Cat Scratch Fever; Blue-Collar Werewolves V

by Buffi BeCraft

Because of their extremist witch hunting attitude had caused quite a few ‘accidental human collateral damage’, the President had declared such activities to be considered terrorist threats. It also went a long way toward stalling Congress on its final determination of supernatural rights. Still, the werewolves had a right to know about the threat in their own backyard.

  “The BioPet facility is actually a cover for some kind of laboratory that experiments on our kind.” Privately, Matthew wasn’t sure if he was comfortable with how easily he lumped himself into the supernatural monster group. He didn’t care what Kemlec, his father, or any others thought. Given the abilities he’d had as a psychic, shouldn’t he have already been classified as part of that group anyway? He remembered feeling more relieved than alarmed when the initial television reports of vampires and werewolves came out. He and his family weren’t alone. There were others with strange abilities out there.

  “BioPet researches and develops weapons against supernaturals.” Naomi’s voice finished his explanation, jerking him out of the tired daze he’d fallen into. “The hardware, chemical, and biological kind.”

  Gavin stopped and stared at them. “No shit?” the van stopped alongside and he reached out to open the door. The revelation shook the werewolf and he looked to Brandon for reassurance. “It’s true? How do you know this?”

  “Because we just came from there,” Matthew answered with more confidence and force than he felt. “Now if you’re finished with the questions for the moment, I’d really like to head home, take a shower, and find something decent to eat. Not necessarily in that order.” He could feel his cats’ warning beating at him for the request. Matthew had already decided home probably wasn’t safe, but now he didn’t care. Going to the wolves’ lair didn’t appeal to him either. Home at least held his basic requirements. He could pack and make plans to go elsewhere.

  “Need a lift?” Gavin asked, calculation in his clear blue gaze.

  Matthew smiled, giving back a feral-toothed response. “Sure.” Relaying his address, he boarded the van, waiting for his small group to follow suit. Then nodding to Brandon and Nathan, he settled into his seat to begin the task of staying awake until he got home.

  Chapter Nine

  Matthew surfaced from sleep like a diver slowly making his way through murky sludge. A heavy weight on his chest gave off a steady vibration that thrummed his body, adding to his aching head. He peeled his eyes open to glare into Rameses’ mildly curious, yet completely dismissive furry face. “Get off, cat.”

  Ramses thought about hanging on. The idea was visible in his triangular face. Matthew could feel it in the prick of claws as he sat up. Then the cat made a small irritated grunt and jumped off to the bed. With a twitch of his tail, he turned his back and began washing his shoulder with studied nonchalance. The cat kept purring, looking at Matthew once, with a smug expression before continuing with his bath.

  Rubbing his head, Matthew slid to the edge of the bed, trying to remember the reason for his little bender, which was probably the reason he was sleeping sans the boxers he usually wore. He disliked dealing with drunks and hated hangovers, so he rarely touched the stuff. Standing, he stretched, enjoying the movement. “Maybe you’ve got the right idea,” he told Ramses. A shower and coffee were the first order of business.

  Of course, I am right. I am always right. The cat stood up and bounced to the floor in two leaps before strolling by Matthew. And the first order of business should be you getting those dogs out of my home.

  He stared at the cat, who jumped up to do his own full-body stretch along the doorjamb. His cat could talk? No, that wasn’t right. Matthew pressed the heels of his hands against his aching temples. He didn’t feel drunk or high. “Get a grip. Cats can’t talk,” Matthew started to the bathroom. Ramses looked over his shoulder, scratched at the latch, which popped open as he did his door-opening maneuver.

  Of course cats can talk. You simply learned how to listen. It’s about time too. Because we need to have a discussion about the brand of litter you buy. Opening the door was an old trick of Ramses’ and he slipped out the moment the door opened.

  Matthew ordered his thoughts. He wasn’t going to think about the cat. He wanted a shower and coffee. In that order. His feet stayed glued to the floor as he brought his right arm up to his face. Crossways over his forearm, a long, fairly deep cut was scabbed over. It looked older than say…last night. Controlling the urge to panic, Matthew took two steps sideways, angling himself to look into the open door of the master bathroom. Another scabbed over cut bisected the top of his shoulder. Other small details drew him into the bath as he studied the mirror. Carefully, he blanked his mind. Shower first, then coffee, he reminded himself. Then he’d deal with the other stuff.

