Here, Kitty Kitty (Shadowcat Nation)

by A. Star

  His Jaguar Princess, Copyright © 2013 by A. Star

  In Our Nature, Copyright © 2013 by Jessica Nicholls

  Divine Passage, Copyright © 2013 by Dariel Raye

  The Distance Between, Copyright © 2013 by Mia Darien

  Hannah's Fate, Copyright © 2013 by Abigail Owen

  Full Moon, Copyright © 2013 by B. R. Kingsolver

  All Rights Reserved. This book may not be reproduced or used in any manner without the permission of the authors.

  Cover Art Copyright © 2013

  Images from BigStockPhoto.com, Cover by Mia Darien

  Introduction

  His Jaguar Princess by A. Star

  In Our Nature by Jessica Nicholls

  Divine Passage by Dariel Raye

  The Distance Between by Mia Darien

  Hannah's Fate by Abigail Owen

  Full Moon by BR Kingsolver

  About the Cats

  About the EFRC

  I am no different than many other people out there today. The dangerous beauty of the large, predatory cats of the world enchants and fascinates me, even though their lethal grace is frightening as well.

  Perhaps this is why many writers, like myself, write about paranormal beings who can take the form of these cats; who can enjoy all the magic of the beast without the wildness that makes them deadly.

  This fascination can have a dark side, however, as many seek to possess such beauty without truly understanding and respecting it. These cats often end up hunted in their natural environment, or owned by people who don’t take proper care of them. Some of these cats are fortunate enough to be rescued and brought to one of the sanctuaries run through out the country.

  One such place is the Exotic Feline Rescue Center in Indiana.

  I first learned about this center after reading The Ridge by Michael Kortya. In that book, he writes about a cat sanctuary—not the EFRC, but one like it—and Kortya obviously “got” both the beauty and danger of these animals. Some scenes between characters and these cats made me want to cry, and others gave me a shiver. In an author interview at the end, Kortya talks about working with people from the EFRC, so I learned more about them when I was able.

  The center takes care of the health and well being of over two hundred cats, giving them a “forever” home with habitat and shelter, food, veterinary care, and stable social groups. Many have been neglected and/or abused, and need a lot of care. This costs a lot of money.

  Like most people, I can’t donate as much to this cause, and many others, as I would like. So I sought ways I could use my skills to help. I’m a writer, and on a whim, I contacted fellow author friends to see if they would be interested in helping, too. I expected most to not have time, but they jumped on it quickly and I’m very honored by their willing efforts.

  Each story in this anthology was written specifically for it, and my thanks go out to our authors. The only continuous thread is the romance and shapeshifting cats. Each story features its own world, be it modern or futuristic, and its own style of romance, be it super sexy or super sweet. Each voice, as unique as each kitty featured, was a pleasure for me to read and I hope they’ll be a pleasure for you to read as well.

  All the profits from sales of this anthology will go directly to the EFRC and will help them continue their work. Thank you for your help in making this purchase, and we all hope that you enjoy visiting each cat, each love, and each world presented to you here.

  Mia Darien, October 2013

  “Good evening, Miss Peters.”

  “Good evening, Roger,” I said, shrugging out of my designer peacoat and letting the restaurant attendant take it away. I smiled at the older gentleman, careful not to flaunt my fangs. “Is––”

  “Of course, madam. Your table is ready and Mr. King awaits your arrival.”

  My eyes widened. “He’s already here?”

  “Yes, madam. Shall I have someone escort you?”

  I shook my head. “No, thank you. I know the way.”

  “Of course, madam.” Roger flashed me a nervous smile and turned to greet the next patron. A man and a woman approached the elderly maître d, and I almost, almost, clawed the bitch’s eyes out. She was wearing a fur coat and only escaped my wrath because it was mink. The garment was still a thing of evil–murdering animals in the name of fashion was so wrong–but had it been made from the hide of one of my catkin, I would have ripped her to shreds.

