Cat Scratch Fever; Blue-Collar Werewolves V

by Buffi BeCraft

  “Okay. What do you want?” Bradley asked. At least this little mission would be an excuse to get him away from the possibility of meeting Victoria Hunter, the mother of the Pack’s very own Van Helsing-style monster hunter turned werewolf.

  “Simple.” Morgan pushed himself from the wall. “I need for you to release some laboratory subjects from one of the Worley Research locations.”

  “Nothing is ever simple.” Especially with Jared Morgan, fairy lord, doing the mission requirements. “I suppose you want something a bit bigger than lab rats and guinea pigs released? What else? And why haven’t I heard of this Worley Research Location.”

  “Worley Research Center. It’s a subsidiary of a subsidiary. Big business hiding its many faces. They have several locations spread out over the States.” Morgan tilted his head up, staring at the small slice of sky above them. “The foundation purportedly researches and develops vaccines for animal diseases and sells the findings to larger companies for production.”

  “If they’re studying Weres, then that’s hiding in plain sight.”

  Morgan’s chuckle was humorless. “Weres, vampires, fairy kind. I’ve heard of an instance of a demon. One instance, and not for very long. The latest furor is over an elliptical gem with biological properties. Priceless in the right circles.”

  Bradley narrowed his eyes in thought. “Priceless elliptical gem. Hmmmm. That wouldn’t happen to be a particular missing egg-shaped ruby that has that Smith dragon picking off your kind throughout the Southern forests of Georgia, the Carolinas, to the Louisiana border?”

  He remembered the fairy uprising that they’d had to pull Mark, his younger Pack brother out of, and all of the behind-the-scenes politicking Morgan had done to keep the Anderson County Pack out of Fairy Court business. Morgan smiled as though he’d done a particularly clever trick. Damn superior fairy. Or whatever he was. Morgan had proved time and again that he wasn’t quite cut from the same cloth as the other fairys living in his court. There was much more to him that met the casual eye.

  “Well then, I’ll leave you to figure the rest out, my wolf.” The fairy lord materialized an expensive felt western hat on over his neatly styled green tinged hair. With one finger, he adjusted the angle in one smooth move. The action was very authentic, but Bradley acknowledged that Morgan had been around long before cowboys roamed the west. His master’s smile faded into the dead serious look that Bradley was more used to when the fairy wasn’t playing nice outside his own domain. “Be careful of those associated with Worley Research. They’ve stayed off the supernatural radar for a long time, mine included. To do that, they would have to have some powerful backing.”

  “It would have to be powerful to hide a far flung enterprise like you’re suggesting. Psychics? Witches?” Bradley thought of Carter, the ex-Hunter that he loathed to call Pack brother, much less claim as a blood relation. “Hunters are that organized.”

  “Your first thought is the supernatural, my wolf.” Morgan looked thoughtful. Cautious. “Be careful that you don’t blind yourself to other possibilities. Remember that Van Helsing was only a normal human with a few weapons, whatever today’s entertainment media may romanticize. A very clever and very determined human can be a force to be reckoned with.” Morgan faded from sight, like a Cheshire cat, only his words, rather than a smile, stayed visible in Bradley’s mind.

  He brought a mental image to mind of his room at Packhome. The best and most logical place to start would be the most powerful information source on the planet. The World Wide Web. After that, he was going to have to come up with some cleverness of his own.

  Chapter Eight

  While the trip upwards into the real world was unexciting, Matthew couldn’t say the same for the trek through alleys, following a random path that only the werepanther Nathan knew, from the upscale industrial business area to the seedy discount trade district of Harry Hines. Any moment, Matthew expected to be arrested for indecent exposure. On top of that, he felt awkward in his body. Not ungraceful. The reverse held true. For the first time in his life, he knew just where to place his feet.

  He felt strangely unconcerned about being the only naked guy in the group since Naomi had opted to put her night gown back on. His discomfort was because of the new changes. He felt taller, bigger, stronger, with the potential to do anything. He didn’t feel like Matthew Ridley, conservative family screw-up. The man who hid his ideals for fear of being mocked. His hair had even come back longer and thicker. The dark mop fell into his eyes constantly. Mostly though, he just felt more exhausted than he’d ever felt in his life.

