Cat Scratch Fever; Blue-Collar Werewolves V (5 page)

“Like you said, Tigre.
Panthers
, like
the rest of the leopards, are fighters. Unlike the tigers and
lions, we do not aspire to be counted among Bastet’s royal line. We
are
Her
claws, the cat’s paw guided in
Her
service.”
No malice or sarcasm laced the panther’s simple words. The
leopard-kin
were
The Leo’s guard in times past, before the
wandering, just as the tigers and lions were once the royal lines.
According to myth, the rare panther, a black leopard, was a sign of
the goddess’s favor.

“Just know Tigre, Lia, that I know my duty.”
Nathan said; the surety of a true believer in his voice. “The cat
clans may have forgotten their tasks since the Leo fell, but we
panthers know that Bastet has not truly abandoned us. We stand
ready for the return of
Her
favor. We fight where
She
sends us.”

“Oooo.
Panther
. I wouldn’t have taken
you for the cliché religious sort. Didn’t think anyone actually
followed that crap. No one has believed in life tasks for
generations. We wander until it is time to fuck or die.” The
tiger’s snide comment had the edge of pain to it. “Does the dead
Leo speak to you too?”

“You’re hurt, Tigre, so I’ll let that slide.
I can be respectful or I can be a vicious bastard. I choose to
begin with respect. How do you want to finish?”

“Enough.” Naomi whispered. “Thank you for
your words, panther. They do bolster the soul. You remind us of who
we are, though I am far from being clan leader, much less a
queen.”

“For your pretty words, my Lia, you may call
me Nathan. I am at your service, lovely lady.” his voice warmed,
bringing a pang to her heart at his insistence on the title. If
only they knew.

“I am not so pretty, Nathan, but thank you,
again.” As if she could ever be pretty again. Her shaved head, the
scars that must cover her face as well as her body, and the
ugliness the psychics left inside her soul made her unworthy of
such loyalty.

“I think I’m going to be sick.” The tiger
growled.

“Have you chosen then, Tigre?” Nathan’s
voice was smooth as silk. “The bastard in me is more than welcome
to sharpen my claws on your hide.”

“Sorry. My name is Morrow.” The weretiger
sounded truly contrite.

“I am Naomi.”

“
Ah.
A lovely name for the Lia.”
Nathan’s words practically dripped with approval. And was that
interest? Naomi thought she might be reading more into a
conversation than she should. Breeding males pumped pheromones and
hormones that only other cats could register. Only normal male
scents of panther and tiger were in the room. The supernaturals in
the room were often injured, so blood, sickness, and charred flesh
were a constant. Still no breeding hormones enticed her.

“I imagine you flirt with all your fellow
prisoners.” She couldn’t believe she just said that. Once, Naomi
might have engaged in wordplay with a male, but that was before her
capture nearly a year ago. “I mean, you’re taking this all rather
well.”

Nathan’s rough chuckle was almost a purr.
“Not really, my Lia. I’m just where I’m supposed to be. I’m not
particularly happy with a lot of Bastet’s plans lately. But what’s
the point in bitching?”

“You hinted at that before. Are all panthers
as…
secure
as you?”

“Oh, Lia. I’m very secure.”Nathan
crooned.

Her cheeks heated at the teasing. She
fidgeted, itching to pace the confined space. Suddenly, she
realized that felt better than she had in a long time. Some of
that, she supposed, could be due to Dr. Drake’s methods. She still
wasn’t sure why the strange scientist would help them heal when the
experiments were designed to kill. It was something to think about,
later
, while she was still clear-headed.

For now, she leaned forward, intent on her
conversation. Naomi wished she could see the were-panther face
while they talked and she hadn’t touched another person in so long…
Nathan made her feel like a person again, like an embarrassed girl.
“No,” she corrected, “I mean secure in your
faith
. That
there is a purpose to what we’ve suffered.” The sudden silence made
Naomi dig her fingers into the thin mat. Goodness, she hoped she
hadn’t offended him. Morrow the tiger’s soft snore told just how
much the interaction had worn him out.