  The man didn’t seem to notice, but the woman visibly shivered when she saw me watching her. I smiled, showing every inch of my fangs, and took great pleasure in watching the color drain from her face.

  When I thought about it, ever since the entire race of cat-shifters became known to the world, I’d seen less and less fur coats of any kind. Humans finally seemed to understand how intolerant we were of fur fashion. It took a few mauling incidents to get our point across, but we did get the point across. Cats, shifters or not, did not exist to be made into outerwear and accessories. Get with it or get your face ripped off.

  Tucking my beaded clutch under my arm, I turned away from the couple and made my way into the chic dining room of my favorite five-star restaurant in Manhattan. I didn’t have to think about where I was headed or map out my route. I had made this trip dozens of times before and probably could have walked it blindfolded.

  I weaved my way between dinner dates, business meetings and anniversary celebrations, and as I passed through the room, every eye was on me. But this wasn’t unusual. I drew stares everywhere I went.

  I was a tall–like, around six feet–curvy woman who walked, no, stalked across the restaurant like a jungle cat on the prowl. I couldn’t help that. It was against my instincts to move any other way. My eyes were green in the center, rimmed in a soft gold and formed a sexy, exotic slant at the corners. My thick, auburn hair perfectly framed my keen facial features and bounced around my shoulders with every step.

  A curl swept into my line of vision and I discharged an extra long claw to flick it back into place. When I did, I startled a woman sitting at the table I was passing. She dropped her wine glass.

  I swiveled around and caught the glass before it hit the floor.

  “Uh, th–thank you,” the woman said, looking completely terrified as I rose again to full height.

  “You’re welcome,” I replied, making sure to roll my “R” for the best purr effect. Trying not to laugh at the couple’s expressions, I set the glass on the table and continued on my way.

  I slowly approached our reserved table near the dimmed, more private, section of the restaurant. I said our reserved table because we sat at the same table every week, without fail. We practically owned it. He, the man I was there to meet, sat with his back to me, but just knowing that it was him sent erotic chills flying down my spine. He sat tall and proper in his chair, his broad shoulders perfectly linear to one another. I loved those shoulders, especially the way the taut muscles clenched under my hands when I arrived at the table and slid my fingers over them.

  He looked up at me, and for a moment all I could do was stand there and revel in that masculine scent of his that always set my kitty senses on fire. Out of all of the human males I’d crossed paths with, none had ever incited this sort of reaction out of me. But this man did. He made me feel all kinds of things this lady jag had never felt before.

  “Selene,” he said, setting down his wine and rising from his chair.

  “Luke,” I replied, smiling as my eyes glazed over his appearance.

  Luke was dressed way too casually for the restaurant
we were in, but that wasn’t unusual. He didn’t give a damn about propriety, or maybe it was more that he wasn’t really aware of it. Luke didn’t live in the world; the world happened around him, so social norms didn’t really apply.

  Between the khaki pants and the red bow tie, I wasn’t sure which was more inappropriate. He wore a collared shirt, at least, but it was one of those gingham style button-ups in a blue-and-white checkered pattern. Red suspenders and loafers completed the dorky ensemble, and after he’d pulled out my chair for me, he returned to his own, pushing his square-rimmed glasses up his nose as he sat.

  All I could do was shake my head and smile. I wondered how many of the business-types sitting around us actually knew that this was the Lucas King, the Forbes-listed billionaire CEO of The King’s Men Enterprises, an international security industry powerhouse. None of them probably. Or else they had suspected it was him, then convinced themselves it couldn’t be true based on his attire alone. I’d seen him in a real suit so I knew he was probably unrecognizable to people who didn’t know him personally. Basically, I was sitting across from my very own Clark Kent.

  “You look more beautiful than ever,” he said, immediately laying on his dorky charm. “You’re like a princess.”

  I swallowed my giggle. “Thank you. Nice bow tie.”

