Hunting the She-Cat

by Jacki Bentley

  “Or we will end up on a stainless steel table at Area 51. Or in the X-Files. I know, I know.”

  “Where is this? Area 51?”

  She forced herself to let go of her necklace talisman and relax her posture. “Scientists in white coats, experiments, needles, and lots of poking and needless prodding would happen to us.”

  His eyes fired hot. “Have they harmed you this way before?”

  “No. No. It’s folklore, fiction.”

  “Plausible fiction.”

  “Oh, never mind all that. How did you get here? How did you find me? My address is unlisted.”

  “How I found you again is of no matter at the moment. I am here.”

  “You shifted and followed my scent, right?”

  He smiled wryly. “I did. Worth the risk of white coats and needles. The scent of you on my senses is like no other.”

  He stepped closer and she was caught in the compelling gaze coming from his powerful eyes. He moved to block her pathway back to the safety of inside her home. She had no room to retreat.

  Her mind reeled. Unless. Unless she shifted shape herself, became the cat and took to the stairs. She’d never dared shift to cat form in Chicago. Never. And she was not about to start now. She raised her chin, and stiffened her lips. She could face whatever he threw at her.

  “It’s good to see you again, megisha.”

  His voice was as smooth as silk, sliding over her skin as if his palm did so.

  “To have you with me, alone, in the dark this time.” He caught a strand of her hair, wrapped his sizable fingers in it and pulled her gently to him. She pulled away, hurting herself. He released her just in time to save her real pain in her scalp.

  “Stubborn female.”

  “I didn’t ask you to come here. In fact, I asked you to leave me alone,” she hissed. “I do not know you. You are no one to me.”

  In the reflected light, she saw his expression harden, his shoulders stiffen.

  He reached for her, taking the back of her neck in his hand, holding her hard. “You must come back with me to Eliava. Tonight. It is more urgent than you can know, you defensive little cat.”

  She felt his warm breath on her cheek. “No. No. No.”

  “Yes. Yes.” His other hand cupped her cheek, his fingers caressing her ear. His firm thumb boldly stroked her upper lip. “Beautiful. I will take care of you. I promise it.”

  “I’m not. Leave. Now. Go back the way you came.”

  He took a weary breath. “Would you not introduce me to your friends then? Show some hospitality to a tired traveler who has not eaten today? I would like to see how the U.S. immigrant offspring have turned out. Ruthless and cunning, successful settlers are they?”

  Misha’s mind raced to figure out what he said, until she remembered. The last time he was here was two hundred years ago. “How long do we live?” She could not resist asking the question.

  “It takes time to become the cat. For most, not until they are over one hundred of Earth’s years. The oldest of us make it about six hundred years, but science makes advances all the time.” He shrugged as if to say he really didn’t know the limits of a cat shifter’s life. “Invite me in.”

  She sighed, considering it. “And who will I tell them you are?”

  He smiled a sexy flash of pearly white teeth, the canines a little longer than normal human teeth. “Will I be your long lost lover whose flame is rekindled, perhaps, a man hoping to reclaim you? Even some truth there. But, hear me female, you will not tell them I am your brother or a kin cousin. No, I will not have that. It would put unnatural distance between us.”

  “Oh, go to hell.”

  He sobered. “I may be there, female. I may be there already.”

  With that declaration, he grabbed her and took her lips with his own, commanding them to move, to follow his.

  Determined to thwart him, she fought a moment. Then when she allowed it, the kiss deepened, blossomed wider, becoming wetter, all-consuming.

  After a long, leisurely exploration, he left her lips to laugh, low and quiet. “That’s it, that’s right my little she-cat. Come to me. Relax against me.”

  Her breath came too fast for decency. Shame washed over her and she lowered her head to his hard chest. Mercy, he was a total stranger but she wanted to see him gloriously naked. Now. Here in the spare moonlight. She wanted him to take her down to sisal rug on her balcony and make love to her.

  One wide hand sought her behind, pulling her firmly to the cradle of his thighs. She moaned and melted into him. “Lugar,” she whispered. The surging desire of his body for hers was clear, unmistakable and exciting pressed against her. The ache of it rolled through her causing a fine trembling.

