Harvest Moon (Cat Clan)

by C. L. Bevill

  “Is she alive?”

  “She was alive when I left,” Martinez said carelessly. “And I find that time is slipping away, amigo. We have an agreement, si?”

  “If Emma is alive and I’m able to retrieve her safely, I won’t hunt you,” Wheeler said grudgingly. But he would make sure other weres knew who they could hunt for the crimes that had been committed against their own kind. And there was Emma. Emma might take it into her head to find Martinez. She was very serious about where she wanted to stick her knives into his body.

  Martinez hesitated. “This agreement isn’t worth much, is it, Wheeler?” He sighed. “Perhaps you won’t go after my family in Mexico, but my hide, that’s a different story. And it won’t be you at all. It’ll be the others. The Clan from New York, perhaps. They value their members also.”

  “You could plead for leniency from the Council,” Wheeler suggested icily. A loosely governing Council of shifters reigned over the weres in the world. Their sovereignty was marked with violent retribution. They didn’t think much of wrongdoings perpetrated by weres against other weres.

  Martinez laughed cynically. “That would be a foregone conclusion.”

  “I didn’t think you’d go for that,” Wheeler said.

  “And you’ve called the California Clan, is it not so?”

  “It’s so,” Wheeler agreed.

  “I wish your mating well,” Martinez said formally.

  “What about Sage?” Wheeler said quickly. Emma was going to castrate him if he didn’t do something about the newly born were.

  “I’ll think on that one,” Martinez said and disconnected the line.

  Wheeler didn’t waste any time. He began to make phone calls and arrangements. It was possible that he was making a mistake in trusting what Martinez had said, but the were didn’t have anything else to lose. Wheeler could hear it in Martinez’s voice. Emma was in Wyoming and Wheeler was going to get her back.

  •

  Emma was trapped in the ventilation shaft with a leg wounded by silver. She managed to get one hand pressed to her thigh but the bleeding continued. The shooting stopped and Whitfield Dyson’s muffled voice said from below, “We’re cutting you out. We’ll treat your wound if you don’t struggle.”

  Another voice muttered, “It’s possible she’s dead. There’s enough blood.”

  “The weres are a valuable commodity,” Whitfield said coldly. “Cut the beast out and treat her if she cooperates.”

  “What if she changes?” the voice insisted.

  “It’s going to be one of the smaller animals,” Whitfield snapped. “They’re the only ones who could fit in the vents. It’s the ocelot or the bird or possibly the one who wouldn’t change at all. We never figured out what she is.” He paused. “Be prepared to dart her, no matter what she is.”

  Resting her head on her arm, Emma thought about it. The change had stopped in its tracks with the onslaught of a silver borne wound. It wouldn’t have stopped Wheeler or Killian, but some of the turned weres reverted to true form when wounded. Emma had heard about it but she hadn’t been in this dangerous situation before. As long as there was silver in her body, she wasn’t going to be able to change to her alternate form. Furthermore, she wasn’t going to be able to dig it out with her bare hands and certainly not in this space-deprived chute.

  Perhaps if she played a little game with the humans, they might make a mistake. Emma closed her eyes. Once I was human. Now I’m not. And I was never like them. Play a game.

  It made her think of Wheeler. He’d asked her to take charge of the training of the female weres. It was her initiation into the compound. Wary and ready for confrontation, she had spoken to the female weres, most of who weren’t interested in being Warriors. Some could use guns very nicely and relied on them to protect themselves when they were off the compound and grounds. Others counted on remaining in groups. The biggest danger was from werewolves or wolf shifters, as Ula might prefer. The Whitelaw Pack was their fiercest enemy and one that the Clan watched closely. Emma hadn’t known it then, but Donovan would meet his mate on a future reconnaissance mission.

  But the weres were interested in meeting her and while Emma didn’t exactly make friends, she hadn’t made enemies either. Emma’s hard-earned reticence made it difficult to overcome her walls. The males treated her with respect but weren’t inclined to get any closer.