  “Oh, uh, thank you.” In true nerd fashion, Luke yanked at the sides of the tie and pushed up his glasses again.

  “I’m so glad you could make it,” Luke said, swiping at a few strands of dark brown hair sweeping over his forehead. Luke needed a haircut, though I kind of liked the longish look he had going on. It reminded me of a young lion’s mane as it was just starting to grow in. I’d dated a lion in high school and had spent my entire junior and senior years with my fingers tangled in his mane, so I knew.

  “Did you think I wouldn’t show?” I said, sipping a bit of the exquisite merlot that had been waiting for me.

  He shrugged. “I can never be sure about you, Selene. Every time we’re together, I get the sense that you’re counting down the minutes until you can escape me.”

  My brows shot up with surprise. “Really? Oh, Luke, I’m so sorry. I had no idea you felt that way. That’s not true at all.” I blushed. “It’s quite the opposite, actually. I treasure every single second I’m with you, and if anything, I’m counting down the minutes with dread. I hate it when our time together comes to an end. I despise it.”

  Meeting Luke’s now heated gaze with one of my own, I felt another tingle shimmy down my spine. Even after all of this time, Luke still made me so hot. We were sitting there acting as though we were nothing more than casual acquaintances that met once a week for dinner, but nobody was fooled, I was sure. In the eyes of the world, I was a jaguar-shifter, basically sex incarnate, and there was no way Luke and I weren’t fucking each other. They would be right, of course. We were lovers, had been for months, and I didn’t see any signs of us ending our rendezvous any time soon.

  Drumming his fingers against the white tablecloth, Luke just stared at me with his deep, brown eyes for a long moment. He picked his way over me, sliding his gaze over my facial features and across my ample cleavage. His eyes finally locked in on my fingers wrapped around my wine glass. He licked his full lips, then popped the button of his right cuff. With deft fingers, he rolled up the sleeve of his shirt, stretched his arm out across the table and presented it to me, palm up.

  “Not here, Luke,” I said, fighting back a smile. I knew what he wanted.

  “Yes, here.” He grinned.

  “No.”

  “Selene.” His tone was so soft and alluring. “Do it.”

  “On your arm though?” I dragged my fingers over the skin of his inner forearm. I couldn’t help it. It was always hard to keep my hands off him.

  He smiled again. “I’m saving my back for later tonight.”

  Returning the sultry smile, I dragged my hand down his arm three more times, and on the fourth one, I discharged my claws and dug them into his skin. With my eyes trained on his, I scored the entire length of his forearm, leaving behind four shallow red lines.

  “Ah yes, Selene,” Luke mumbled. “That’s it.”

  I waited a minute before retracting my claws and just watched him. He studied the abrasions with a sort of fascination I had never understood. I felt he was trying to decipher what they meant or something, like they were the hieroglyphics of shifter mythology. I guessed they kind of were. All I knew for sure was that Luke liked to be clawed. Marks were territorial and he loved wearing them, preferably on his back.

  He rolled down his sleeve just as our server delivered our salads. It appeared Luke had already ordered for us, which was fine with me. He knew what I liked and exactly how I liked it. In many ways.

  Taking a bite, I pointed at the small suitcase sitting on the floor beside his chair. Only Luke, the paranoid geek, would pull a stunt like this in a five-star restaurant. “Coat check” was a foreign term to him, and being one of the restaurant’s wealthiest VIPs meant no one working in the establishment dared tried to define it for him.

  He didn’t even glance at it. “Business trip. I came straight here from the airport.” He finished buttering a piece of fresh ciabatta bread and took a bite.

  “Oh. Where did you fly in from?”

  “London.”

  My eyes widened. “Honestly, Luke. We could have skipped dinner tonight. I know you must be jet-lagged.”

  A sensual smile curved Luke’s lips. “Who needs sleep? I have you.”

  I blushed. “Luke–”

  “Hush, Selene. I told you on our very first date that I would never miss, forget about, or cancel dinner with you. I meant it.”

