Cat Scratch Fever; Blue-Collar Werewolves V (8 page)

Naomi turned her attention back to her
psychic on the gurney. The lioness purred in her ear. His five
o’clock shadow bristled along his bruised jaw line, making him all
the more dangerous and sexy.
He’d make a very suitable mate
,
the lioness whispered in the back of her mind. It had been so long
since she’d touched one of her own kind, much less anyone. She
needed
to touch him. Naomi reached out; her hand shook as
her emotions tumbled.

The gurney jerked back out of reach and
Sanderson’s sick leer appeared in front of her cage. His muddy
colored eyes fixed on her breasts. “Uh-uh-uh. Sloppy work habits to
let the subjects fraternize. Tsk-tsk.” Sanderson looked down at
her
psychic, the evil intent in his gaze made her lioness
growl. The sound rumbled in her throat, giving her a thrill as
Sanderson’s eyes widened. He gave off a little whiff of fear before
controlling himself.

She narrowed her eyes, the lioness’s
instincts coming to the fore. The little weasel would make
excellent prey. “What are you doing?” She snapped, tensing with the
urge to protect him. Too late, she remembered not to talk to the
enemy. They used whatever they could against you.

Sanderson’s grin widened to new proportions
before he pulled the oxygen mask off. He slapped the man’s face.
“Wakey wakey, Ridley.” When consciousness began to return,
Sanderson slapped him a couple of more times for good measure. A
feline growl of protest welled up from her chest, joining in with
Nathan’s and Morrow’s. Frustration bit at her; she felt helpless to
help. The lioness paced inside her, making Naomi shift from foot to
foot as she quelled the urge to slam herself into the bars.
Sanderson bent nose to nose with his new ‘subject’. “Not the big
department manager now, are you
Mr. Ridley?
”

“Sander…” Ridley’s words trailed of as he
tried to focus on his surroundings. Meeting Naomi’s eyes, a jolt of
connection knocked her balance off kilter. The lioness jumped and
she hurried to stifle the first twinges of a shift in forever.
Frowning, his steady brown gaze raked over her before, looking back
at Sanderson. “You were fired.” The words were cold and calm.
Dismissed, Naomi swallowed hard, fighting to regain her own inner
composure. Drake was right; she and the cats needed to escape. Her
mind was about to snap from the captivity. She moved back a few
inches and ducked her head.

“Months ago,” finished Sanderson. “But who
wants to work half-days on stupid flea spray anyway? I imagine your
replacement will hire me back so Kemlec doesn’t have to handwrite
my check anymore.” He leaned in close for a stage whisper. “Here’s
a secret. He likes the books to
look
on the up and up. He
hates when you actually
look.
”

“Let me go.” Ridley demanded. He struggled
against the straps and winced. She wondered what exactly Kemlec and
his guards had done after they captured him. The concentration on
his face splintered into gray faced agony. “Fuck. What the hell did
you do to me? This is wrong. You can’t just lock people up and
do—.” He looked around, angry fire lighting his gaze. “Whatever it
is you’re doing, it’s not constitutional.”

“Sorry. Time to kill two birds with one
stone.” Sanderson tittered as he pilfered through the drawers at
Drake’s workstation. Seriously, the scientist was unhinged. He
pulled out a syringe waggled it, before setting it down. Opening
the small refrigerator, he leaned in to look. “Oh, happy day,” he
sang and pulled out Dr. Drake’s tray of vials. Grabbing the
syringe, he set the tray on a rolling table and walked back to the
gurney. Checking his watch first, Sanderson took the protective
wrapper off the syringe, then pretended to decide which vial to
pick up.

“You know,” he said conversationally,
finally choosing one and jamming the needle into the
rubber-Stoppard end. He pulled hard on the syringe, filling up the
barrel with the clear fluid. “I should probably swab the area.” He
shrugged. “But can only catch lycanthropy from werewolves.
Injecting you with Drake’s cat samples is just going to make you
sick—and look at that, he’s got quite an extensive collection.”
Sanderson snickered evilly. “You’re going to be
real
sick.
Maybe even die. And Drake’s going to get kicked out.” He jammed the
needle into Ridley’s shoulder and depressed the plunger with a
small cold smile. “And you know, Kemlic has a strict retirement
policy for employed psychics. It’ll be fun watching that big fucker
change into a werewolf in
my
lab. No more sharing for Dr.
Samuel Sanderson.” The mad scientist giggled again. Yes, her inner
lioness twitched her whiskers, agreeing with Naomi. The guy was
completely nuts.