  So Emma poured her extra efforts in training and watching the other weres. They obviously didn’t know what to do with her. She was one of them but she wasn’t one of them. A year after she came to Colorado she moved into residence at the compound. It was a few weeks before she started the concentrated training in martial arts and Krav Maga. The activities were something that she proved herself especially effective at performing.

  A year after that and she first attacked Wheeler.

  Emma had found herself a niche in the Clan, just as Wheeler had pronounced. She made certain that everyone had what they needed. She was naturally restrained but the weres respected her abilities. She found that she could talk socially and entice rogue weres into the Clan, specifically females. Most weres did better within a group setting although some of them liked to move frequently. Additionally, she finished her degree and put herself to work filling in the gaps that she saw within the Clan.

  Emma began to observe the senior weres of the Clan and realized that they were too complacent. There was Wheeler, the alpha cat, Britt, his second, and Donovan, the captain of the Cat Elite Warriors. She watched them with adroit clear-sightedness. Donovan trained persistently but he discounted women. Britt had a vicious streak that Wheeler ignored in return for his meticulousness. And Wheeler, she thought, Wheeler hasn’t been challenged in a very long time.

  Stalking him like the best prey proved to be a fascinating task for Emma. Wheeler changed to his lion form several times a week. He hunted regularly, often alone. He brought meat back for some of the weaker members who craved fresh animal protein. He trained but he was also occupied with his duties as Alpha. After all, the Clan didn’t run itself. It was like a company and he was the CEO. He had things to do.

  Emma suspected that Wheeler frequently knew that she was tracking him. He didn’t know why. After several weeks, he became lackadaisical about her presence.

  There was a particular draw that Wheeler frequented on his excursions. He had finished with his prey and padded to the shallow gully. The trees shaded the area and there were lush grasses. Emma watched with intent ocelot eyes from a tall tree. She perched on the highest branch with only the tip of her head visible. When Wheeler appeared in his lion form, she froze in place. There wasn’t much of a breeze and the shadows made for adequate camouflage. She could observe him without giving her position away.

  That was the first moment that Emma truly became aware of Wheeler. If she took a breath she could smell the musk of his cat shape. It appealed to the beast within her. But she could also scent the essence that was Wheeler the man. It crept across her flesh and reached inside her with gentle fingers, nudging into places that she had forgotten existed. As a result, she had the urge to trail her own hands slowly across the lines of his muscles. She wanted to trace his features and inhale the aroma that was purely him. The feline inside of her wanted to nuzzle his neck and playfully nip him.

  The reaction shook Emma to the core. Wheeler was a good looking man and a better looking beast. He had traits within him that she admired. He treated the members of the Clan fairly, even in the most wretched of disputes. He hadn’t lied to her and her safety had been tenable. But she caught him occasionally looking at her as if he wanted to see within her. She had attributed it to him wanting to ensure the cohesiveness of the Clan. Emma was, after all, a somewhat unknown quantity, and he had never answered the tentative question she had once asked him, “So why would you want me?”

  Emma had answered it for herself. Weres were rare. Females were rarer. Wheeler sought to make his Clan strong with persons whose characteristics he sought. She could see
that her sense of survival and stubbornness appealed to him. She could see that, after she began to regain her confidence. She had found a position in the Clan, a station where she was as normal as the rest of them, and where she didn’t feel out of place.

  It stunned her that Emma, who thought of herself as broken, could be attracted to Wheeler. And that was what it was, plain and simple. She watched him and discovered that she wanted him.

  Emma stared down at Wheeler with her feline eyes and nearly allowed her position to be noticed. Damn, she thought. Damn. Why me? Why him? It was a problem that Emma would have never considered. She liked that she had standing in the Clan. Others appreciated her matter-of-fact approach although she didn’t allow them any access to her feelings. She had human friends and were friends, but they were a half tick above being acquaintances because of her typical aloofness. She wouldn’t have known what to do about it even if she wanted to do something. There wasn’t anyone she felt comfortable with asking about it.

