Blood Moon Cat Clan

by Bevill, C. L.

  An unknown amount of time later, Martinez showed up. The light from his lantern nearly blinded her. He laughed through the door, obviously peering through the little window at her.

  “I’d open the door but I think I’d have a very angry gata on my hands,” he said.

  Sage shielded her eyes. Martinez thought she was weak. She’d been pliable before in his hands. But Sage knew how to fight. She’d fought her father for years. She was an expert in guerrilla warfare. It wasn’t always about who was the strongest; sometimes it was about who was smartest. All she needed was a way to get close to the were, and she could claw his eyes out.

  The antipathetic resolve even alarmed Sage. She truly wanted to take Martinez’s blood. The urge to strike at the were was a fire burning a hole of rage in her stomach. It was so unlike her normal passivity that she couldn’t help wondering if the shifter genes impacted her temperament.

  “What are you going to do with me?” Sage asked, surprised that her voice sounded reasonable.

  Martinez pulled the lantern away from the opening. She heard him moving outside the door. It took her a moment, but she thought he was sitting down.

  Settling down to have a little talk with his captive?

  “You don’t sound scared, poca Sage,” Martinez said.

  “I’m not little,” Sage said calmly. “I’m five eight in my stocking feet.”

  “Little to me.”

  “What did you do with Emma?”

  “Ah, not to worry about Emma,” Martinez said. Amusement laced his voice. “Her Alpha has likely already retrieved her.”

  “You had those men shoot her with darts,” Sage said. “Even you said it might be too much.”

  “She’s fine. Her heart was beating strongly all the way to Wyoming.”

  “Wyoming?”

  “That’s where the humans took her. Well, we stopped in Chicago first, which was out of the way, but we picked up a few more weres there.”

  Sage cogitated. “We’re not in Wyoming.”

  “No, querida, we’re in the great state of California,” Martinez said wryly. “I thought the Cat Clans would be a little slower on the uptake. But I was mistaken. I made a pronounced mistake in taking Emma Lucia from her clan. I should have stuck with just you.”

  “Wheeler is pissed at you?” Emma had mentioned Wheeler to Sage. She said he was a fair leader and unbiased to male and female members of the clan. There had been something in Emma’s voice indicating that Wheeler was the kind of leader whose bark was equal to his bite.

  Martinez chuckled again. “Extremely. We’ve made a deal, however. I gave him Emma’s location. Those two will be a tremendous pair.”

  “And what did Wheeler give you in return?”

  “He swore not to dismember me.” Martinez sighed. “But the Colorado Cat Clan’s Alpha can’t speak for all the other clans.”

  “All those other weres you were responsible for having kidnapped,” Sage said, “have families, clans, who will hold you accountable. If Wheeler knows about you, then so do they.”

  “That’s right,” Martinez said, his voice no longer amused, “college student. You’ve a brain in that pretty head of yours.”

  “Keeping me for bargaining?” Sage asked. “I can’t see the reasoning in that. I’m not part of the clan.”

  “You’re important to Emma.” Martinez’s voice was thoughtful. “And Emma’s important to Wheeler. Estúpdio.”

  “I don’t think so. Why keep me then?”

  “I turned you,” Martinez said abruptly. “You’re mine. And what’s mine, I keep.”

  “Do you think I’m going to tamely roll over and spread my legs?” Sage snapped.

  “Ah, there’s the little fire I saw before.” Martinez laughed again. “What’s the problem? You pretend to like me for a while, we stay together a few weeks or so, then I let you go on your way. No harm, no foul.”

  Sage growled.

  “I like that,” Martinez said. “You’ve changed at least once. Your cat is showing its fierce side. You’ll like being my woman. And well, when we’re done, you can toddle back to the Colorado Cat Clan and resume doing whatever it is that you want.”

  I’d really like to tell you where you can stick your liking, buddy-boy, and it’s where the sun don’t shine.

  Sage heard Martinez stand up. The light from the lantern moved. Several items were shoved through the little window. The sound of water sloshing in a bottle was evident. More water bottles. Rattling plastic followed.