  His clothes did not fit. Matthew glared at the jeans in his hands, then at the contents of his closet. A small fissure cracked in his self-control and he gave into the simmering emotions. His hands thickened as sharp knifelike claws slid from his fingers. The denim parted with a satisfying rrrip. The sound provided an outlet for the disturbing feelings inside him. The rest of the fabric shredded like tissue, littering the bottom of the closet. A small sound, easily missed, stopped his destruction of a second pair of jeans.

  Matthew turned, unaware of the feral snarl that pulled his lips away from his sharp canines or of the low leonine rumble that froze his ‘guards’ into place. Nathan watched him with the same manner one used when trying not to spook a wild animal.

  That managed to piss him off more. Who exactly were the panther and wolf trying to keep safe? Him or everyone from him. Matthew took great satisfaction in ramming his claws through the leg of his jeans, making ribbons of it. The action helped quell the desire to simply let go and fall into the power that wanted to overwhelm him. He dropped the ruined pair and stared at his hands, mentally going back over the steps needed to bring his body back to a human state.

  He knew he couldn’t do what he’d done all his human life. Ignore, reject, and wall away the part of him that wasn’t normal. Acceptance was the key here. Ironic how life made you face what you tried desperately to hide from.

  Taking a calming breath, he curled his human hands into fists and turned to face the other two men. He managed not to lash out at Nathan’s careful attitude and focused on Brandon’s are-you-done-yet raised eyebrow as his brother-in-law leaned against the dresser.

  “Nothing fits.” When said aloud, Matthew realized how silly his explanation sounded. He shrugged, hoping his embarrassment wasn’t written all over his face…and scent, now that he thought about it. Brandon shoved his hands in his pockets as he approached. His body language was comfortable and nonjudgmental as he assessed Matthew, then stuck his head into the closet.

  “That sounds reasonable,” the werewolf snagged an old pair of sweats that Matthew only wore in the winter and tossed them at him. Matthew’s hands automatically grasped the fabric. Mentally he did the same to Brandon’s words. Holding them close, so he didn’t doubt his sanity. “Wolven pups hit a growth spurt when they Change for the first time. They grow about a size all over and lose most of their baby fat.”

  “He’s not a wolf. He’s the Panthera Leo.” Nathan shut his mouth when they looked at him. Obviously, the designation meant as much to Brandon as it did Matthew. Zilch. That feeling that the werepanther was handling him with kid gloves was blaring a warning. Nathan’s face remained studiously blank. Matthew could practically feel the effort the panther was making to find something neutral, yet somewhat helpful. “Cats don’t do that when they Change the first time.” It wasn’t very, in Matthew’s opinion.

  “He’s Bitten,” Brandon stated. “If a psychic isn’t in top condition already, the Change is going to push the body into a state better suited for survivability.”

  “Ooo,” Nathan relaxed, rolling his eyes at the werewolf’s attempt at scientific conjecture. “Those are some big words. Besides, cats and other Weres are born. Our bite doesn’t infect.”

  “Fuck you.
” The wolf’s words had no heat.

  “Hey. No using the F word.” Matthew pulled himself from the fairly good-natured argument to jerk the sweats on.

  “You’re not getting puritanical on us are you Ridley?” Brandon asked.

  “You’re using those big words again. And no, I don’t like the use of it when I’m standing in my closet bare-assed naked with two other guys.”

  “I’ve got a mate,” Brandon shrugged as if settled the matter for him. He raised an eye at Nathan. “But you don’t, panther.” Nathan flipped him off. Brandon laughed, a short burst of mirth that faded quickly as if he weren’t comfortable showing that side of himself. He focused back on Matthew as if he were a puzzle to be solved. “Back to the growth spurt. You were underweight before. That’s not much mass to accommodate the extra muscle in your other forms. Regular lions and tigers get up to 400 pounds.” He glanced at Nathan. “Leopards are about half that, little man.”

  “What’s with all the info on cats, encyclopedia-man?” Nathan shot back, not offended at the remark on his panther’s size.

  “I read.” Brandon’s sneered out the side of his mouth. “You might try it sometime.”