  He left her mouth to say, “I want you. I need you. Only you.”

  She answered his need by arching against him. Their clothing was too much a barrier.

  “Remove your clothing.”

  The masculine command broke the spell and aroused her painfully all at the same time. “No. God, no. The door. Someone will come out here any moment, looking for me.”

  “The first time we make love will be fast and sharp, little female. No one will find us before we’ve finished.”

  “Hah! That’s your erection speaking.”

  He jerked her to him again, laughing, his eyes sparkling with challenge. “Perhaps so. Truth is, at this moment, I do not much care if your whole world watches us.”

  He placed both hands on her waist and lifted her up, then, mercilessly, he allowed her to slide along him, chest to hips.

  “Mmmm,” she gasped, dropping her arms on his shoulders as he held her off her feet, off the floor.

  “Feel good? Wrap your long legs around me.”

  When she did not respond, he demanded, “Now.”

  “If you insist,” she whimpered. “Arrogance.” She would teach him. Seductively, she climbed his muscled hips, one leg then the other. Then repeated the action again in reverse.

  “Good girl. Yes, that’s it exactly.”

  With the flat of his hand on the cheek of her butt, he pressed her closer.

  Unsure what she was doing, she claimed his shoulders with her teeth, small nips that had him growling deep in his chest. The sound was like great music.

  A voice came, just as she’d predicted. “Yoo-hoo. Mish Mash. Where are you? I just saw you in the kitchen just a few minutes ago. Misha?”

  It was Sala. Thank God for the interruption because there was no stopping them otherwise. And God help her this was a complete stranger ... he could be a murderer.

  Misha tore herself from Lugar’s arms. He lowered his head to his chest, his breathing as hard and labored as hers.

  “I’m here, Sala. Out here on the balcony.”

  “What ya doin’ out here in the damn dark, girl?”

  “I’m … not …”

  “Oh, my, gosh!” She squinted. “My eyes are adjusting. It’s him. It’s your Alpha dog, chicka.”

  “That would be cat,” Misha corrected.

  “Enough,” Lugar whispered urgently for her ears only. “Stop this talk. Outsiders cannot know what we are. You said as much yourself,” he reminded her. His breath came hot at her ear.

  Damn, he was right. “Touché,” she said begrudgingly. She knew better than to say that. Knew better than all of this crazy, wanton behavior. Knew better than fooling with him for sure. What was she thinking, humping him in the darkness of her balcony?

  “I’m coming … in. Sala. In.”

  Lugar took her by the upper arms, pulled her to him, discreetly, or not so discreetly, covering his front to hide his response from Sala.

  “What the hell?” Bronson’s voice came from the doorway. He glared at Lugar. “Who the blazes are you?”

  Misha knew she should run to Bronson. She should be relieved at opportunity to escape Lugar’s clutches. But she could not speak to save her. Her silly mind occupied itself comparing the two males, quantifying the differences and they were significant. Bron
son was not coming out so well in contrast. He was too fine-boned, too long and reedy. Too condescending and unfriendly as he stared at Lugar.

  “I am Misha’s colleague,” Lugar said. “Lugar Rova. An old friend of the -- uh, family.”

  “Where is that accent from? I can’t say I recognize it.” Bronson offered his hand in a forced gesture. “I travel a lot.”

  After an elongated moment, Lugar took the hand and shook it awkwardly as if not accustomed to handshaking in greeting. “I am from a small, obscure country in eastern Europe.”

  Something about the answer told her he’d practiced that line. The handshake was a surprise to him though, she suspected. Hadn’t practiced that. Perhaps she imagined the snarl of distaste for the contact on his chiseled lips.

  After the handshake, Bronson stepped nearer, offering his arm to her.

  Misha felt herself go cold and tense. “Do not come any closer, Bronson,” she warned. Well, darn, why not snarl and bare her teeth too. Not sure why she did not want him any closer than an arm length to Lugar, but the need was strong. “Stay back,” she ordered.

  “Misha?” Lugar asked.

  “Misha?” Bronson asked.

