Tempt Not the Cat

by J. C. Wilder

  “Nothing,” she laughed. Never had she felt this wild, this free and this desired before. He acted as if he would eat her alive. She stifled another giggle. Just maybe she’d let him.

  He opened the door, and she freed herself long enough to walk into the warmth of the house. She dropped the backpack and scampered to the foot of the steps. Turning, she saw he stood in the doorway, his face in shadow and his gaze was locked on something hanging on the door. Erihn frowned when she saw his big hands clench into fists and his knuckles turn white.

  In the center of the door was a white square that wasn’t just taped there, a narrow dagger with the slim blade embedded in the wooden door held it in place. The ornate handle, studded with deep blue stones, gave her chills just looking at it.

  “What is that?” she whispered.

  “A photograph.” Fayne’s gaze shifted from the dagger to her. Apprehension crept under her skin when she caught his expression. Cold and deadly, a muscle ticced in his jaw, he looked angry enough to kill with his bare hands.

  Fear caught in her throat when he took a step toward her, and she couldn’t prevent herself from retreating. Something curled and froze inside her. She put her hand on the banister to steady herself as he stepped into the light, his face intent, his eyes dark and hooded. The energy he radiated was unnerving and not a little bit frightening.

  “Go to bed, Erihn.” His voice was low, guttural.

  “Fayne…”

  “Go now!” he thundered.

  Fear trickled down her spine as she ran up the steps, her heart pounding wildly against her ribs. When she reached for the doorknob, his voice stopped her.

  “Lock your door.”

  She bolted into the room and shut the door, her mind swirling with unanswered questions. Why did he want her to lock the door? Was he locking her in or locking himself out? Who was in the photograph and why was it hanging on the door like that? Not wanting to press her luck, Erihn locked the door as frightened tears began to fall.

  Fayne stood in the open French doors, the wind cold against his bare skin as rage flowed through his veins. Quietly, he shut the doors then he stepped out onto the deck. All was still, but it wouldn’t be for long. Evil was coming for him, he could taste it in the air.

  Nude, he stood in the waxing moonlight, and the brilliant orb called his animal nature forth. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the ever-present glimmer of violet fire that existed in his mind’s eye. Taking a deep breath, he shed his human thoughts and stepped into the night to embrace his beast.

  Chapter Six

  The phone woke him.

  Fayne fumbled for the noisy appliance as the shrill ring fractured the early morning air. He glanced at the clock and scowled. Who in the devil would be calling at 7:00 a.m.?

  He snatched the receiver up and snarled, “This had better be good.”

  Silence.

  “It’s your dime.”

  His preternatural hearing detected a rasping sound, the drag of silk over steel. A chill ran down his spine. In the back of his mind he heard a whispery laugh, dry, like the air of a crypt sealed for centuries. The sound of evil.

  A click and the dial tone jolted him out of his reverie.

  He set the receiver down, his heart thundering in his ears. Only one person could’ve been on the phone. One person whose evil persona would translate over miles of twisted wire. The only one who would have left last night’s calling card.

  Edward.

  Fayne glanced at the mangled photograph he’d retrieved from the door. It lay on the bedside table, the dagger next to it. Taken here on the mountain about a month ago, the photo was of him and Max, frolicking with a football in the same meadow where he and Erihn had watched the sunset. Max was running for all he was worth, a shriek of childish glee captured on his face as he clutched the football to his chest. Behind him ran Fayne, reaching for the boy’s tiny body, his love for the child obvious for all the world to see. The knife blade had neatly severed the two frozen images.

  Edward was coming for Max.

  His jaw tightened. He’d never allow the monster to take this child from him. In all the ways that counted, Max was his son. He would die to protect his child, and that was that. It was time to formulate a plan.

  He sat up and grimaced when he noted the mud on his feet and the sheets. He hated it when he went to bed with dirty feet. He’d been so exhausted after the events of last night, he’d collapsed into bed early this morning, muddy feet and all.

  Right now, though, he had bigger problems than mud on the sheets.

