by Faith Hunter
“Furballs and hairballs with guns, working together,” I said wonderingly, giving the help behind me access and time to position themselves. “Who’da thunk it?”
Nantale stepped forward, ignoring my insults. “Jane Yellowrock. We are pleased to know that you still live. The Party of African Weres is happy to see you breathing.”
“Really?” I angled the blade, spinning it so the light caught the edges, so the dogs and cats could see the silver plating. A lot of paras were easily poisoned by silver, including were-creatures and vamps. But I didn’t have enough silver on me to take them all down. Come on, Wrassler. Get here. Move it! “The reason I disbelieve you, kitty cat, is because I recall you bringing Paka, a black wereleopard in heat, into NOLA and siccing the little kitty on my then-boyfriend.”
“We were not informed that Rick LaFleur was involved in a romantic relationship. It was unfortunate you suffered because of the spell she wove.”
Kem had known. I smelled, felt, sensed Wrassler and at least four others moving into the stairwell behind me. Finally. But I needed to stall. “You knew that Raymond Micheika, the leader of the International Association of Weres, paid Paka to do exactly as she did. But you might not know that Paka had taken a prior deal, from Kemnebi, to spell Rick and bring him intense pain, turning him into his cat and then leaving him that way. Forever. Terrible thing for a were to do to an officer of the law, wouldn’t you say?”
Asad slowly turned to Kem-cat, a question on his face. “Paka made parley with you prior to her agreement with us?”
“The woman lies,” Kemnebi said, speaking of me.
“You are impudent,” I said. “This woman is your alpha”—I tapped my chest with the hilt—“and though I never sent the video file to the Party of African Weres, I have you on film, groveling at my feet.
“Wrassler, now, if you please.”
Blood-servant-fast, my backup boiled into the basement. Now we were more evenly matched and my heart was no longer in my throat. I slowed the pirouetting vamp-killer and holstered the H&K. Kept my vamp-killer pointed at Kem. “Tell them,” I commanded.
“She smells of alpha. She smells of power and nothing of fear. Does she speak the truth? Is she your master?” Asad asked Kem, horror in his voice. Nantale looked at the SOD on the wall, indecision in her eyes.
“Not worth fighting all of us and a grindy to steal the bag of bones,” I said. Letting Beast into my voice, I growled, “Kneel, Kem-cat. Kneel and give me your throat or you die tonight for the crime of disloyalty to your alpha.”
Kem snarled and leaped at me.
The werewolf fired.
The Brit attacked him.
They tumbled onto the floor, biting, snapping. The gun went off again.
In the space of two heartbeats, everything went to hell in a handbasket.
CHAPTER 4
Not Everything in Were Culture Required Teeth
In midair, Kem’s claws came out; his hands sprouted black fur. His fangs extended. Kemnebi screamed in fury and challenge.
I pulled on skinwalker magics. Pulled on the power that made me Kem’s alpha.
Stepped aside at the last possible moment. Dropped low. Lifted the blade.
Slashed it across Kem’s body. The scream changed, a high-pitched squeal of the dying.
I tore my blade out of him, altering his angle of leap. His speed carried him past me. Blood splattered against the wall and over the Son of Darkness. Kem slammed into the wall next to the SOD, hung there a moment, like a parody, and slid to the clay floor, a bloody half-shifted leopard.
The elevator doors closed, taking the scent and sound of fighting werewolves and one of the security guys with it. No one else moved. The only sound was the piteous mewling of Kem and the drip of blood. And the soft indrawn breath of the SOD. The stink of gunfire and the stench of werewolf blood.
Beast is best hunter. Beast killed leopard.
“Kem will live, if he shifts,” I said, mostly to her.
Asad stepped closer and leaned down to observe Kemnebi, sniffing. “I don’t believe that he can shift. Silvered blades?” he asked. He sounded amused and his expression was the same one an overfed housecat might wear while watching a mouse stuck in a trap.
I hadn’t left any silver in him, but Kemnebi was prone to drinking lots of alcohol, maybe more than shifting could handle. If his liver was compromised and if I also cut his liver with a silvered blade . . . Well, crap. I said, “Make him shift.”
