Cat Scratch Fever; Blue-Collar Werewolves V (12 page)

“Simple.” Morgan pushed himself from the
wall. “I need for you to release some laboratory subjects from one
of the Worley Research locations.”

“Nothing is ever simple.” Especially with
Jared Morgan, fairy lord, doing the mission requirements. “I
suppose you want something a bit bigger than lab rats and guinea
pigs released? What else? And why haven’t I heard of this Worley
Research Location.”

“Worley Research Center. It’s a subsidiary
of a subsidiary. Big business hiding its many faces. They have
several locations spread out over the States.” Morgan tilted his
head up, staring at the small slice of sky above them. “The
foundation purportedly researches and develops vaccines for animal
diseases and sells the findings to larger companies for
production.”

“If they’re studying Weres, then that’s
hiding in plain sight.”

Morgan’s chuckle was humorless. “Weres,
vampires, fairy kind. I’ve heard of an instance of a demon. One
instance, and not for very long. The latest furor is over an
elliptical gem with biological properties. Priceless in the right
circles.”

Bradley narrowed his eyes in thought.
“Priceless elliptical gem.
Hmmmm.
That wouldn’t happen to be
a particular missing egg-shaped ruby that has that Smith dragon
picking off your kind throughout the Southern forests of Georgia,
the Carolinas, to the Louisiana border?”

He remembered the fairy uprising that they’d
had to pull Mark, his younger Pack brother out of, and all of the
behind-the-scenes politicking Morgan had done to keep the Anderson
County Pack out of Fairy Court business. Morgan smiled as though
he’d done a particularly clever trick. Damn superior fairy. Or
whatever he was. Morgan had proved time and again that he wasn’t
quite cut from the same cloth as the other fairys living in his
court. There was much more to him that met the casual eye.

“Well then, I’ll leave you to figure the
rest out, my wolf.” The fairy lord materialized an expensive felt
western hat on over his neatly styled green tinged hair. With one
finger, he adjusted the angle in one smooth move. The action was
very authentic, but Bradley acknowledged that Morgan had been
around long before cowboys roamed the west. His master’s smile
faded into the dead serious look that Bradley was more used to when
the fairy wasn’t playing nice outside his own domain. “Be careful
of those associated with Worley Research. They’ve stayed off the
supernatural radar for a long time, mine included. To do that, they
would have to have some powerful backing.”

“It would have to be powerful to hide a far
flung enterprise like you’re suggesting. Psychics? Witches?”
Bradley thought of Carter, the ex-Hunter that he loathed to call
Pack brother, much less claim as a blood relation. “Hunters are
that organized.”

“Your first thought is the supernatural, my
wolf.” Morgan looked thoughtful. Cautious. “Be careful that you
don’t blind yourself to other possibilities. Remember that Van
Helsing was only a normal human with a few weapons, whatever
today’s entertainment media may romanticize. A very clever and very
determined human can be a force to be reckoned with.” Morgan faded
from sight, like a Cheshire cat, only his words, rather than a
smile, stayed visible in Bradley’s mind.

He brought a mental image to mind of his
room at Packhome. The best and most logical place to start would be
the most powerful information source on the planet. The World Wide
Web. After that, he was going to have to come up with some
cleverness of his own.

Chapter Eight

While the trip upwards into the real world
was unexciting, Matthew couldn’t say the same for the trek through
alleys, following a random path that only the werepanther Nathan
knew, from the upscale industrial business area to the seedy
discount trade district of Harry Hines. Any moment, Matthew
expected to be arrested for indecent exposure. On top of that, he
felt awkward in his body. Not ungraceful. The reverse held true.
For the first time in his life, he knew just where to place his
feet.

He felt strangely unconcerned about being
the only naked guy in the group since Naomi had opted to put her
night gown back on. His discomfort was because of the new changes.
He felt taller, bigger, stronger, with the potential to do
anything
. He didn’t feel like Matthew Ridley, conservative
family screw-up. The man who hid his ideals for fear of being
mocked. His hair had even come back longer and thicker. The dark
mop fell into his eyes constantly. Mostly though, he just felt more
exhausted than he’d ever felt in his life.

Nathan stopped, Brandon halting at just
behind his left side. Both of them were alert and battle ready.
Naomi and the scarred weretiger took their cues from them, scanning
the alley for any BioPet goons. Matthew tried to follow suit.