  “More food and water, poca Sage,” he said. “I’ve got errands to run and can’t have you hissing a fit when we’re out and about. A bit of advice, amor dulce.”

  “Yeah?”

  “You might not want to scream so loudly in here.”

  Sage saw the dark shape of Martinez’s head as he peered through the tiny window. He was looking at her. For an instant, the eyes glowed greenly in the shadows. She stood in the middle of the room, her hands hanging at her sides. It wouldn’t do her any good to charge the locked door.

  “Why not?” she asked.

  “This is the edge of Under,” Martinez said in that hateful know-it-all voice. “And as you’re newly changed, you don’t know that there is much more to this world than shifters.” He paused. “Things a thousand times more horrible than you can imagine.”

  Sage didn’t reply. She didn’t see the point.

  “I’ll let you stew for a bit while I try to see what Emma’s Wheeler is up to,” Martinez said at last. “Perhaps you’ll have a change of heart. I’m not such a bad amigo after all. I’ve never had a lady complain.”

  “If they’re gagged, they can hardly complain,” Sage said shortly.

  Martinez laughed again and the light from the lantern vanished, leaving her in complete darkness.

  *

  Sage couldn’t sit still. She paced the small room and thought about what Martinez had told her. She was in California. She was locked away someplace near Under. That implied she was underground. Martinez said there were worse things in Under than sociopathic weres like him.

  It felt like she was in a cave. The temperature was constant. It wasn’t cold, but it was humid. She couldn’t hear anything outside of her own movements. It didn’t seem to Sage that her screams had brought anything or anyone to her.

  But it behooved Martinez to have Sage frightened and reluctant to call for help.

  There is much more to this world than shifters. Things a thousand times more horrible than you can imagine. The words flowed through her brain like poison in her bloodstream.

  I’m a college student who turns furry upon occasion. Emma turns into an ocelot. Her head honcho turns into a lion. Emma said a full-grown lion. What’s worse?

  Sage patrolled the small area until she had its contours memorized. Her foot stumbled on something in the floor. Kneeling, her hands explored it.

  A metal grate had been set in the floor of one corner. The pessimistic Sage suspected it was for drainage. Whoever constructed this cell had wanted to be able to rinse it out when they were done using it.

  Well, that’s just gross on all kinds of levels.

  Sage felt the floor around the grille and thought perhaps the floor sloped to the side. It was a large grate. Wherever it went to, it was two things. It was large enough to wriggle into, and it would be away from Martinez.

  Settling on her knees beside the grate, Sage inserted her fingers through the bars. Pulling, she straightened her back. The metal groaned.

  One of the bars bent just a little. Her fingers felt the shape change.

  I am stronger. My hearing is improved. I heard Martinez’s soldiers from across the bus. I shouldn’t have been able to hear their muttering above the sound of the engine. But I did.

  Sage’s head tilted as she took a breath. She could smell something. It didn’t come from the door. It came from inside the grate. It was the scent of fresh air and a hint of blooming flowers. There was an instant of the aroma filling her nose and then it was gone
just as quickly. The narrow drain passage led somewhere. It also seemed as if it was large enough for her to slip into and wiggle her way through.

  Yanking harder, Sage felt the muscles in her back protest with the movement. There was still a residual ache from pulling at the door. But it had faded faster than she could have conceived.

  Emma said something about faster healing, too. Oh, I wish I’d listened to her more. Sage grimaced. But she’d had other things on her mind. Worried about being something nonhuman. Worried about college. Worried about changing into a man-eating monster in the middle of abnormal psych. Worried about my mother being beaten to death by my father. Not worried about healing faster or what rules were best to follow so as not to piss off some group of distant weres who ruled over all the other weres.

  Sage’s fingers slid under the grate. The metal was old, corroded, and the edges were like sharp little saw blades of rust. They bit into her flesh like teeth. Blood began to drip from her digits. She gritted her teeth and pushed her fingers further beneath the grate. The bolts attaching the grate began to give. She could hear it.

  Unfortunately, Sage could hear something else. She’d been concentrating on the grate and hadn’t heard something approaching. Or perhaps it had been that stealthy.

  Something scratched at the door; it was a slow, insidious movement of claws raking the exterior.