  “I’m about four inches taller.” And he had more than the three obvious cat forms his Changed form suggested. Matthew was a freak as a human. Apparently, he was going to be the freak of the supernatural world too.

  He could feel them inside him, like the outfits he remembered his mother having for different occasions. And here is the lion for when you need to intimidate the hell out of someone or the tiger for when size matters most. The cheetah for hauling-ass. The cougar and jaguar vied for top hunter, though the leopard seemed to have more killing range. The memory of leaping onto that goon’s back, of biting that guy, rocked him with an almost physical flashback. Even now, he could practically taste the blood. Feel the crunch of bone.

  “And your muscle mass has increased too.” Brandon’s comment brought Matthew suddenly back to the present. He focused on the here and now of the other man’s words. “So, no problem. Your body is accommodating the needs of your Change. Don’t worry about it.” Brandon’s jeans pocket buzzed with the sound of a cell phone. He shrugged, digging the device out. “I have a bag in the car with extra gear.” At Matthew’s look of confusion, he smirked. “Parked several blocks away. In case there was trouble. ”

  “Hey.” His brother-in-law’s voice went soft and worried as he shouldered his way out of the closet. “Everything okay?” Matthew could hear babies crying from the phone.

  “No, it’s the normal chaos,” answered a woman’s voice. “I miss you and I worry. Aren’t you finished yet? ”

  “Ah. No,” Brandon hedged, he glared at both Matthew and Nathan, as his scent changed subtly. “It’s going well. And I’m fine. Really. I’ll be home soon.” He ended the call and crossed his arms defensively, with a small warning growl.

  “That woman is going to skin you alive and hang you on the clothesline to dry.” Observed Nathan as he strolled to the bed and flopped on it. Ramses blinked open his eyes from his stealthily re-appropriated spot in the middle of the bed and studied the werepanther as if he’d been there all along.

  Nathan offered a hand halfway to the cat, then obliged by rubbing furry ears when Ramses tilted his head in invitation. Nathan stretched out, before cutting his eyes at the irritated werewolf. Matthew could feel him getting at something, waiting with a certain fatalism as his panther poked at the already stirred up wolf. “The Ridley females are not known for putting up with duplicity for long.”

  Change shimmered in the air. Brandon faced Nathan with bared fangs and claws. “I am not lying to my mate.”

  Nathan gave a slow smile, ending in a smirk. “You feel like you are. And that’s what counts.”

  Matthew moved, placing himself between them before any thought registered. He took the blow, the raking of claws designed to tear flesh from bone across his chest. It hurt like hell, but he didn’t cringe away. He grimaced though and held his arms out as if they were playing basketball and he was blocking Brandon. What he was really trying to do was make some kind of connection with the pissed werewolf. Something that would help him understand what was really bothering Brandon.

  He wasn’t naïve to think that the werewolf was altruistic and was helping him adjust for the hell of it. He didn’t really even think that Brandon’s original motive was getting him to attend a stupid birthday party picnic. Matthew had been out of his mother’s and sister’s lives for more than half his life. As a know-it-all teen, he’d been an asshole to Brandon and the rest of the Weis foster kids. A total prick to his mother and sister.

  Matthew had bowed out of the wedding to Weis and never acknowledged his mom’s adoption of the kids. All for a college education.

  Matthew frowned. No. If he was honest with himself, he’d admit that he’d been afraid of what people thought. Not of what they’d thought of his mom and sister and their strangeness. Mom and Karen had always been strong. His father was the weakest link.

  You can’t possibly want to connect with the dog. Ramses accused. Matthew turned his head to look at Nathan. “Take the cat and go check on the others.” Nathan frowned in protest, half sitting up. “Go.” He reinforced the command with a little ‘push’ of forcefulness. He was pleased when Nathan scooped up the cat with a mumbled apology for Ramses.

  The door shut behind them and Matthew relaxed. He left Brandon to himself while he went to the bathroom for a towel to press against the dripping wounds.

  Man, his second day as a Were and he already had the scrapes to prove it. At this rate he was going to get his throat ripped out by the end of the week. Matthew sighed.

  “Those won’t heal as fast as an injury made by normal means.” Brandon said from the doorway.