“You know, we should probably get some
clothes for him, before the cops drive by.” Morrow grated the words
out, obviously meaning to be quieter. Nathan shushed him. Both he
and Brandon scented the air, their alarm radiating to the others.
“Or not,” this time Morrow’s voice was lower as they followed their
silent guides across a mostly deserted street to the unimpressive
service alley of equally unimpressive run down residential housing.
They were more in the open here and Matthew felt naked in a new and
vulnerable way that left him itching to Change back into the mixed
man-cat form.

“No,” Brandon suddenly turned back to him,
catching Matthew’s eyes with his own dominant predator’s gaze.
“You’re just a naked perv roaming a bad part of town now. You
Change and people
will
call the police for animal control.
And they’ll shoot to kill once they figure out you’re not an
escapee from the zoo.”

“Why—
eee!
” Naomi’s question turned
into a squeal of warning. The buzz and tingling impact into
something metal nearby made them all crouch. Rumbling warnings came
from everyone as they edged protectively closer to Matthew. He cast
around, trying to use his new senses to find the enemy.

As before, the myriad of new scents and
sharp sounds were an assault on his ears and nose. Without
training, he had a hard time identifying the individual nuances of
the picture that his body was trying to give him. Movement to the
side caught his attention as a big man in a suit stepped from his
hiding spot beside a particularly smelly dumpster. His big round
face split into a smile. It took a moment to figure out why he was
so familiar. He was the first goon on the stairs who’d tried to
kill him. “You might as well give it up Ridley. You and your Were
friends are surrounded.”

“You mean Kemlec didn’t kill you for your
incompetence?” Matthew’s skin felt alive with the need to Change.
He could practically taste the bastard’s blood in his mouth. Rather
than being repulsed, he embraced the need, shaking off a
restraining hand when he moved toward the goon. Brandon made a
small gesture, keeping a belligerent Morrow where he stood. The
werewolf met Matthew’s eyes, then shrugged. “Surrounded? Give me a
little credit. If you wanted us killed you’d have done it
already.”

“True,” answered the goon. Dissatisfaction
gleamed in his eyes. A subtle nuance of the air changed, bringing a
different scent into the mix. Without a point of reference, Matthew
had no idea what it meant. A change of emotion, he guessed, from
the goon.

“Kemlec doesn’t want you killed. He wants
you in a cage.” A shadow of pain lashed across Matthew’s
consciousness in tune with a tiny, almost unheard mewl of pain from
Morrow. Instinctively, he made the connection. He wanted to help
the weretiger, while the newborn feral core of him wanted to shred
the skin from those responsible for Morrow’s hurt. They hadn’t the
right to do what they had. The goon lifted a hand. His face
transformed into a mask of evil maliciousness. “You can’t dodge all
the tranqs.”

Matthew’s urge was a tangible thing. A
heated red haze settled over his vision. Clarity and focus sighted
on the enemy who dared threaten what was his. He had to be fast and
merciless. All he had to do was accept the tools that these fools
had inadvertently bestowed on him.

This time he didn’t fight the flow of warm
energy that spilled from the center of him, pulling him compactly
downward to his spotted paws. Ignoring the warnings of his
companions, he flexed his claws and yawned long, sharp and powerful
teeth at his suddenly pale prey. “Leopard. You can’t do that.” The
man whispered. “Lion. You’re supposed to be a lion.” Matthew
stalked forward, the cat recognized the sickly sweet stench of fear
and growled a low feline laugh. At this particular moment, he knew
exactly what he was. Man and cat. His enemies’ ultimate defeat. The
man’s heartbeat sped up into a racket of beating drums as he
frantically jerked his fingers, signaling his hidden allies.

The human turned and ran while Matthew’s
friends collectively ducked. Energy swelled in the air as they
Changed. Matthew screamed his ownership of his kill. Sensing a
disturbance, he jumped and twisted, barely noting the thump of the
red tipped tranquilizer dart that missed him and gave away the
shooter’s hiding place. Others had joined the hunt, but there was
plenty for all. He was committed to his own claimed prey.

Putting on a burst of speed, Matthew closed
the distance, leaping easily over the trashcan that his prey
knocked over in a feeble attempt to slow him down. He leapt,
spring-boarding off the trash can for more distance. Fool. A
leopard was swift, agile, and deadly.