  Knock. Knock. Is anyone home? It’s Avon calling. Well, the special Avon anyway.

  Sage turned her head toward the noise. She could only see blackness, but the blackness was full of something. A presence crowded the door.

  Sage paused to wonder if Martinez had locked the door with a padlock or it was merely held by some kind of bar. A bar would mean anything passing would have access to her.

  Looky, looky, a little girl on the menu. All locked up and ready to go.

  “I smell a…kitty,” something said.

  Sage shuddered. It didn’t sound human. The voice was like bones rattling over the fractured surface of a craggy outcropping of granite.

  Guess Martinez wasn’t joking about things that are worse than weres. Damn.

  ~ ~ ~

  Chapter Four

  Dogs remember faces; cats remember places. - English Proverb

  Per had been to California before. Many times. There were even a few times as a representative of the Colorado Cat Clan. Typically he liked the ocean breezes and the air of anticipation. Los Angeles was all about excitement.

  It was a town full of magicks and shifters. And Per didn’t need to mention the hot babes to be found there.

  But he found himself not even looking around for the next greatest female. A cab dropped him off at the L.A. Cat Clan’s headquarters, an unexceptional downtown building, and several women had given him the eye as he’d climbed out of the vehicle. He slung his bag over his shoulder and turned to pay the cabdriver.

  A blonde with legs longer than the Eiffel Tower dropped her handkerchief.

  Per hadn’t noticed until the blonde said, “Ah-hem.”

  “Keep the change,” Per said to the cabbie and shut the door. He turned and retrieved the hankie for the blonde. Absently he handed it back to her even while he planned his day of looking for a very particular someone.

  “New in town?” the blonde asked. Her long black lashes fluttered over sky blue eyes.

  “Have a cold?” Per asked.

  “What?”

  “Hankie? Cold? Blow your nosie?” Per asked. He looked around the blonde at the building beyond. He was in a hurry. There was a newly changed were named Sage Ingram who was last seen with Martinez, another were. Martinez had been sighted in Los Angeles. Martinez had ties to the some of the shadiest aspects of the otherworld. None of it was good. Much of it was very bad.

  “Are you gay?” the statuesque blonde asked politely.

  “Gay?” Per snapped into the moment. The blonde waited. He looked at her. Pretty and filled with lots of plastic. Human. A dropped hankie? Really? “No, I’m…committed.”

  Committed. There’s a joke. I’m damned.

  “Oh,” the blonde cooed. She handed him a business card. “In case you become un-committed.” She resumed her stroll down the boulevard.

  “That’s Pru,” a voice said. “She hits on everyone. But she particularly likes pretty boys like you. Think she saw a movie from the 1940s because she drops that handkerchief a lot.”

  Per didn’t have to turn his head. He’d met the were before, but he turned all the same.

  Hawthorne was the L.A. Clan’s Alpha. He was taller than Wheeler and broader. He was also a tiger like Per. Shaggy stripes shown in his hair like the brindle coat of an exotic beast. His eyes glowed yellow. He stood beside the glass doors of the building, holding one open.

  “Humans are a lot of work,” Per said. Honestly, even if he hadn’t known Hawthorne was a were, it seemed as though it would have been obvious to the densest of humans.

  Hawthorne grinned. “Hell yes, they are. Whiny. They bitch if they break a nail or something. It’s never a good thing. And changelings, well, they’re even worse.” His grin grew bigger. Some of the older weres called changed weres, changelings, like a human baby that had been exchanged in the night by some otherworlder.

  “You must be dating one,” Per perceived.

  Hawthorne shrugged.

  “Any sign of the outlaw?”

  “In a hurry?”

  “Yeah,” Per said. “Yeah, I am.”

  “Wheeler called me.” Hawthorne coughed indelicately into his hand. “Said something about a scent bothering you.”

  Per sighed and adjusted the bag over his shoulder. “Hahaha. Everyone thinks it’s hilarious.”

  I haven’t even met her.

  Hawthorne shrugged again. His face was grimly amused. “How the mighty have fallen.”

  I don’t even know what she looks like.