  “It … it’s very dark here,” she said. “There are too many of us on this small balcony,” she said, improvising a plausible excuse, waving a hand toward the doorway behind him. “The weight. The welds are old and not up to code any longer. I need to repair it.” The truth was she wanted to insure Bronson stayed back far away from Lugar.

  God help her, for Lugar’s safety, she realized. She wanted her own boyfriend gone -- or at least at a greater distance. Bronson was fit and he held several kinds of different colored Asian martial arts self-defense belts. She was not familiar with the details, but knew he was trained to be sneaky and skilled, very good with the hand-to-hand fighting.

  Sensing her alarm, Lugar began to stroke her hair in a soothing way, from top to ends of its length. “Be calm,” he whispered near the shell of her ear. “It’s alright, Misha. I am a civilized being. I will not kill your friend.”

  Some of the tension in her stance eased, but she did not correct his misinterpretation of her insane behavior. No need to feed his ego with knowledge of her fear for him.

  “Well that’s just damn friendly for a colleague,” Bronson said, his eyes narrowed now in a suspicious way. “There’s not enough space between you two for a pencil.”

  Sala spoke, “Smart man. Let’s go inside, shall we, Bron? Give them a minute.” She winked brazenly at Misha. “We’ll pave the way for with the others, Mr. Alpha. Long lost boyfriend sound about right?”

  “Yes. Thank you,” Lugar said.

  “Oh, damn it Mish, he’s polite too.”

  “What did you call him?” Bronson asked with his eyes turned on Sala now.

  “Nothing, Slick.” Boldly, she took Bronson’s arm, steering him to the door. “Just relax and come with me, handsome,” she said.

  Bronson looked down at Sala’s hand, then gave Misha a puzzled frown.

  “Just his name,” Sala continued, clearly attempting to distract Bronson from more questions. “I said, Mr. Roma.”

  “Rova,” Lugar corrected. Then he took Misha’s elbow and escorted her after the other two. “You smell glorious,” he whispered near Misha’s ear.

  Her darned knees went weak nearly melting out from under her, and she closed her eyes a moment to regain composure. He caught her by the waist, steadying her balance. “I don’t even know you,” she hissed. “I’m not sure I like you.”

  “You will soon. Soon.” Laughing softly, Lugar calmly took her into her own house as if they had not been in the throws of hot-out-of-control passion just moments ago.

  As the evening wore on, Lugar never left her side. His body language reminded her of a high-powered bodyguard. He watched everyone who approached her. She began to suspect he could have held his own with Bronson, all martial arts training aside. Explaining who he was went smoother than she thought. Since he acted like a bodyguard that’s what she said. That she’d met him a few years ago, through a dignitary client who had been under Lugar’s protection until he’d safely testified in court trial. A believable lie. Lugar even seemed to be able at speaking SWAT team speak where needed -- he knew a lot about Earth’s police special weapons and emergency tactics. Not to mention carbines and body armor.

  Sala used her considerable and devastating feminine wiles keeping Bronson away from them all evening. Her friend also sensed the potential volatility of the situation between the two men. From his expression, Bronson was willingly distracted, mesmerized by Sala’s unexpected attention. Misha felt no jealousy that he gave Sala attention in return. She was amazingly relieved in fact.

  Toward the end of the night, only stragglers remained and Lugar’s high-tech looking watch buzzed like a cell phone.

  After reading something on the screen, Lugar said, “I must leave you for now. I will return in the morning.”

  Mindless of the watching eyes of Bronson, Sala and the stragglers, he pulled her out on the balcony and kissed her hard and fast on the lips. Then left the same way he came. Via the balcony fire escape steps. Her heart pounded as she realized she heard no sound of footfalls on the metal treads.

  She knew he left her as a cat.

  Chapter Four

  The next morning early, Misha ran.

  And damn it all, she wished the rest of the world would hurry it up a bit to match her urgent need of escape. Time seemed to creep as she went through airport security lines, her carry on bags disappearing inside the scanner’s black rubber strips at last.

  O’Hare was large and urban, but Misha’s senses clanged, warning her of many dangers just as they did when she was in the open wilds. But here it was overload, painful. Like any other cat, alert senses gave her an edge, kept her alive.

