and
violations of the long and short haul clause;[153] yet all the complaints
and decisions, numerous as they have been, are but a cupful from the
sea; and the evils removed in pursuance of orders of the Commission
which the Courts neglected to overrule form an insignificant group
compared to the mass that remained untouched.
 CHAPTER XVI.
TEN YEARS OF FEDERAL REGULATION.

In “A Decade of Federal Railway Regulation,” after describing

various forms of discrimination, H. T. Newcomb says: “The
conditions described are fairly typical of those existing all over the
United States. The Interstate Commerce Law has mitigated but
slightly, if at all, the evil of unjust discrimination between
individuals, has in but few and relatively insignificant instances
moderated unjust discriminations between articles or classes of
traffic, and has almost wholly failed to remedy the far more serious
inequities in rate-making, which operate to the disadvantage of
towns, cities, or districts.”[154]
In 1897 the President of the Big Four Railway said: “Never in the
history of railways have tariffs been so little respected as to-day.
Private arrangements and understandings are more plentiful than
regular rates. The larger shippers, the irresponsible shippers, are
obtaining advantages which must sooner or later prove the ruin of
smaller and more conservative traders, and in the end will break up
many of the commercial houses in this country and ruin the railways.
A madness seems to have seized upon some railway managers, and a
large portion of the freight of the country is being carried at prices
far below cost.... There is a much more dangerous view, and that is
the demoralization of the men conducting these numerous
enterprises and the want of respect for the law which is being
developed by the present situation.... There is less faith to-day
between railway managers, with reference to their agreements to
maintain tariffs, than was probably ever known on earth in any other
business. Men managing large corporations who would trust their
opponent with their pocket-book with untold thousands in it, will
hardly trust his agreement for the maintenance of tariffs while they
are in the room together. Good faith seems to have departed from the
railway world, so far as traffic agreements are concerned.”[155]
The Texas Railway Commission in 1897 started suits against
several railways for discriminations, and before the end of the year
three railways pleaded guilty in 95 cases and paid fines amounting to
$47,500, promising to “be good.” The next year $20,000 more were
paid by the railways as fines in 20 cases for violation of this law in
Texas. Many other cases pending.[156] In the 1898 Report the
Commission says that express and railway agents do a business as
shippers of fruit, etc., and discriminate against the business of other
shippers by underbilling their own shipments and by delaying the
other shipments.
One of the most striking illustrations of the effectiveness of the
Interstate Act is to be found in the results of the Boston and Albany
investigation in 1900, during the consideration of the question of
leasing the road to the New York Central. The Interstate Act made it
a misdemeanor to depart from the published rates, but the railroad
followed the law only when it was convenient to do so, and most of
the rates in actual use constituted misdemeanors.
“Various shippers, merchants, manufacturers, etc., were visited,
and it was found that the local rates were not followed, that shippers
were receiving widely varying discounts from the published rates,
and that shippers did not know at all what rates their competitors
and neighbors were getting. They were not satisfied with the system,
but they were afraid to complain, for if they made complaint they
would lose whatever advantages they possess and become marked
men for railway persecution. The Railroad Commission of
Massachusetts advertised for shippers who were not satisfied to
come and make complaint; but they did not do so, for the reason that
any shipper who complained of a railroad would be apt to fare a good
deal worse afterwards than before; his goods would be delayed, his
facilities would be cut off and whatever reductions he was getting
would be stopped, and he would have to pay the full published rates.
He might also be involved in costly litigation, and he did not dare to
say anything.
“The Railroad Commission was asked by the legislature about
these discriminations on the Boston and Albany, and a report was
handed in by the Commission (1900) saying that the reductions from
the published rates averaged 40 percent, and that in different cases
they ran from 10 to about 73 percent—fully confirming what the
shippers had said. It was admitted, however, that this report was not
written by the Railroad Commission. They had passed the question
over to the Boston and Albany, and a high official of the road had
written the reply. The Railroad Commission admitted that they did
not know anything about it. They, however, handed in the report of
the railroad official as being true, and it was admitted, both by the
railroad, and by the Commission, that these discounts on local rates
were being given. The railroad official claimed that the special rates
were ‘open to all shippers sending freight under similar
circumstances and conditions,’ which may be true if we understand
circumstances and conditions’ to include the relations of the shipper
to the managers, and his pull with the railroad, but cannot in any
other way be made to square with the statements of shippers and the
other evidences in the case.”