Small sounds came from Nathan’s side.
Unseen, she could only attribute them to his settling in. Perhaps
some dissatisfaction with her line of questioning? She should have
shut up while she was ahead. “I’m sorry.” It was just that it had
been so long since she’d really talked to anyone. Around them the
rest of the lab was silent, a testament the efficiency of the
nightly sedative given to the rest of the prisoners. Before Dr.
Drake, she too had been comatose in the prime talking and planning
hours.

“Wait a moment.” The panther’s soft answer
came back. “I’m trying to figure out how to answer without sounding
insane or like an ass.” Nathan’s earnestness made her smile. He
growled a little, his impatience evident to her ears. He sighed.
“I’ll probably come off sounding like a traitor too. It’s not like
that, but bear with me.”

“Okay.” She had time.

“Ever since I was a small kit, I’ve had
dreams.” Nathan’s low voice was unsure, a testament to how personal
his revelation was. “Leopard-kin know our duties. We haven’t
forgotten our life-tasks. We roam in the belief that the goddess
directs our paths to where we are needed. We settle and breed when
the time is right and prepare the kits to do the same.

“In my dreams, the Bastet is every cat, even
the mundane ones, like the Leo. From the clans, the magical temple
cats, all the way down to a mangy stray housecat, they are all a
part of
Her
. And she weeps for us.”

He paused, as if waiting for Naomi to scoff.
She couldn’t quite wrap her brain around the werepanther’s concept
of the elusive vengeful cat god. Most preferred to worship the
goddess at respectful distance.
See no evil, speak no evil, and
maybe she will leave you alone.
“A loving goddess. That’s
different.” He laughed again. The self-depreciating chuckle made
her smile. She wanted to reciprocate his gesture, her voice
lowering as she revealed her innermost fear of being crazy. “I have
dreams too.”

The whispered confession brought her dreams
back as clear as a movie. Both Mathais and the other man’s dark
hair and eyes saw clear to her soul. Neither was handsome in the
traditional way; they were rough men. When she slept,
man—definitely from this age— and the ancient Leo were the same.
His power, the power of their people, made her blood sing and the
birthmark on her breast burn with acknowledgement.

Every time Naomi dreamed about him, she
wanted more. Sometimes forgot that she wasn’t Naomam and missed the
queen’s life. Waking didn’t dispel her feeling. No, in fact, just
the opposite. She needed
him
more each time she woke.
Shaking her head to dispel the disturbing needs and images, she
tried to focus on the panther’s words. “What do
you
dream
of?”

“Lately?” the significant pause told much.
“Lately, I dream of running with the wolves.” When she didn’t
answer. The sheer shock of such a thought, even in a dream, held
her tongue while Nathan tried to sully her view of him. “See, my
Lia? I told you I have traitorous dreams.”

“Maybe not. Why do you dream of running with
the wolves? They’re more than just anti-social. The wolven think
they’re better than the rest of us.” She wasn’t bitter, but
well-versed in the ways of how the different supernatural groups
interacted. “They kill any other supernatural predator they find in
their territory. A few of the less crazy Packs just escort
undesirables over their borders. Those megalomaniacs would come out
of the supernatural closet if they could, just to make their
territory claims legal in human courts.”

“How long have you been here, Lia?” Nathan’s
soft question made the hackles on the back of her neck prickle. She
shifted, sensing the importance of the question.

“More than a year. Why?”

“Because we aren’t a secret anymore. Seven
months ago, the vampires released footage to a major news station
of a mixed group of supernaturals fighting a terrorist religious
cult.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Naomi gasped.

“What cult?” Morrow the tiger asked.

“I thought you were sleeping, Tigre.” Nathan
didn’t sound as if he believed that.

“Only for a moment. What cult?”

“The Church of the Clean.” Nathan could have
been talking about aliens from outer space for all she knew. “The
first clips were of Changed wolven rescuing the church’s prisoners.
The vampires decided to use the opportunity to come out of the
closet and drag the rest of us with them.”

“You said they showed clips of a mixed group
of supernaturals.” The idea of the mundane world knowing her true
nature scared the living daylights out of Naomi.

“Yeah. It was a mess. Still is.” Tension and
worry laced Nathan’s voice. She’d probably smell it in the air, but
the presence of so much cleaner from his cell kept a lot of his
scent markers disguised. “Later, after the vampires came out and
shouts of computer graphics tampering started getting tossed
around, the vampires ran some of the clips of those who assisted
the wolven in the fight.