  “Do you have anything on Martinez?” Per asked patiently. He didn’t feel patient inside. His tiger felt like ripping into anyone who dared to question him again. The truth was that he didn’t think he could take Hawthorne. The weretiger Alpha was older than he was and had fought off challengers for the last decade. His were form was a hundred pounds heavier and a thousand times more experienced in insurrectionary warfare. Those pertinent facts didn’t matter to Per. What he really needed was Hawthorne’s help in locating Martinez, and in locating Martinez, he would find the owner of that incredible scent calling to him.

  After that, well, I have no freakin’ clue.

  “The outlaw’s been sighted not too far from here. I’ve got him in Culver City and Little Tokyo. Once in the Arts District. He’s sniffing around to see what’s going on with the other clans. Seeing how many people want his pelt hanging on a wall.” Hawthorne motioned at the door. “Come in. I’ll get you some coffee and a hot meal. Then I’ll send you out with some of my best trackers.”

  Per nodded gratefully.

  *

  Per found that the Los Angeles Clan was fairly laid back. They hadn’t had any of their members catnapped so their anger wasn’t as likely to percolate to the surface. The trackers had Martinez’s and Sage’s scents, and they weren’t overly concerned about their lack of progress. Per had to restrain himself from pressing them to hurry.

  After most of the day was gone, Hawthorne caught up to them in Little Tokyo. They were in the middle of a crowd of tourists at Japanese Village Plaza. The two trackers waited for Hawthorne to pass through a group of tourists loaded with cameras. The tourists parted for the taller man as he waded effortlessly through them. A couple of the women gaped shamelessly. Another two took photos of Hawthorne with their smart phones.

  “It’s like diving into a trashcan jam-packed full of garbage,” one of the trackers said to Hawthorne as he reached them. The tracker’s name was Yale, and he was another cougar like Martinez. Originally he was from near the Canadian border. His human form was fairly benign; he had brown hair and brown eyes and was somewhat indistinguishable. But Per knew Yale had
to be good or Hawthorne wouldn’t be using him.

  The other tracker was Lena. Tall and blonde haired, she was some sort of werecat. Per was mildly perplexed he couldn’t tell what kind. She didn’t speak much, but she nodded in agreement to Yale’s statement.

  “I’ve got scents and I’ve got scents,” Yale added. “I haven’t caught Martinez’s scent once today. But then it rained last night, and the wind has been blowing like a sonuvabitch. And someone must be having a sushi-making competition because it’s just like being at the cannery.”

  Hawthorne nodded. “I’ve heard back from a few contacts. It turns out Martinez has connections with Under.”

  “Under,” Yale repeated. “I hate Under.”

  “What’s Under?” Per asked.

  Hawthorne chuckled but it wasn’t a pleasant chuckle. “I’ll give you the short version on account of the fact that we don’t want Martinez?,” he checked himself at Per’s expression, “?or your girl, to slip out of the area while I’m yammering about backstory.”

  Per sighed.

  I haven’t even set eyes on her.

  “Otherworlders are what the Committee calls us, even though we’ve been around just as long as humans. Some say longer. But you know there’s all kinds of freaky deaky shit out there.” Hawthorne glanced around him. Some of the humans in the area were just as freaky deaky as any were. It was a pleasant late-April day, and everyone apparently wanted sushi. There were Hollywood types, tourists, emos, street performers, and even a few odd weres. Everyone.

  “But there’s other stuff, too. Stuff the Committee and the Council don’t want to touch with a ten-foot bazooka.”

  “Dragons, portals to dead worlds, the elves, the fae, a triumvirate of dark magick items designed to end the world, and pretty much the whole nine yards,” Per said impatiently. He’d seen some of it himself.

  Humans, for the most part, are oblivious.

  “And then, there’s Under,” Hawthorne said.

  Yale shook his head. Lena merely stared at the crowd and took a sniff occasionally.

  “Back in the thirties there was a newspaper article about an underground city in Los Angeles.” Hawthorne smiled, but it wasn’t really a smile. “The Native Americans allegedly said the city belonged to a race of lizard people who built it to avoid an aboveground catastrophe: a world seared by fire from the heavens.”