While favored shippers were receiving discounts of 10 percent to
73 percent from the published rates, other shippers, and some doing
considerable business, declared that they got no discount at all.
During the legislative investigation the matter was put to Samuel
Hoar, attorney and director of the Boston and Albany, and he said: “I
suppose it is true that no shipper knows what his rival is getting. I
suppose it is true. But what of it? What has that to do with the
lease?”
The receipts per ton-mile on all classes of freight were less than
one-half the average of the published rates to the various stations on
the road for the cheapest class of freight, viz., coal. And the lowest
published local rate on coal was higher than the average rate on all
commodities.
“The interstate-commerce law was passed in 1887 and the
Interstate Commerce Commission was established to abolish the
evils of unjust discrimination, but the work has not been
accomplished. The Interstate Commerce Commission has told us
year after year that the discriminations are still going on; and that
they cannot be stopped under present laws at least.”[157]
Mr. George R. Blanchard of New York, former commissioner of the
Joint Traffic Association told the Industrial Commission[158] that
“Discriminations against persons result from secret rebates,
combination of rates on inward material and outward products, so as
to affect the through charges; favoritisms in terminal facilities;
quicker time in transit; unequal or hidden allowances in weights;
dissimilar storage periods in cars or warehouses; preferences in
supplying cars; differences in special charges, such as switching,
loading or unloading, or in cartage allowances; the leasing of
elevators to or making elevator contracts with large handlers of
grain, to their exceptional advantage; the grant of undue allowances
under the fictitious guise of commissions, etc.”
Summing up the evidence gathered in its great investigation,
1900–1901, the United States Industrial Commission concludes that
the main effect of the Interstate Act has been to concentrate the
benefits of discrimination in fewer hands,[159] which tends to build up
trusts and combines. It found discriminations everywhere prevailing.
It says: “There is a general consensus of opinion among practically
all witnesses, including members of the Interstate Commerce
Commission, representatives of shippers, and railway officers, that
the railways still make discriminations between individuals, and
perhaps to as great an extent as before. In fact, it is stated by
numerous witnesses that discriminations were probably worse
during the year 1898 than at any previous time.
“It is claimed that direct rebates and secret rates are still
frequently granted; commissions are paid for securing freight; goods
are billed at less than the actual weight; traffic within a State not
subject to the Interstate Commerce Act is carried at lower rates;
allowances and advantages are made in handling and storing, etc.
Several witnesses refer to the practice of shipping goods under a false
classification. Sometimes this is done without the knowledge of the
railways, but in other cases they apparently connive. Thus fine
hardware may be shipped as some low-class kind of iron.
“The representatives of the railways declare that so long as
competition exists the attempt to get traffic by secret rates must
continue. It is thought generally that there has been a considerable
improvement in the situation during the year 1899.... In the latter
part of 1898, Messrs. Cowen and Murray, receivers of the Baltimore
and Ohio Railroad, addressed a letter to the Interstate Commerce
Commission declaring that the practice of granting rates below the
published tariffs was so general as seriously to reduce the revenue of
the railroads. More than 50 percent of the traffic, at least on certain
roads, was affected. The receivers expressed a determination to
coöperate in the enforcement of the law. Later, conferences were
held between the Interstate Commerce Commission and railway
officers, which led to a general attempt to reduce the extent of the
evil. Many witnesses, however, including representatives of the
railroads, think that the improvement is only temporary, and that
when the present rush of traffic has ceased discriminating rates will
be granted more and more.”
The investigations of the last five years show that these witnesses
were right in thinking the cessation of hostilities to be only a
temporary truce.
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