  He reached for the phone and dialed an international number he knew by heart. After a few seconds of buzzes and clicks that sounded like the phone was submerged under water, he heard the distinct ring common to a European phone.

  “St. James’ residence.” The clipped proper tones of Sinjin’s British butler, Hilton, made Fayne want to sit up straighter. He resisted the urge.

  “Is Sinjin or Conor in, please?”

  “And whom may I say is calling?”

  “Fayne.”

  The butler paused. “Fang, sir?” Displeasure laced each syllable.

  Fayne resisted the impulse to snarl. “No, that would be Fayne, Helton,” he stressed the EL sound.

  A sniff. “Yes, sir.”

  He heard Hilton set the phone down, and the faint click of the butler’s shoes as he walked away. Hilton knew damn good and well who was on the phone. The butler had been mad at him ever since a few years ago when he’d caught Fayne upstairs with his twin nieces, Ariell and Mariel, playing with an instrument not normally found in an English music room. He grinned. Those two had learned a lot more than chopsticks that day.

  “Fayne?” Mac’s voice came on the line. “What’s wrong?”

  “We have a problem,” he growled. “Edward.”

  Mac paused and Fayne could almost hear the wheels turning in his friend’s head. “He’s surfaced?”

  “He’s coming after Max. He left a calling card last night.”

  “Where is Max?”

  “Bliss took him to South America to observe an archeological dig. You know how that kid is rock crazy.” Fayne chuckled. “They won’t be back for a few weeks yet. I can’t get hold of her from here, and they only call once a week. Ask Sinjin to contact her, and tell her to stay put and be on the watch for anything out of the ordinary.”

  “Do you think Edward knows where Max is?”

  “No, Bliss removed him from the country through extraordinary means.” He paused before continuing to allow the implication of his words to sink in. “I’m afraid Edward will find him another way. He and Max were joined mentally for two years.”

  “Hmm…I don’t know anything about that. I’ll get with Sinjin immediately and we’ll see if he can reach Bliss to let her know what’s happening. Is there anything else you need? Do you want us to return home?”

  “No, I don’t think that’ll be necessary. Do me a favor and see if you can find Renault. I might need his help.”

  “You realize Renault has vanished and no one’s seen him for months. Sinjin thinks he returned to cat form permanently. I can’t guarantee we’ll find him.”

  Fayne grimaced at the thought of his old friend hiding alone somewhere in the world. With the preternatural world in uproar and Renault’s father leading the revolt, it wasn’t safe for him to be alone. It wasn’t safe for any of them. “I keep hoping he’ll surface.”

  “All of us do. In the meantime, I’ll notify Alexandre and Val. Don’t be surprised if you receive visitors soon.”

  He grinned. “I’d be surprised if I didn’t.”

  “Take care and keep an eye on Erihn. She’s very dear to all of us.”

  “That I will.” Fayne cleared his throat. “Mac, if anything happens to me, you and Jen will look after Max, won’t you?”

  “Nothing will happen to you if you’re careful. Besides, the good guys always win.” Mac strove for a light tone.

  “Last, Mac, they always win last.
”

  “First or last, as long as we win. I’ll see what I can do from my end and I’ll get back with you.”

  “Thanks.”

  He hung up the phone and reached for the photo. Max was truly a gift to him. While were-cats could sire children, Fayne had never found a woman with whom he wanted to raise a family. No mortal woman had ever held his attention for longer than a few months, and he’d never met a female were-cat he could stand to be around for any period of time. They were too competitive, even if they were fantastic in bed.

  Then Max had arrived in his life. Max, at the age of four, had been sold to the vampire Elder Edward, a rather vile vampire of the lowest denomination. Edward was mute and, with Max’s psychic and clairvoyant talents, he’d been able to communicate effortlessly with the outside world. Without Max, he was relegated to using pen and paper like other mortals. Edward had planned on raising the child and turning him into an immortal human servant once he reached a proper age. Edward and Max together for all eternity, that is, until Fayne stepped in.