“The vampires picked a spokesman to let the
government question and run tests on. The Wolven Council picked
their own lamb to slaughter a couple of weeks later and shipped
that poor schmuck to Washington. So far, the vampires and the
wolven are the law-abiding,
civilized
face of the
supernatural.”

“Why call the Church of the Clean a
terrorist cult?” Morrow’s tiredness turned into an angry energy
that she easily picked up on as they discussed what every
supernatural feared. Exposure and persecution.

“Because that’s what they are,” Disgust
filled Nathan’s words; his scent was hot and angry. “They came with
missiles and automatic weapons to kill a group of people who are
different. The Church of the Clean tortured an innocent
schoolteacher to death because he was wolven. That kid had never
done anything in his life to merit that. They killed a werecheetah
who’d showed up at their so-called church revival to pray for her
dead grand-kits. How else would you describe a terrorist?”

A thought came to Naomi. Her very faint hope
crumbled to ash. Dreams did not come true. “
You were there
,”
she accused. Cats did not fight alongside wolves! Their people
co-existed with others as needed, but the wolven didn’t coexist
with anyone. “How could you fight with them? Why?” She knew she
sounded angry and narrow-minded.

“Because if any of us are to survive this
new age, we are going to have to form new alliances.” Nathan said.
“We have to have a voice. Some kind of leadership. Or the human
government is going to exploit us.”

“I know you’re lying now.” Naomi spat.
“Leadership. Ha! We do not look to the wolves or vampires for a
leader. The cats bow to no one.” Her anger at being duped spilled
over. “Humans are too mired in their technology to believe in
magic. They explain away any hint of the supernatural. The psychics
are just humans who can’t handle their own evolution. They kill
because they can’t
not
believe they are one of us.”

Naomi stopped her tirade as noise caught her
attention. Neither of the males said a word as their focus centered
on the entrance to the lab. “Do you hear that?” she whispered. The
three of them stayed silent, pretending sleep, as the automatic
laboratory doors swooshed open. Dr. Drake paused in the doorway,
slumping and taking a huff of air as if trying to catch his breath.
The second man made her hair stand on end. She lowered her head.
Had she been in her lioness form, she’d have arched her back and
hissed like a common cat. The enemy had arrived.

Faust Kemlec, immaculate in his tailored
suit walked by each of the cells. His hands behind his back, he
peered in at each subject as if he were taking a holiday at the
zoo.

“You’ve had a chance to evaluate every cell
and lab on this level. So, tell me, Drake. What is the problem with
project Achilles? Why are the werewolf subjects more tolerant of my
virus than the other shape shifters?” The scent of psychic rolled
off Kemlec. The smell made her stomach lurch, like that of someone
that had overindulged on a good thing. At one time, the scent would
have made her feel more protective towards the man, but his kind
had done too much. The psychics had taken their phobia too far.
“Well?” Kemlec’s muddy hazel eyes fixed on the scientist’s
impassive countenance.

Dr. Drake picked up his clipboard from his
station, his attention fixed on the notes there. “Inconclusive.
Vampires do not contract the virus. You have not been able to
obtain a dragon for—.”

“Enough!” Kemlec shouted. He swept a tray of
medical paraphernalia to the floor. His face mottled red with his
tantrum. He pointed one finger at Drake. “You are supposed to be
the premier authority on the supernatural biology. Find out why my
super-flu virus doesn’t work. Develop one that does work,” his
finger swung around to point at Naomi huddled in the back of her
cell. “Or join them.”

Dr. Drake stilled, his face expressionless.
His fingers flexed on his clipboard. “Sir, I am not—.”

Kemlec snorted, not a pretty sight for the
balding round faced man. “Don’t try telling me you’re not one of us
Drake. I know your family. And I can sense psychic power.”

Dr. Drake bowed his head. The odd neutrality
of his scent masked what he felt from Naomi, but she imagined he
wasn’t happy about the threat. “Of course, Mr. Kemlec.”

The standard ring of a cell phone erupted
from Kemlec’s breast pocket. Snatching the phone out, he pressed
the device to one ear. “What is it Marie?”