  Nathan stopped, Brandon halting at just behind his left side. Both of them were alert and battle ready. Naomi and the scarred weretiger took their cues from them, scanning the alley for any BioPet goons. Matthew tried to follow suit.

  “You know, we should probably get some clothes for him, before the cops drive by.” Morrow grated the words out, obviously meaning to be quieter. Nathan shushed him. Both he and Brandon scented the air, their alarm radiating to the others. “Or not,” this time Morrow’s voice was lower as they followed their silent guides across a mostly deserted street to the unimpressive service alley of equally unimpressive run down residential housing. They were more in the open here and Matthew felt naked in a new and vulnerable way that left him itching to Change back into the mixed man-cat form.

  “No,” Brandon suddenly turned back to him, catching Matthew’s eyes with his own dominant predator’s gaze. “You’re just a naked perv roaming a bad part of town now. You Change and people will call the police for animal control. And they’ll shoot to kill once they figure out you’re not an escapee from the zoo.”

  “Why—eee!” Naomi’s question turned into a squeal of warning. The buzz and tingling impact into something metal nearby made them all crouch. Rumbling warnings came from everyone as they edged protectively closer to Matthew. He cast around, trying to use his new senses to find the enemy.

  As before, the myriad of new scents and sharp sounds were an assault on his ears and nose. Without training, he had a hard time identifying the individual nuances of the picture that his body was trying to give him. Movement to the side caught his attention as a big man in a suit stepped from his hiding spot beside a particularly smelly dumpster. His big round face split into a smile. It took a moment to figure out why he was so familiar. He was the first goon on the stairs who’d tried to kill him. “You might as well give it up Ridley. You and your Were friends are surrounded.”

  “You mean Kemlec didn’t kill you for your incompetence?” Matthew’s skin felt alive with the need to Change. He could practically taste the bastard’s blood in his mouth. Rather than being repulsed, he embraced the need, shaking off a restraining hand when he moved toward the goon. Brandon made a small gesture, keeping a belligerent Morrow where he stood. The werewolf met Matthew’s eyes, then shrugged. “Surrounded? Give me a little credit. If you wanted us killed you’d have done it already.”

  “True,” answered the goon. Dissatisfaction gleamed in his eyes. A subtle nuance of the air changed, bringing a different scent into the mix. Without a point of reference, Matthew had no idea what it meant. A change of emotion, he guessed, from the goon.

  “Kemlec doesn’t want you killed. He wants you in a cage.” A shadow of pain lashed across Matthew’s consciousness in tune with a tiny, almost unheard mewl of pain from Morrow. Instinctively, he made the connection. He wanted to help the weretiger, while the newborn feral core of him wanted to shred the skin from those responsible for Morrow’s hurt. They hadn’t the right to do what they had. The goon lifted a hand. His face transformed into a mask of evil maliciousness. “You can’t dodge all the tranqs.”

  Matthew’s urge was a tangible thing. A heated red haze settled over his vision. Clarity and focus sighted on the enemy who dared threaten what was his. He had to be fast and merciless. All he had to do was accept the tools that these fools had inadvertently bestowed on him.

  This time he didn’t fight th
e flow of warm energy that spilled from the center of him, pulling him compactly downward to his spotted paws. Ignoring the warnings of his companions, he flexed his claws and yawned long, sharp and powerful teeth at his suddenly pale prey. “Leopard. You can’t do that.” The man whispered. “Lion. You’re supposed to be a lion.” Matthew stalked forward, the cat recognized the sickly sweet stench of fear and growled a low feline laugh. At this particular moment, he knew exactly what he was. Man and cat. His enemies’ ultimate defeat. The man’s heartbeat sped up into a racket of beating drums as he frantically jerked his fingers, signaling his hidden allies.

  The human turned and ran while Matthew’s friends collectively ducked. Energy swelled in the air as they Changed. Matthew screamed his ownership of his kill. Sensing a disturbance, he jumped and twisted, barely noting the thump of the red tipped tranquilizer dart that missed him and gave away the shooter’s hiding place. Others had joined the hunt, but there was plenty for all. He was committed to his own claimed prey.