  Edward had become embroiled in the intrigues of Mikhail and his ill-fated bid for the position of Master on the Council of Elders, the ruling body for the entire preternatural underworld. Fayne was a reluctant participant on the council. Like most were-cats, he was more interested in physical pleasures than the politics of the damned.

  But after Mikhail’s defeat at the stone circle on the last winter solstice, Edward had abandoned Max, leaving him to certain death and enabling the vampire to save his own worthless hide. Fayne had rescued Max and adopted him into his life and his heart.

  His son had spent the better part of the last nine months in seclusion with Fayne and a few select friends here in Jennifer’s house. Deeply traumatized by his ordeal at the hands of Edward, Max still suffered from nightmares and debilitating panic attacks. Over time they’d lessened, but they hadn’t vanished completely.

  His heart swelled with pride as he thought of how Max seemed to be adjusting well to his first excursion into the world. He was enjoying his time in South America. A few natives, crumbling clay pots and a pile of mud could do amazing things for a six-year-old. On the phone a few days ago, Max had sounded less fearful and more like the little boy he should’ve been.

  He loved that child and he’d do anything to keep him safe.

  Fayne set the picture back down and rolled over onto his stomach. He closed his eyes, knowing he’d done all he could do for now. He’d set the wheels in motion and notified the troops. After he removed Erihn from the line of fire, he would be free to go after Edward.

  This time, nothing would stop him from killing the vampire.

  * * * * *

  A thud overhead woke him from a sound sleep.

  Fayne lay still, listening to Erihn’s soft footsteps above. A rush of desire ran through him at the thought of her uninhibited response of last night. It’d taken every ounce of willpower to send her to bed alone when he’d have given his eyeteeth to bed her and keep her there for a week.

  She was a firecracker and he wanted her more than ever. Unfortunately, keeping her safe was more important than appeasing his animal nature. First, he had to clear the remains of the mess from the drive. Then he had to convince her to leave as soon as possible. And he had a good idea how to accomplish that.

  He rose from the bed, his lip curling at the sight of the dirty sheets. Rushing through a quick shower, he pulled on a pair of shorts while trying to keep his mind off the delectable female upstairs.

  Sprinting up the steps to the main floor, he paused on the landing. Her scent teased his senses, and he was pleased to note she’d used rose geranium oil in her bath again. Silently, he stepped into the hall and the first thing he saw was Erihn, sitting on a couch in a beam of sunlight.

  Dressed in an ivory lace dress and a fluffy, cocoa-colored sweater, she looked like an angel. Her hair was pulled back into one long, thick braid that trailed over her right shoulder. She sat with the diary in her lap while scribbling furiously in a notebook, her pen scratching over the paper.

  Fayne broke into a sweat as an odd sinking feeling kicked in his stomach. He felt like he’d ridden an express elevator up forty floors, leaving his stomach on the third. As he watched, her bare toes, nails painted a shell pink, curled and uncurled on the Berber carpeting. A rush of desire left him with the need to claw the door molding to splinters.

  No doubt about it, he was in trouble.

  Silently, he retreated down the steps to slip out the back door.

  Erihn frowned at her notes. According to the journal, there were only two ways to become a were-cat. One was to be born of two were-cat parents. A were-cat and a mortal could have were-cat offspring, but the chances were slim. The only other way was to be scratched or bitten by a were-cat near the full moon.

  She gnawed the end of her pen. Now, the problem, of course, was how to get the hero to scratch the heroine. In bed, maybe? An accident? She wrote a question mark next to her note. She’d have to come back to that one.

  Next was the issue of changing form. How did a were-cat change into cat form and back again? She glared at the diary, sitting on the arm of the couch. The stupid thing read like stereo instructions. Some of it she couldn’t make heads or tails of while the bulk of the later information was written in a language she was unable to decipher. There were times she was tempted to try reading the thing backwards rather than forwards.

  Erihn sighed. She was going to have to come up with something. In Velvet Lover, she hadn’t addressed the issue of changing from human to were-cat, but it was going to be an integral plot point in the new book.