“No,” Nantale said. “By your own words you are his alpha. You are the only one here who might be able to affect a change to his cat.”
I opened my mouth. Closed it. Double crap. I walked into that with both feet. Asad smiled at me, showing large white teeth in his very dark face. Yeah. He thought this was all funny. Not a lot of love between African lions and leopards in the wild. Not a lot in the wereworld either. And so far as I knew, no nonwere had ever forced a were-creature to shift shape. Meaning, I likely couldn’t do it no matter how hard I tried, no matter that I was Kem’s alpha and had magic of my own. Were-shifting was very different from skinwalker shifting. I used the genetic structure of another creature to shift into the chosen shape. Were-creatures were that shape, their forms altered and changed by the were-prion.
I nudged the gasping cat with a foot. Thought about how Leo sounded when he called his people. Mesmerizing, compulsive, compelling, demanding. I wasn’t into convincing people to do what I wanted. I was more the stab-them-first-and-persuade-afterward kinda chick. That hadn’t worked so well here. I glared at the dying werecat.
“Ja—Enforcer,” Wrassler said, interrupting himself and going for professional instead of friendly. Not a good sign. “Kem did attack first; however, it would be . . . unfortunate if the leader of the PAW delegation were to die at your hand.”
“Uh-huh.” And then I had an idea. I was brilliant. “Get LaFleur down here. Tell him to run.” All that boring reading about paranormals and the proper way to react within and between species would come in handy now.
I heard Wrassler repeat my command into the comms system and I prodded Kem again. This time I got blood on my shoe. “Stay alive.” I almost added please, but that wasn’t an alpha word, so I said, “That’s an order.” I didn’t see an improvement, but maybe it helped. Who knew? While I waited, I cleaned my blade on Kem’s clothes and put it away. Then cleaned my shoe. I sensed disapproval from the African cats.
Beast wasn’t happy either, kneading my mind with her claws, a sensation that made me think my brain was bleeding. She had been in the mood for a good fight, and with Kem out so fast, she was being denied it. And now I was gonna try to save the cat she had almost killed. She was pouting. I ignored her.
Moments later I heard the elevator settle to the bottom. The doors opened and I smelled a female security guard and Rick. I didn’t look up and he stayed inside the elevator, the bright lights illuminating the scene. Yeah. There was too much blood. I had messed up.
Bruiser stepped into sub-five, walking from the stairs where I had stood. I could smell his worry as he took in the scene. I didn’t dare look at him. I was afraid I’d see a look in his eyes that would tell me how badly I’d screwed the pooch. Or screwed the cat.
“Rick, do you know this cat?” I asked, pointing.
“Yes.”
“Specify the relationship.”
The room went quiet again. Into the silence Bruiser asked, “Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Nope. Not at all. Rock, meet hard place.” To Rick I repeated, “Specify.”
He didn’t ask me questions, which I appreciated. He crossed the distance of the basement to me, his feet cat-silent, his silver and black hair the only thing catching the light and gleaming. “Kemnebi had taken my maker, Safia, his assistant, as mate, though she didn’t care for him. He never forgave me for seducing Safia’s affections, if not her body. I have
been in his fangs.” The last line meant he had been at Kem’s mercy for teaching and the words were laced with revulsion. Kem had been a cruel master to Rick.
“Kemnebi is my beta,” I said. “I am his alpha. He attacked me without provocation and outside of proper hierarchy practices and traditions. It’s my right to . . .” Not punish. The word came to me. “To rebuke him.”
“You know the Merged Laws of the Cursed of Artemis,” Nantale said, surprised.
The book of were law was on my bedside table. I had flipped through it, then read the most pertinent parts, like how to deal with were-creature chain of command, if the situation ever presented itself. Most of were law was bloody and full of domination tactics.
Beast had liked most of it. I hadn’t. My Beast moved closer in my mind, listening with the same attention she gave a hunt.
I didn’t respond to the catwoman, but continued speaking to Rick. “His actions against you, while cruel, were within his rights as spurned mate. But his actions against me were improper and constitute attempted murder of his alpha. He attacked without challenge. It’s also my . . .” Oh crap. I went blank. “Ummm. It’s my right to . . .” Not punish him. And then it came to me. “My right to renegotiate his status as a way of saving his life.”