  Matthew met the other man’s eyes in the mirror. Brandon looked unrepentant. The impressions he received from scent and the very faint connection he felt reinforced that understanding. Surprisingly, he felt no resentment. It was done. The present was more important than the past, even a past only minutes old. If only he could apply the same feelings to his life before the Change. “I’m sorry.”

  “For what? I’m the one who tagged you. And I’m not sorry in the least.” Brandon looked truly confused.

  “For…Nathan,” he amended at the last moment.

  “Now you’re the one lying.” Real amusement danced in the werewolf’s eyes. His face was as bland as ever. “Your body’s chemicals change and the heartbeat picks up with the stress of deceit,” he explained. “You can smell and hear the lie if you pay attention.”

  “Well damn. A human lie-detector,” mused Matthew. He looked down to study the deep scratches and wondered if he should put some kind of ointment on them to keep out infection. Gauze was definitely in order. He opened the medicine cabinet for what he needed.

  “Not human.” Brandon corrected, leaning against the doorjamb. “What are you sorry about?”

  “That I got in the way. Shit this hurts.” He stretched the gauze and held it in place one-handed while he ripped off a strip of paper tape off the roll with his teeth. The tape smoothed into place with only minimal twisting and bunching. “So why are you still hiding up here with me? I figured you’d be more comfortable with the werewolves.”

  “For one, call them werewolves and they’ll gladly rip your intestines out. Wolven, as a general rule, have serious superiority issues.”

  “And you don’t?” Matthew pressed another piece of tape into place. Glancing up he caught the other man’s shrug. Personally, he thought that he was getting a bit better at the one handed doctoring thing. This one was less crooked than the first. “Okay. What’s the second?”

  “They’re not my Pack.” The answer was flat, devoid of any acceptance of the other werew— wolven at all.

  “I’m not even what you are. They’re at least the same…animal? Race?” The next piece of tape mangled so badly that he had to trash it. “Whatever.”

  “Species
,” Brandon clarified. “And you are connected to me by our mother. And by Nathan’s connection to my Pack.”

  “That guy called you his nephew.” The memory was a bit blurry. He looked up from mangling another strip. Brandon shrugged again.

  “My father was originally from the Tarrant County Pack. Paul Sheppard is the Canis Pater here. Gavin Sheppard is my dad’s half-brother by blood.” After the third messed up piece of tape in a row, Brandon moved to take the tape. The look he gave Matthew reminded him of one his mom used to give when he was being particularly clumsy at a simple task. Or obtuse.

  Brandon tore off a strip and pressed it into place with surprising gentleness. “Wolven are very insular by nature. When Adam Weis became alpha of the Anderson County Pack, his bonds to his old Pack were severed. His blood relatives may have fond memories for him. But the deciding loyalties are always who is Pack and who is not.” Brandon finished his explanation with a last, perfect strip of tape.

  “But—” Matthew stopped, the cat inside him going on alert as they both felt and heard the disturbance downstairs.

  Chapter Ten

  Naomi sat on a bar stool in a filched t-shirt and boxers and admired the beautiful glass topped wrought-iron dinette set. The task gave her a reason to ignore the wolven roaming the house like a bunch of nosey guard dogs. They sniffed; they ate the contents of the refrigerator, growled at the cat, Ramses, who held his own like a temple cat defending his sanctuary. Which, of course, he was.

  The task also anchored her in her favorite part of the house, out of range of Morrow’s bad tempered sulk in the living room. The tiger didn’t want the wolven in the house, didn’t want Naomi fussing over his injuries, and didn’t want to stay in the same town as his captors. Simmering rage and resentment made up Morrow’s attitude. Nathan had made good on his early ramblings of life-tasks. Once he’d decided Matthew was The Leo, he’d stuck to his new liege like glue.

  Naomi didn’t blame either cat for their feelings. Her own were just as confused. She touched the borrowed t-shirt covering the mark that had appeared shortly after her stand for independence from her mother and aunts’ home. If Nathan were wrong, then how did that explain the mark? She was the deciding factor in her own destiny, not Nathan’s goddess. Not a Leo who had been missing for over two thousand years. What would they do if Matthew turned his back on them now? Then again—What if he actually believed and tried to do the impossible?