The man stupidly looked behind him and
stumbled. He yelled just as Matthew gathered his powerful haunches
and jumped, extending his claws for the grab. The fear scent spiked
deliciously on his palate as he landed solidly, driving the man to
the ground. Around him, the sounds of his prey’s allies’ deaths cut
short.

The smell of death rode the wind, urging on
the kill-or-be-killed instinct. His claws dug into the suit fabric,
hooking skin and drawing blood as he aimed his best tools for the
killing zone. The shine of metal caught his eye; the sharp tang of
it hit his nose. When the blade sliced over his shoulder, Matthew
was prepared for it. He wasn’t prepared for the acid pain that
scorched along his shoulder blade, far worse than just a cut. Or
for the quick bite of the blade on his foreleg when he jerked in
pain. With a short yowl, he dug his claws deeper and crunched down
on his prey’s neck, using powerful leopard jaws to crush the spinal
column.

A sound made him swivel his ears. Flattening
them, he hissed at both his companions and the others who
approached. Shifting his weight, he pulled his claws free of the
dead human. He might have considered sharing with his companions if
they needed it. The others were no part of his kind. He’d send them
on their way howling with their tails tucked behind. Matthew
snarled again, reaching for the magic and Changed mid-leap. He
accepted the extra weight and play-dough stretch of skin and limbs
into the larger cat form. His waning energy made him pick the most
natural of his toolset, and he landed on dinner plate-sized paws.
His eyes fixed solidly on the newcomers. The fiery pain of the
knife cuts made him want to stop and tend to them, but he didn’t
dare show weakness or risk becoming prey himself. The part of him
that was still the old Matthew Ridley was surprised at the
knowledge. Since living was preferable to being eaten, he listened
to what his new instincts were telling him.

In two legged human forms, the wolves
stopped as one. Their glances flicked to their leader as they
considered Matthew’s tan body. His leonine face and heavy mane
flowed into his tiger-striped front and rosette printed haunches
and tufted tail. “What the hell is
that?
” asked one of the
wolves in confusion. Matthew rumbled a warning from his barrel
sized chest. Meeting the icy eyes of the lead wolf, he was pleased
as Morrow padded to his side in a feline show of support. Scarred
and tattered, the tiger flattened his ears, waiting for Matthew to
decide. Naomi crouched nearby, the stillness in her golden tan body
evident of her intent, should the wolf Pack attack. Lastly, the
panther and the brown wolf that was Brandon ran to block the way
between the cats and the wolf Pack.

The strain of frequent Change shivered in
the air as both panther and wolf flowed upward. Fur pulled back
cruelly into skin as bones shoved harshly back into human shape.
Feeling their pain and their ebbing reserves, Matthew reacted
without thought or regard to his own dwindling pool of power. Or
what he might need to recover from his own injuries. At least blood
no longer flowed freely down his shoulder. He only knew that their
power was less than his. So he gave to these two who had set
themselves as guard, pushing his energy to Nathan. The panther’s
bond to the Brandon’s own wolf Pack gave Matthew the conduit needed
to shove energy into his brother-in-law. He left barely enough for
himself to protect the fragile tiger and the female. Returning to
his human form would have to wait until after he’d rested.

The wolves stood in stunned silence,
evaluating the threat as both Brandon and Nathan crossed their
arms, looking like bookends. Both of them possessed the same type
of lean powerful body and dark hair. Both managed to look relaxed,
wary, and utterly lethal.

The lead wolf stepped forward, taking in the
group and dividing his attention between Brandon and Matthew,
giving away his Pack mentality and doubt as to who actually led
their mismatched group. “You are hunting in our territory.”

“Tarrant County is your territory.” Brandon
countered. “Legally, we have a right to be here just as much as you
and yours.”

“No. All of Dallas and Fort Worth is our
territory.” The lead wolf, not the Pack’s alpha leader, strode
foreword, stopping a car length from the wolf and panther pair. His
heavy muscular form, pale hair, and eyes struck a familiar chord in
Matthew. He waited to see how the meet turned out, thinking that if
one wolf, such as Brandon, could prove friend and ally, then
possibly the same could hold true for others. If not, he’d do his
part to aid in their escape to a safer venue. “You know this
already. The question is nephew, why are you outside of your own
Pack territory? And in the company of…” he raised a single blond
arched eyebrow as he rudely took in Matthew’s cats. “Such
interesting feline company?”