  Her feline face curled into a surly frown. The ocelot scowled down at Wheeler. I don’t have to do anything. He’s not interested in me. He doesn’t even speak to me for weeks at a time. He’s got girlfriends…sometimes. Emma restrained an elusive sigh because it would have given her location away. If I wait long enough, it’ll go away. With that weak determination, she let it go for the moment.

  Then with careful precision, her powerful back legs moved into the correct placement for an impending ambush. Her head lowered as Wheeler lowered himself to the grass, ready to bask in the sun of a warm day. Her mouth opened and scented him again. Cooling down. Relaxing. Full stomach. Familiar territory. Threats are nonexistent. Emma would have smiled but the ocelot didn’t smile. Shows what you know, bucko, she thought and launched herself at him.

  The economy of movement through the leaves of the tree made little noise, but it was enough that Wheeler turned his massive leonine head in her direction. The sight of a thirty-five pound ocelot flying directly at him must have been disconcerting. The comical expression on the feline face would have been rib-tickling if Emma could have taken a moment to stop and consider it.

  He was amazed that Emma was doing what she had done. Then with bruising force, she abruptly connected with his body, wrapping her claws around his neck, digging into his back with her rear legs in a manner that made Wheeler suddenly erupt with fury. She bit his neck as he leapt upward, bucking her like a horse with an unruly rider. Sharply, Emma spun on his back and raced backward down his spine, leaping over his violently slashing tail into the brush.

  Wheeler roared. So much for his serenity. Mere seconds later he was bellowing after her, “Emma, goddammit! What the hell was that?!”

  He had shifted so he could yell at her. Emma ran harder. After all, Wheeler had great stamina and there was a good distance until she could make the safety of the mansion. She knew that it would take him only seconds to realize that she wasn’t going to come back and let him shout at her.

  “Seriously!” he yelled. “Emma! If I catch you before you get to the house, your ass is GRASS!”

  Emma allowed herself to smile in the present. Humans were yanking at the metal components of the ventilation shaft and blood was still billowing from her thigh. She was woozy from the loss of fluids and wishing she was anywhere else but trapped in this miserable place with people who wanted to do terrible things to her and her adopted kind.

  But she had a nice memory of the day she’d really surprised Wheeler and it made for a transitory moment of tranquility. Her ass hadn’t been grass then, but it was at the moment.

  Chapter Eight

  To kill a cat brings seventeen years of bad luck. – An Irish Superstition

  The Clan borrowed a jet from the Committee, the organization it had aided when a treacherous Whitelaw shifter threatened to destroy the world by using relics created with dark magicks. The Committee was a mysterious group that worked against otherworlders who would cause harm to earth or its peaceful inhabitants. The group had resources and agents who specialized in the paranormal. Furthermore, it made alliances with various otherworlders that would aid in their causes. The Cat Clan had assisted the Committee on previous occasions and would not endorse the kidnapping of innocent weres.

  Wheeler had made a difficult decision. He sent Donovan and a group after the Mexican weres who were related to Martinez. He wanted to have an ace in the hole. They would bring them back to the compound and Martinez would have to release Sage Ingram in exchange for their release. Martinez wouldn’t know until after the fact that Wheeler had no intention of harming the weres based on their familial relationships. But Sage didn’t deserve to be forced into whatever relationship that Martinez intended to press upon her. And Wheeler suspected that Emma would do bad things to him if he didn’t do something about Sage’s kidnapping.

  At the same time Wheeler was flying into Cody with another group of Elite Cat Warriors, including Killian. He wouldn’t allow anything to keep him from Emma, and be damned the individual who tried to do that.

  Consequently, the hour long flight from the private airport south of Denver to Cody was fraught with Wheeler’s ceaseless pacing. Killian finally said, “Jay-sus, Joe-suff, and Mare-ee, Wheeler, the plane can’t fly any swifter.”

  Wheeler paused to glare at Killian. “One day, it’s going to happen to you,” he said. “And I’ll laugh my ass off at you.”