* * * *

Matthew fought against the straps holding
him to the gurney. His head hurt, but he was more afraid of psycho
Sanderson killing him than the migraine that kept fracturing his
abilities. Damn but he was stupid for not accepting and using his
powers before now. His chest burned all the way down through his
lungs. His limbs weighed a ton from whatever was in those darts.
Sanderson jabbed him with another dose, adding to the ache that was
starting up in his muscles. Aww, fuck. He hissed a breath as a
Charlie-horse seized his thigh. Then another in his right bicep.
“Someone will tell,” he slurred.

“Nope. Sorry,” Sanderson gestured at the
cages of prisoners. All of them watching him with pity. They knew
what was going on; they’d obviously seen or been the victim before.
“They’re nobody. Besides, Kemlec wants the cats dead and out of
here to make room for his pet werewolf project.” He filled the
syringe from another vial, then gestured at a rolling silver cage
across the room. “With Drake out of the way, I’ll have the werewolf
for myself. I’ll develop the contagion to kill off the werewolves
and the rest of the supernaturals for good.” The needle rammed home
too close to his heart for Matthew’s comfort.

The next time, the jab hit his abdomen with
a sharp bite, the liquid warming as it dispersed into his body. He
couldn’t stop the small helpless sound he made as Sanderson gave
him injection after injection, pausing only when he needed more for
the syringe. He grunted as spasms of fire heated up from the
injections. The heat began to travel outward; he could feel the
lines of toxin flooding his bloodstream. Sweat beaded on his skin,
doing nothing to cool his rising temperature.

“You idiot.” The husky bedroom voice of the
woman in the cage beside him drew Matthew’s attention like a
lodestone. Sparks seemed to fly from her pale green eyes. Her
ultra-short honey colored hair stood in random wisps around her
head. It was a whimsical contrast to the regal edge of her
cheekbones and the lush mouth that he couldn’t stop staring at.
Some inner instinct told him that he knew her. “If you create a
virus to kill everyone with supernatural blood, you’ll kill out
yourselves too.”

“Shut up! We are gifted, not tainted.”

Matthew groaned, not from the next dose, but
from raging fire that had become his body. He wanted to curl up,
but was trapped by something. His breath was hard to catch. There
it was. He listened hard for the woman’s voice, needing a lifeline.
Instead, a man answered, not as interesting to him as the woman.
But still there was connection. He focused on them, desperate for
anything to help.

“What’s the matter Sanderson? Afraid that
being psychic isn’t all in your mind?” The same man laughed from
his cage. Matthew strained toward the sound that could help put the
pain out. It wasn’t far. Only two cages away. “It isn’t. You’re
just the next step in evolution. The missing link. Ha, ha,” the man
laughed. No one else did.

Matthew groaned, trying to catch a breath as
his heart stuttered in his chest. He thrashed against the
restraints, working with the horrible spasms in his muscles. If he
could just get free, then they could help him. He
knew
without a doubt
.
It was as if the burning was seeking
something inside him. Burrowing through tissue and bone.

He was going to die. Damn. Calm acceptance
seeped into him as he struggled for air. Or maybe it was just the
first step in dying. And dying would make the pain stop. He
screamed, arching against the restraints as he rode the wave of
pain. He coasted over the burning wave as it found the innermost
part of him, the power he kept hidden. He pushed the energy into
the snarling pain, fed it until the monster eating him could take
no more. If he could have given it his soul, he would have. The
pain was that fucking bad. Then he just let go.

Chapter Six

Naomi’s eyes were glued to the poor man
writhing on the gurney. The straps snapped from their moorings as
Sanderson backpedalled to avoid Ridley crashing to the floor. He
curled into a fetal position, his moans turning to screams of agony
that made her want to cover her ears and close her eyes. The other
supernaturals huddled in their cages, as far away from the torture
as possible. Sanderson stood still, his weak mouth lax; the syringe
dangled from his fingers while he watched the show.

Finally, Ridley uncurled his body. Sweat
drenched his clothing remnants as he climbed to his hands and
knees. His dark head hung while he gasped for breath, eyes tight
against an internal struggle.