I bent down to the dying cat. He was lying in a pretty big pool of blood and his breathing was getting more shallow. “I remove Kemnebi from his official status, placing him as my zed, the least of all my people. In retaliation for his attack, I seize all his worldly goods and all his subordinate cats. Rick LaFleur, you are now my second in command, my beta, and I give you Kemnebi. You are now his alpha.”
Rick started laughing, a sound more like grief than amusement.
I glanced up at my honeybunch. Bruiser was watching me with unsmiling eyes. He had helped me research this part of were-creatures’ social structure. He knew what I had to do to save Kem’s life. I didn’t like the cat, but still . . . “I wish my former beta to live”—liar, liar—“in shame,” I added more truthfully. “I gift my new beta with all Kemnebi’s worldly goods and status and cats.” I looked at Rick. He was watching me. “In recognition of my gift of your augmented status, you will force Kemnebi to shift to his cat form and save his life, making him your blood beta and beholden to you.” Blood beta was a tricky path to negotiate. It was a lot like winning a vamp’s clan but more. I hoped Rick was up to it. “Do you agree?”
Rick was looking down at the cat who had connived to make his life a hell. “I do. But I don’t like it at all.”
“Can you force him to shift even with silver in his blood?”
Rick frowned. “Yes.”
I leaned over and dipped the fingers of my right hand into Kem’s blood and held out that hand to Rick. He clasped my hand in his and we shook on it. Not everything in were culture required teeth. “Do not disappoint me, beta.”
Rick, still holding my bloody hand, said softly, “I will never again disappoint or pain my alpha.”
“Ummm.” That said a lot more than I wanted it to, but if Kem was to live, we’d have to renegotiate the wording later. I released my grip on Rick’s hand and started to step away.
My new beta held on. His eyes were glowing cat-green and when he spoke there was a purring growl in his throat. “I’ve never done this, only read about it. It would be easier if I was in cat shape, and so I may need help.” He dropped to his knees and shoved his free hand into Kem’s wound. I felt were-power in Rick’s palm grow, a buzzing, hot-cold mist-smoke of electricity. And then I felt Rick do . . . something. He drew on my own power, and I felt the Gray Between bend and stretch, the way it might if I had hooks in my flesh and he tugged on them. “This will do,” he rumbled. He held the bloodied hand to his mouth and licked Kem’s blood. Our connection was so close I could taste the blood, sickly and silvered. Gack, ick.
Good werecat blood, Beast thought. Beast is best hunter.
I didn’t respond.
Beast would kill Kem-cat.
Yeah, I thought back. Not happening.
Three limbed, Rick crawled over Kem’s body, as if mounting the dying cat, and placed his mouth at the man’s ear, saying, “My blood to your blood. My will over your will. Moon to moon.” His voice dropped to a growl. “You are mine.” Even deeper, the growl nearly as deep as Brute’s: “Shift.”
I felt the were-magics sparkle through me and over my skin like an electrified mist, scalding and frigid at once. Kemnebi’s flesh began to lose cohesiveness. A pale fog sifted from his skin, blurring. Dark lights sparkled through the haze, looking like black crystals. Kemnebi was the first were-creature the human world had ever seen, the first I had seen shift, all on TV when the paras came out of the closet.
The black lights surrounding him darkened, deepened. His bones popped and crunched as they shortened or lengthened, the joints changing shape. Black hair sprouted over the visible part of his body and his spine curved in and then arched out. The feline canines in his gums elongated and his jaw and skull took on catlike contours. His flesh rippled, stretched. Rick released my hand and bent to the side, still crouched, still holding his own shape in the midst of the were-energies. Three minutes passed, and at last a breathing, black-coated jungle cat lay on the floor in the pool of blood and ruined clothing he had lost as a man. In the shadows, the muted spots of the leopard weren’t visible at all.
Rick . . . held his human shape.
I stepped away. Checked the ceiling. The grindy was staring at Asad, as if he might taste good. He might have had vampire help, but I had a feeling that the alpha cat here, a bigwig in the International Association of Weres and the Party of African Weres, had engineered this visit to sub-five, though maybe the outcome had been a surprise. Had the werewolves been supposed to start a were-vamp war by killing the SOD or kidnapping Brute, further weakening Leo’s power base and keeping him distracted from Titus’s actions? Crap. Plans within treachery within peril.