  Killian chuckled. “The mating dance,” he questioned but it wasn’t really a question. “I’ve heard it’s almost like a compulsion. I don’t know how you’ve restrained yourself all these years.”

  The six other warriors on the jet moved away as if pulled by bungee cords. Killian had a way of pushing issues even when he should have known better. He was more than obviously amused by the convoluted and sluggish courtship that Wheeler and Emma were performing.

  It dawned on Wheeler that Killian was less than deferential of his Alpha than he should be. Wheeler snarled at him and Killian immediately backed into his seat. His hands were held up in a condolatory fashion.

  A long moment later, Wheeler took a breath and said emotionlessly, “I’ll explain it to you only once, and you’ll never say another word because I respect you. Emma wasn’t just turned, she was forced. She was fourteen and choices were taken from her.”

  “Fourteen,” Killian repeated thoughtfully. His Irish brogue became thick. “That be a terrible age to be changed, especially not by her own choosing, I’m thinking.”

  Killian glanced at the other weres who were steadfastly pretending that there was a concrete wall between themselves and Wheeler and Killian. “My apologies, Wheeler. The others don’t say anything about how she came to be a were, only that she was turned.”

  “Most of them don’t know,” Wheeler said icily. “Emma wouldn’t want the…pity.”

  Wheeler had discovered that for himself the moment that Emma had attacked him in the mountains. Certainly, he had been aware of her tracking activities. He’d hoped that it was because of a burgeoning awareness of him. Instead, Emma had seen what she thought of as a loophole. She had come to the conclusion that the senior weres were being indolent. If another dominant were came to challenge Wheeler, she believed, then a less worthy individual might take over the Clan.

  The basis of Emma’s concern was undoubtedly confusing to Wheeler. Was she concerned about herself or with Wheeler’s position or even, hopefully, with Wheeler’s safety? He would have paid his weight in gold to have the answer.

  The instant that Emma pounced on his back and nipped his neck was the moment Wheeler learned something important. Although she had surprised him and was correct in her assertions that he had grown conceited, she was also something else.

  After he had roared at her as she fled from him, Wheeler stopped to sniff the air. He knew that he should be tracking the feisty little ocelot down and teaching her to play games with the Alpha, but the strength of the scent abruptly halted him.

  There were no other weres about. There was Emma and ther
e was Wheeler. The scent was hers and he could tell what it was. There wasn’t any question about it and it gave Wheeler the hope that for which he had long waited. For over two years he had held firm while Emma had begun to fill the boots of being a were. She gained confidence and began to challenge her environment the way that she should.

  Wheeler watched and waited. He occupied himself with his typical duties. He minded the Clan. But Emma was always there, like a slow moving, torturous device that niggled at his insides. Time crawled and he forced himself to be patient.

  And Emma bowled him over like tenpins. If she’d had the inclination she could have slashed his throat. It might even have killed him.

  He’d ended up walking halfway back to the mansion because he didn’t want to jump on Emma the instant he located her. Fortunately for him, none of the other weres had seen him stalking nakedly back to the compound.

  The resulting conversation that Emma and he had was memorable.

  Early the next morning, Wheeler cornered her in the little room she used as an office. Emma sat behind the desk and calmly crossed her arms over her chest. Wearing a tight little t-shirt that brandished a shoe logo, she avoided looking into his eyes. As a matter of fact, her perfect little cheeks turned a rosy shade of pink that had his interest piqued immediately. What, he wondered, is she thinking about?

  “You’re lazy,” she said before he could say anything .

  “I’m lazy,” he repeated. It wasn’t exactly what he wanted to hear. He felt like a school boy who liked a girl and punched her in the arm to get her attention. The problem was that he didn’t want to punch Emma’s arm. He wanted to kiss her delectable mouth. Then he wanted to kiss every other inch of her.

  “You and Britt and Donovan. Full of yourselves,” she said, her lovely mouth mutinous.