  The sound of the door opening jarred her from her musing. Fayne came in and she drank in the bronzed expanse of his chest, filthy from his backbreaking labor in the drive. He stopped in the archway, his gaze intent upon her. Baggy purple shorts hung low on his hips and she saw them twitch as her gaze skimmed his groin.

  Their gazes met and a quiver ran under her skin. Her body heated and softened as if preparing for his touch. Even covered in muck and pine pitch, he was still the handsomest man she’d ever seen.

  “Morning,” he rasped.

  Erihn shivered as if he’d physically touched her. She cleared her throat. “It’s afternoon. I have some tea here if you’d like some.” She indicated the pitcher and glasses on the table before her.

  He said nothing. She forced herself to remain still as his hungry gaze moved over her. He waved a hand to indicate the dirt. “I need to get cleaned up.”

  “Okay, take a glass with you.” She leaned forward and poured a glass of the icy herbal tea. Rising, she walked across the room to hand it to him. For a moment, she thought he wouldn’t take her offering, then he reached out and accepted the glass, taking care to avoid touching her.

  “Thank you.”

  She forced a bright smile. “I’ll go make something to eat.”

  “That isn’t necessary.”

  “I insist. You’ve spent most of the morning working outside, the least I can do is provide you with food.”

  His eyes pierced hers, searching. She sensed he wanted to say something, instead he nodded abruptly. “Thanks.”

  She heaved a sigh of relief when he turned and walked down the steps to his room. She still wanted him even though he unnerved her. There was something about him, something animal, untamed. By rights, it should terrify her, but she sensed his restraint. He wasn’t manic like Chapman or intimidating like Val. While Fayne was unpredictable, there was a softer side, a tenderness to him. It was that side which drew her like a moth to the flame. Now she had to be careful she didn’t get burned.

  Erihn returned to the couch and took great care replacing the diary in its box. She tucked it into her purse for safekeeping. She picked up her notebook and pen and carried them with her into the kitchen. Dropping her supplies on the counter, she checked the fridge before deciding on grilled cheese sandwiches. Pulling the ingredients out of the fridge, she piled them on the butcher-block island. She
selected a large nonstick pan from the pans dangling overhead. Humming under her breath, she added a teaspoon of butter and set the pan on the stove to heat as she stared at her scrawled notes.

  Need something to make hero appear more sympathetic.

  She frowned. What would make her were-cat hero appear more sympathetic?

  A pet?

  Would were-cats have pets? No, probably not. How about a debilitating illness that would come and go, like malaria? No. According to the diary, were-cats were almost indestructible to human diseases. Unlike werewolves, were-cats were immune to silver bullets and wolfbane. They healed quickly and, so far, she hadn’t found anything in the diary that addressed what could kill them.

  Erihn started as she smelled scorching butter. Whipping the frying pan off the burner, she set it aside and slapped the sandwiches together haphazardly, her mind still on her book. What made human men appear vulnerable to women?

  Babies.

  Stunned, she froze, cheese dangling in midair. That was it! She dropped the cheese and snatched up her pen.

  Give the hero a child.

  Where did the child come from?

  Make that an abandoned child.

  Of course, with a child, he’d have to lose the motorcycle. No one would transport a small child on the back of a bike. Erihn gnawed on her lip. That might present a problem, though, as she was determined to give the hero a motorcycle. Maybe he could own a car also?

  She scribbled a few more notes. Satisfied she had everything down, she turned her attention back to lunch.

  “Oh bother!” She shook her head as she picked up the now-cold frying pan. How long had she been standing around dithering?

  “Problems?”

  She spun around, almost dropping the pan. Air quickly left her lungs when she saw the way Fayne watched her. Hair slicked back from his shower, he was dressed in black jeans and a brilliant purple velvet vest that made his eyes look almost pansy-purple. All that bare skin just waiting for her to explore…

  She swallowed audibly. “Umm, what? Did you say something?”