  Pursued. She felt pursued.

  She had the creeping, itching feeling the large cat followed her, silently padding along behind her. The fine hair at the back of her neck seemed to stand at attention. Silly, silly imagination. Impossible. No man, not even one as forceful and demanding as Lugar could follow her today. She’d been careful to see to it. Well, no normal male could.

  Heavens, he was no normal mortal male. She might even be falling into his hands or, that would be, claws and fangs.

  The urge to leave her belongings and run past the airport guards was nearly overpowering. She forced her self to relax, be calm. In her life, she’d faced worse threats than a male who made her want sex. Hadn’t she? Maybe not.

  Casually, she turned, looking all around behind her. No one there.

  She sighed and smiled politely as they let her into the boarding gate concourse area.

  Minutes later, when she settled into her seat on the small commuter express plane, the same fight or flight feelings washed over her in waves, sharpening her senses. She could hear every word the pilots said in the cockpit.

  She sank into her seat, staying low, as if she were the prey and not the predator today. She forced herself to close her eyes and rest, lulled and quieted by the steady hum of the engines. She preferred that to eavesdropping on the pilots.

  Two hours later, she walked into the arms of Uncle Joseph Red Bird. He’d aged. His walk was stiff, his shoulder popped as he hugged her close.

  “It has been too long my Misha girl. Too long you have stayed away from these hills of home.” He patted her with the awkwardness of a father. “We’ve missed you, love.”

  “You too. You too.”

  “Then why stay away?”

  She shrugged. Damned if she knew. Other than her work and a handful of friends, or the purring excitement of Chicago days, why indeed?

  “You will stay at Bear Track Cabin, as always? I can not talk you into staying in my home?”

  She grinned weakly and nodded. “I love my cabin. Thank you for taking care of it for me. I need to think, Uncle. I can think and unwind there.”

  “You need to hide and lick your wounds,” he
refuted. “You will come by for a good meal with all the family before you go back to the Wild City?”

  “That’s Windy City, Uncle. Yes. If I can. I’ll try.”

  “Good. If not, we’ll come to you.”

  When she said nothing more, he went on, “The big cat walks again, Mish. Saw the tracks by the creek myself. Take my dogs up there with you.”

  “You mean the one they say is unnatural, oversized tracks?” She blinked rapidly. “That was a kid’s prank. Years ago.” How could the cat walk the woods when she’d been in Chicago all last week?

  “Right, bigger tracks.” His dark eyes pierced her. “Always believed in the cat myself. Felt it. The beast learned to cover its tracks and hide better. She was a baby then.” Did his eyes carry a warning?

  “Listen, Mish. These are even bigger tracks. Male.”

  “No cat, Uncle. There is no supernaturally big cat.”

  “The great magic of this world is hard to deny. No kid could get up where these signs were. Near the old cave.”

  Dear God. The stranger who’d come to her office? Or another like him? So much for running, he would scent her. Hell.

  “When? Exactly when?”

  He nodded as if he approved her taking this more seriously now.

  “Three days ago.”

  Lugar had already been here before. Well, he’d said he tracked her. She was running stupid. Not thinking. Shit. Shit. Shit.

  “You’ll take the dogs, then?”

  “No. Not the big dogs. I’ll take Gix.”

  “Hell, Misha,” he scolded. “He’s only a Boston Terrier and a small one at that.”

  “He’ll warn me of intruders though. He trusts me. That’s all I need.”

  “The big ass damn cat will eat him and spit out the seeds.”

  “I won’t allow harm to come to him. I’ll keep him in or go out with him.” Hmmm. Before there had been no doubt that the cat would not harm Gix, because she was the cat. Now she had to wonder if she could lose little Gix to the unpredictable, strange male cat.

  “Even Gix should stay at home. I’ll be fine alone,” she added.

  “Nope. I want a dog to go with you.” He scratched his head. “The little hellion, Gix, would be honored to die in your defense, if that’s what’s worrying you.” Uncle Joe read her far too well. “I wish you’d take my, Mals, Jake and Paul too.”