Cat Scratch Fever; Blue-Collar Werewolves V

by Buffi BeCraft

  Time dragged by while she wrestled the irrational desire to touch him. Naomi took inventory of the lab. With no clock visible, she could only guess by the clear shields over the front of the cage cells on the opposite side of the lab, that it was the afternoon break. Once again, Drake had ‘forgotten’ to lock them down before leaving them alone in the lab. She supposed not taking any personal time away at all could be considered suspicious behavior. Or not, considering Kemlec’s demand to finish the super virus to kill off all of the supernaturals. Naomi slumped down on the floor, resting her chin on her knees. Now that she was thinking clearly, she was over thinking. One could hardly expect a civilized human scientist to use the minimum toilet facilities in the vacant cages.

  In the portable cage, the wolven still occasionally threw himself against the bars. He’d managed to roll the portable cage almost out of her line of vision, against the cleanup sink, now minus one faucet, which no one else seemed to care that he’d wrenched free. The smell of blistered flesh lingered in the air.

  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.

  The Leo had returned.

  The great leonine head lifted, flashing a full set of very sharp teeth, in deafening roar of outrage. The dark mane flowed down, protecting his neck and shoulders. Sleek tawny fur covered a muscular chest. With the tatters of his clothes on the floor, only the gray tiger’s stripes covered The Leo torso and upper arms. Leopard spots flowed down his arms and dinner plate sized hands that ended in switchblade sharp claws. With a catch in her breath, Naomi’s gaze traveled down, snagging briefly on undeniable proof of his masculinity. The combination of cat and man blended very well on Matthew Ridley.

  She followed the spots down his powerful tawny thighs to his feet, watching as he shook one to finish removing the remains of his shoe. Claws just as sharp as the ones on his hands, tipped his feet. A very lion tail swatted the brown tuft against the floor like an angry snake as he regarded the captive scientists.

  “Kill them,” hissed a small green hairless goblin that resembled a naked bug-eyed chimpanzee without the muzzle. Naomi couldn’t tell if it was male or female. It was one of the five non-lycanthropes released from one of the cages. It looked up at a larger, hairy version of itself, a green and brown gorilla without hair. The troll grunted, moving forward in unison with the goblin. The scientists began to back up faced with the goblin, a troll, and another distasteful looking fairy that she couldn’t identify. Just like shape shifters, fairy-kind had its more attractive combinations, and some that you wished nature had decided to leave well enough alone.

  “That’s not a good idea,” interjected the wolven, stepping forward just a bit to intercept. “We need to leave, not play.”

  “Mind yous own, wolf,” snarled the goblin. Using its long arms to propel it, the creature monkey hopped just outside the wolven’s reach. “Yous had yous. Now times toos get paybacks.”

  The wolven crouched, growled, and raised a deadly claw tipped hand. “Back off frog,” The quietly spo
ken words sent another shiver down Naomi’s spine. She had no doubt the wolven could kill them all. He was a lethal killing machine, just this side of sane. Her fingers clenched in Matthew’s mane without realizing it. Matthew stood up; with a twist and ripple of his shoulders, he extricated himself from the cat’s protective embrace.

  * * * *

  “Brrran-.” Matthew rolled the word around on his tongue, trying again once he got his tongue to move in the right combination. He wanted to stare at his dinner plate sized hand/paws and the other changes in his body. Instead, something urged him to pay attention. He felt responsible. He had to get them out of here fast, before Faust showed back up with more lackeys and bigger guns. They weren’t safe, not by a long shot. “Brrraan-don.”

  His werewolf brother-in-law looked up at him. The partial Changes, like before, looked like a graceful extension on him, not grotesque. For his part, Matthew felt large and unwieldy. Plus he wanted to crash and sleep for about a week. “Got to go.” He managed to get the words out around his muzzle of teeth.

  Brandon looked ready to make a sarcastic comment, then his dark gaze tracked over the scientists, then the goblin-kin, he nodded once. “Let’s go.” He walked past the scientists, reaching out to jerk the tag from one of their coats. The scientists, he surmised, would have to fend for themselves against the angry monkey-things. A few shuffling steps behind Brandon, he watched the werewolf slide the card through the security panel.

  Feeling the other cats’ stares, Matthew turned his head, just a bit irritated that they weren’t on their heels, just as ready to quit the place. The low vibrating call that he emitted surprised him more than anyone else. Still, it prodded his small band of cats to action.

  The woman paused, concern creasing her delicate features. The extremely short spiky haircut made her green eyes appear large, lending to the air of innocence. Matthew repeated the call, deepening the demand. They were his responsibility, the hows and whys were unimportant. It just was. As his brother-in-law, Brandon represented a certain level of trust. Plus, he was the only one Matthew had seen in a fight. And they needed to leave. Now.