  Boy, had he. In all of the ten months we had been “dating,” Luke had never missed our Wednesday dinner date. No matter how busy he was, he always made time for me. According to him, I was one of the most important things in his life. He carried a cell phone that only I had the number to, but rarely called. I had a key to his penthouse apartment, but never used it. I did, however, utilize his chauffeur at times. I absolutely refused to step foot on the filthy rail system and taxis were only used as last resorts, but I always used the chauffeur on date nights.

  But bottom line was, I had access to all these areas of Luke’s life that I never took advantage of. I was scared to. Not for me though, for Luke. I was scared to let him mean more to me than he already did.

  “What are you thinking about, Selene?”

  I smiled at Luke and took another bite of my salad. “I’m thinking about how incredibly edible you are.”

  Luke’s smile turned absolutely devilish. “Thinking about having me for dessert, my little jaguar princess?”

  I nodded. “With all the toppings.”

  Luke chuckled darkly and that’s when the I caught the scent.

  I quickly scanned the dining room, my vision narrowing and flitting left to right as I sought out the source. I didn’t feel threatened by it, only cautious. Jaguars were quite cautious cats.

  “You see that man over there?” I said, directing Luke’s gaze to the far left of the restaurant with my own eyes. “The one with the three female companions?”

  Hardly discreet, Luke looked in that direction and nodded. “Yes.”

  “They’re a lion pride.”

  “Really?” By his expression, I could tell he’d never seen an actual lion pride before that wasn’t on National Geographic. “How do you know?”

  I shrugged. “Sixth sense. It’s a territorial thing. Cats are not only constantly on the look out for predators, but for each other, too. Besides, I can smell them all the way over here.”

  “You can?”

  “Yes. Definitely lions. All four of them. If I was in jag form, I’d probably be up a tree somewhere. Or a skyscraper in this concrete jungle.”

  Luke grinned. “Scared of lions?”

  “Of their females, yes. That man? No. He’s a bitch.”

  Luke chuckled and sipped his wine. “I love a woman w
ho doesn’t hold back.” He winked at me over his glass.

  I smiled and glanced at the pride again. “As in non-shifter prides, the females take care of the family while the male just lies around licking his ball sack.”

  He laughed, setting down his glass. Luke had such a beautiful smile and I loved to see it. “I never understood that concept,” he said, using a knuckle to push up his glasses. “Even in non-shifters. Why don’t they just leave him if he’s not contributing to the family’s welfare?”

  “The sex,” I said, simply. I glanced at the male. “It’s amazing.”

  Luke raised a brow. “You’ve been with a lion?”

  I nodded. “When it comes to male shifters, none make you purr more than a lion.”

  Luke grunted and sipped more of his wine. I could tell he didn’t like the idea of me being with a male shifter, or any male for that matter. We had never discussed my past sex life in any sort of detail so I knew his imagination was running wild, Serengeti-style.

  I wasn’t sure why it mattered at all really. I worked for Purr, Inc., a high class cat-shifter escort service based in Manhattan. That was how Luke had met me. Or rather, purchased me. It was true. He sort of owned me. Luke didn’t see it that way, but I did.

  He didn’t just pay my rent, he paid for my lifestyle. He took care of me. Luke was the first and only client I’d ever had. He liked it that way and so did I, I guessed. Some of the other girls thought I was crazy to give myself to one man when there were billionaires out there practically paying their entire fortunes to spend just one night with a cat-shifter. And the fact that prostitution was still illegal didn’t matter to them.

  Cheetahs were the most sought after, but they were rare. Only one worked for Purr, Inc. Jaguars like myself were next, but panthers and leopards were pretty high up on the list, too. I’d never met a tiger-shifter before, and lionesses' were so wrapped up in their prides, they couldn’t function as escorts. My own personal services had been requested several times, but I always turned them down, like I said, to the complete bewilderment of the other girls.