“He should be dead already.” Sanderson
stared at the suffering man. “What’s happening?”

“I’ll tell you.” Calm, silent, and deadly,
the wolven spoke for the first time. “He’s Changing.”

Naomi felt the collective attention shift to
opposite side of the room to another dark haired and lanky man clad
in a pair of ragged jeans. Half-dressed, slouching, hair hanging in
his eyes—the wolven should have looked defeated. He didn’t. Behind
him, the door to the silver cage stood open.

In one leap, the wolven cleared the distance
from the cage to Sanderson. Blood flew from a blur of claws as the
wolven landed on top of the scientist. “And you’re dying.” He bent
face to face, long canines showing how feral he was to the human.
Not a civilized wolf shape shifter, but a werewolf of lore. A
monster. With a final slash, Sanderson’s throat was a wash of red
and missing flesh.

Silence reigned except for the sounds that
Ridley made, still lost in his pain. The tension in the room
ratcheted up as the supernatural prisoners stared at gory
scene.

“There hasn’t been a bitten cat in a
thousand years.” Morrow broke the silence.

Naomi couldn’t say she was sorry about
Sanderson’s death. Still, she suppressed a shiver at the wolven’s
casual brutality. “Drake left his keycard to the locks in the
drawer.” She wouldn’t beg, but she wanted out. Standing up, she
faced the wolven as he contemplated his kill. They weren’t human
but consuming sentient creatures was taboo for most supernaturals,
unless like the scientist, they devolved and went nuts. She
wondered if the wolven was too far gone to be saved. “Please let us
help him,” she murmured, knowing he heard. He started, met her eyes
then focused on the man at his feet already starting to seize again
with convulsions.

The wolven nodded, flooding Naomi with
relief. He heard. Ridley snarled as the wolven carefully set a
normal hand on his shoulder. He bent so low that Ridley could see
his face. “Matthew, can you hear me?”

Matthew
.
Mathias
. Naomi froze,
trying hard not to make the connection. Of course they knew each
other. They’d been captured together. Her lioness crouched inside,
waiting.

After what seemed forever, Matthew Ridley
blinked, sucked in a breath, and gave a short nod. “Smell. Blood.”
The words seemed to come from far away. She thought she saw a
shadow shimmer along his skin, but pushed the imagination away.
Naomi bit her tongue to keep from hurrying the wolven. The scent of
burning skin made her realize that she was now standing pressed
against the bars, her hands wrapped around the toxic metal.
“Smells. Good.” A shudder passed through Matthew. “No. Bad. Not.
Good.”

“It’s fine. It’s just your hunting instincts
kicking in. But you don’t want that. You can hunt for fresh food
when we get out.” The wolven told him, this time carefully touching
the bare skin on Matthew’s arm before removing the restraints.
Obviously, the wolf was no stranger to guiding those new to the
Change. “You’re doing fine. Just hold it together for a moment. I’m
going to let the cats out, okay?”

He moved, but Matthew Ridley was fast. He
grabbed the wolven before he could go anywhere; a shadow pattern of
stripes ran across his arm. “No! I need….” Letting go, Matthew
wrapped his arms around himself and bent over. “Need…to go.”

With steady movements, the wolven obtained
the keycard and slid it first into Naomi’s lock. She slipped out as
soon as the gate began rolling upward, drawn to the hurting man.
Wrapping her arms around him, she didn’t resist when he turned into
her with a low purring growl. The energy of the Change hummed in an
ever stronger song as like recognized like. Morrow and Nathan’s
hands joined hers. Naomi moved, dropping one arm so that they too
could welcome the first in so long.

With his eyes closed, Matthew rubbed a cheek
against them in true clan greeting over whatever exposed flesh he
could find on the other cats, scent marking his subjects in the eye
of the storm that was the Change.

“Uh-oh.”

Naomi looked up at the three white-coats in
the doorway. Dr. Drake stood, just as silent as the rest by all
appearances, just as shocked. Matthew growled, the low rumbling in
his chest the only warning before his slipped the rest of the way
into the Change. She barely saw the sudden shift from skin to
golden fur, the dark mane, and powerful claws. In the world of
shape shifters, quick and fluid Changes were an indication of
power. He was the most powerful Were she’d ever seen.