  Putting on a burst of speed, Matthew closed the distance, leaping easily over the trashcan that his prey knocked over in a feeble attempt to slow him down. He leapt, spring-boarding off the trash can for more distance. Fool. A leopard was swift, agile, and deadly.

  The man stupidly looked behind him and stumbled. He yelled just as Matthew gathered his powerful haunches and jumped, extending his claws for the grab. The fear scent spiked deliciously on his palate as he landed solidly, driving the man to the ground. Around him, the sounds of his prey’s allies’ deaths cut short.

  The smell of death rode the wind, urging on the kill-or-be-killed instinct. His claws dug into the suit fabric, hooking skin and drawing blood as he aimed his best tools for the killing zone. The shine of metal caught his eye; the sharp tang of it hit his nose. When the blade sliced over his shoulder, Matthew was prepared for it. He wasn’t prepared for the acid pain that scorched along his shoulder blade, far worse than just a cut. Or for the quick bite of the blade on his foreleg when he jerked in pain. With a short yowl, he dug his claws deeper and crunched down on his prey’s neck, using powerful leopard jaws to crush the spinal column.

  A sound made him swivel his ears. Flattening them, he hissed at both his companions and the others who approached. Shifting his weight, he pulled his claws free of the dead human. He might have considered sharing with his companions if they needed it. The others were no part of his kind. He’d send them on their way howling with their tails tucked behind. Matthew snarled again, reaching for the magic and Changed mid-leap. He accepted the extra weight and play-dough stretch of skin and limbs into the larger cat form. His waning energy made him pick the most natural of his toolset, and he landed on dinner plate-sized paws. His eyes fixed solidly on the newcomers. The fiery pain of the knife cuts made him want to stop and tend to them, but he didn’t dare show weakness or risk becoming prey himself. The part of him that was still the old Matthew Ridley was surprised at the knowledge. Since living was preferable to being eaten, he listened to what his new instincts were telling him.

  In two legged human forms, the wolves stopped as one. Their glances flicked to their leader as they considered Matthew’s tan body. His leonine face and heavy mane flowed into his tiger-striped front and rosette printed haunches and tufted tail. “What the hell is that?” asked one of the wolves in confusion. Matthew rumbled a warning from his barrel sized chest. Meeting the icy eyes of the lead wolf, he was pleased as Morrow padded to his side in a feline show of support. Scarred and tattered, the tiger flattened his ears, waiting for Matthew to decide. Naomi crouched nearby, the stillness in her golden tan body evident of her intent, should the wolf Pack attack. Lastly, the panther and the brown wolf that was Brandon ran to block the way between the cats and the wolf Pack.

  The strain of frequent Change shivered in the air as both panther and wolf flowed upward. Fur pulled back cruelly into skin as bones shoved harshly back into human shape. Feeling their pain and their ebbing reserves, Matthew reacted without thought or regard to his own dwindling pool of power. Or what he might need to recover from his own injuries. At least blood no longer flowed freely down his shoulder. He only knew that their power was less than his. So he gave to these two who had set themselves as guard, pushing his energy to Nathan. The panther’s bond to the Brandon’s own wolf Pack gave Matthew the conduit needed to shove energy into his brother-in-law. He left barely enough for himself to protect the fragile tiger and the female. Returning to his human form would have to wait until after he’d rested.

  The wolves stood in stunned silence, evaluating the threat as both Brandon and Nathan crossed their arms, looking like bookends. Both of them possessed the same type of lean powerful body and dark hair. Both managed to look relaxed, wary, and utterly lethal.

  The lead wolf stepped forward, taking in the group and dividing his attention between Brandon and Matthew, giving away his Pack mentality and doubt as to who actually led their mismatched group. “You are hunting in our territory.”

  “Tarrant County is your territory.” Brandon countered. “Legally, we have a right to be here just as much as you and yours.”