Nantale joined Rick and the black leopard on the floor, Nantale pulling the large cat onto her lap and scratching his ears. Rick stood to his feet, looming over his former enemy, the man he had just saved, his hands fisted at his sides, his clothes bloody. My ex was a seriously pretty man, even caught up in whatever emotional whirlpool he was swimming in, even with the heavy silver streaks in his black hair and the deeper lines etched into his skin.
I took several slow steps back, closing the distance to Bruiser. I stopped when my shoulders nestled against the warmth of his chest. One arm closed around me again and he whispered, “I don’t think anyone could have done better, considering that Kem attacked and the cats had been plotting something involving the Son of Darkness. You poled the waters well.”
Poling the waters was an old Louisiana phrase that meant I had steered my way through the currents and the obstacles. I wasn’t used to praise of any kind and I ducked my head in pleasure. This was as close to bliss as I ever got, being with Bruiser, knowing I was loved, accepted, approved of. But I had work to do. I touched his hand in apology and stepped away.
Rick knelt again. Kem batted Rick’s hand with his large paw; head-butted Rick’s chest, knocking him to his backside on the clay floor; crawled into his alpha’s lap; and curled up, covering Rick’s legs and most of his torso. He plopped his head on Rick’s knee. Rick looked as surprised as I felt. “What am I supposed to do?” Rick asked, finding my eyes in the shadows.
“This is the tricky part,” I said.
Asad explained, his voice no longer bored, as he bent and stroked Kem’s side. “A blood beta is . . . domesticated. Tamed. He will do or be whatever you need him to be.”
“But alive,” I said. “Better than dead.”
“His possessions, his position in were society, and his mates are yours,” Asad said to Rick.
Rick jerked slightly, as if he’d stuck his fingers in a light socket. “Mates?”
Asad was clearly amused when he
said, in a laconic tone, “Yes. Kemnebi has taken four mates.”
“Four?”
Oops. I hadn’t known about the mates. I had thought the woman who turned Rick was Kem’s only mate.
“If you give them a choice, they will choose to stay with you, as they are accustomed to comfortable lives and will not wish to return to the wild and to hunting, even to find freedom.”
Oh crap. My mind spun through all the possibilities. Crap, crap, crap. I’d screwed up big-time.
“Stay with me?” Rick repeated.
“In Gabon.” Carelessly, Nantale said, “Two are pregnant, in human form, but are expected to have litters of two to four.”
Rick looked as if he had been hit with a shovel and stared down at the oversized cat in his lap. He raised his hands from the furry body as if surrounded by police. “Four wives? Pregnant? I’m not moving to Gabon. No. No way.”
“You will have to decide if you wish the kits to live,” Asad continued, his expression suggesting that he was enjoying this tutelage, “or if you will kill the males at birth. If the males live to adulthood, they will challenge you for their father’s place, so it is common for the new male to kill them just after birth.”
Rick jerked at the violence and cruelty in the careless words. So did I, even though I’d read them in the Merged Laws. “Of course, any females born from Kemnebi’s litters will be yours to take as mate if you choose,” Asad said.
Rick looked addled. Stunned. Pretty much the way I was feeling. My ex turned horrified eyes to me, appalled, dismayed, disgusted. Betrayed. By me. I shook my head and said, “I didn’t know about the wives.”
The wolves had fled. Brute was sitting beneath the SOD, watching every move the heartless creature made. The SOD was hanging on the wall, shackled into place by silver. But things had changed. The SOD was gazing at the congealing pool of were blood near him and his desiccated tongue was lapping at the air as if tasting the scent. He was filthy, his exposed flesh covered in bite marks, some no more than scars, some seeping a watery bloody fluid, some bites Brute’s, some vamp. Joses Santana was being inadequately fed and he had been repeatedly drained. Brute had been biting the bag of bones for weeks, and the grindy had never stopped the abuse. I had no idea what was supposed to happen to a vamp infected with were-taint, but Brute was probably acting under the orders of a heavenly angel—one with wings and everything—so I saw no reason to stop him.