  “No. All of Dallas and Fort Worth is our territory.” The lead wolf, not the Pack’s alpha leader, strode foreword, stopping a car length from the wolf and panther pair. His heavy muscular form, pale hair, and eyes struck a familiar chord in Matthew. He waited to see how the meet turned out, thinking that if one wolf, such as Brandon, could prove friend and ally, then possibly the same could hold true for others. If not, he’d do his part to aid in their escape to a safer venue. “You know this already. The question is nephew, why are you outside of your own Pack territory? And in the company of…” he raised a single blond arched eyebrow as he rudely took in Matthew’s cats. “Such interesting feline company?”

  Being the brunt of the wolves’ curiosity and seeing that Brandon did not lessen his vigil one bit, Matthew pushed past Morrow to pad his way to his brother-in-law’s side. Feeling Nathan’s protest, Matthew angled his path to stop behind and between the two. He was assured enough to know that his present form offered his best line of self-defense, but well aware that of all of them, Brandon and Nathan were natural warriors. He sat, tail curling around his feet as he impassively sized up the wolves. He shored up his own strength as he waited for a signal from his self-appointed guardians.

  “The Tarrant Pack may claim all of the DFW area, but your Pack charter only covers Tarrant County. You want to clear us out, Uncle Gavin, go ahead and try.” Brandon’s lip curled as his voice rose in a challenging sneer. Matthew tensed with Nathan, sure that the wolves wouldn’t take that kind of verbal challenge. The angry murmur of the rest of the wolf hunting party confirmed his suspicion. Two wolves came forward, intent on protecting their leader who raised a fist at Nathan’s warning growl.

  The hair on Matthew’s spine prickled and he stood up, bracing himself for an attack he wasn’t sure they’d survive. The wolves were fresh and they’d been through hell already escaping the BioPet labs.

  Gavin sighed and shook his head, angling his sight to catch those of his Pack. “Stand down boys. I’m not going to kill my favorite nephew,” he drilled a hard gaze at Brandon that relaxed into wary affection. “Even if he is being a stubborn ass.” Turning, the wolf leader presented his back to Brandon and the cats. Matthew decided to take it as a sign of trust, rather than disrespect. “Mick, bring the van around. The rest of you, get on with the clean up before someone not a shape shifter decides to come out for his paper and calls the police.”

  Turning back to them, Gavin frowned and tipped his head in the direction of the small run down suburban area. “This way.” He directed them, continuing his monologue as he walked away, expecting them to follow. Matthew didn’t hesitate. Having decided this was the best course, he stepped between his guards to walk alongside the blond Pack leader. Gavin looked down, meeting Matthew’s silent leonine gaze before eyeing his injury. They both ignored Nathan’s low feline growl of protest as he moved to p
rotect Matthew’s flank. Gavin’s eyes roamed constantly, like Brandon’s, taking in their surroundings. “You’re lucky a couple of our families live nearby. It’s been tense since the vamps dragged us into public eye. We’ve spread out even more over DFW, monitoring magic use. The sudden spike since last night made us think that the psychics were on the rampage.” He glanced down again at Matthew. “Or that another group might have decided to challenge our territory.”

  Matthew evaluated his personal power level and decided that he could manage the Change. Besides, he’d apparently been living in the dark all this time, and he was tired of letting others do his talking for him. The wolves went on alert as the magic overtook him, pulling him into the remembered shape of his human form. He barely felt the reshaping, or the recession of hair and fangs. Naked, tired enough to sleep for a month, but still able to walk and talk. He pushed himself forward, not daring to stumble and show weakness to his new and dubious allies.

  “I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” Matthew was pleased that his voice held steady. A bit deeper than he remembered, but the earlier awkwardness of his body seemed to be wearing off. “But you do have a psychic problem. More of an infestation.” He amended at Gavin’s sharp look.

  “Those weren’t psychics hunting you.” The werewolf stopped and glanced at an approaching oversized blue work van. “I figured it was one of the supernatural hating mobs that has cropped up since we were exposed. Pitchfork-and-fire mentality, only carrying guns.”

  Matthew had heard about the militant vigilante groups intent on taking out anything that might possibly be supernatural since the vampires and werewolves had been outed on national television. He refrained from looking at Morrow or Naomi, because only someone locked in a secret laboratory for the last year would have missed the news. Practically nothing else was on TV anymore.