Hunting the She-Cat

by Jacki Bentley

  “I see the truth in you eyes, little one. You cannot hide from me.”

  In a blur of preternatural motion, he was on her.

  He grasped her shoulders tight. Shook her slightly, ever so gentle for a move of abject male aggression.

  Her heart sailed so fast it labored. She struggled against his hold, her muscles burned. Her hands clawed at his arms.

  No use. She’d seen predators have their way with smaller, weaker ones in the wild. She knew the rules.

  She should have called for help while she could. Her only thought now was if she screamed for help, he would slaughter poor Mildred too. She loved Milly. She was bossy and grumpy sometimes but she was her friend as well as employee.

  With a snarl now, he went for her neck, licking, stroking with his tongue. Relief rushed through her like a tidal wave. He was kissing her, for God’s sake.

  Not ripping her throat out.

  That was good. Oh, but the damn kiss was a mind-muddler.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  He moved behind her, his arms looser now, holding her waist. Nuzzling the back of her neck in prelude, he growled and then sank his teeth in her tender skin, nipping, stinging.

  She sank down in helpless reaction, her knees threatened not to hold her up. His arms came around from behind, catching her balance and pulling her to him roughly.

  “Ahhh.” She cried out at the feel of his contours and hardness against her back, along her butt.

  “Lugar. My name is Lugar. Say it.”

  “Arrogant bastard is all I’ll say to you.”

  He snarled and bit her ear before putting her lobe in his mouth and sucking it hard. “I have not made love as a human before, sh’iabla. I will enjoy it I’m sure.”

  “In your best dreams, beast.” She should kick the hell out of him. Now. She would. Any moment. Maybe.

  With his firm lips, he traced a path down her spine, through the rich Pima cotton of her comfy blouse. She bit her tongue to stop another cry.

  His hands snaked around and flexed on her breasts, squeezing. Too rough, as if he spoke the truth about not having hands for this kind of thing before. Her nipples responded anyway, loving the feel of his rough hands.

  He groaned. “Nice, softer than I could have guessed in a million moon cycles.” He caressed them again in a sweeping stroke of each hand. “Fires of Magnon.”

  She had no idea where Magnon was but his tone told her he swore.

  To her shock, before her eyes, her own hands changed to tawny paws then flashed back.

  Oh, merciful God, she could not let this happen. “Leave me … alone,” she hissed. In all the life-like, delusional, sensual dream episodes she’d experiences all her life, where she’d prowled the woods of night as a cat and found a mate who matched her in every way, nothing like this had happened to her.

  Never in the stark light of day had her shape changed as it had just now.

  “Your body does not agree with your command. The feminine power in you does not mean for me to leave you.” He swept a hand between her legs from behind and up the front of her soft rayon slacks. The quickly withdrawn brush of it was too sensual to bear.

  “Mmmmm. Go away. I. Said. Go.” He was not the only one who could snarl. She fisted her hands and held fast to her human form, fighting the change with all her heart.

  “I do not believe this male of yours is satisfying your needs or I would not have this strong affect so fast, hmmm? Deny it.”

  She stepped on his instep. He didn’t even wince but he did bite her ear again.

  “Oww,” she complained, but her arousal spiraled higher.

  He relented, soothing the ache with his tongue.

  He placed a hand to her shoulder and gently bent her over the desk edge. With awkward movements he sought the closings of her pants and pulled them down, taking her panties too. Air brushed her nakedness, making her feel vulnerable.

  His mouth and tongue trailed fire downward over her naked ass. Then with a stroke of his tongue, he licked at her exposed crotch. Then again.

  She struggled, but he held her firmly. Definitely should kick the hell out of him now.

  “Misha. Sweet. You are so sweet.”

  God help her, now he began to whisper urgent words in some strangely familiar language against her sensitive private areas. She did not recognize the meaning, but the words, the feel of it, went to her heart and caused it to pang.

  “That’s it little female, accept me. I will see to your needs. Always.”

  “No. No! Stop this at once.” This was her office, her refuge. She could be fired for this. Work was all that was steady in her life; she could not allow it threatened. “Please. Stop.”

  The intercom buzzed at that moment.

  “Answer it,” he ordered. His hands settled her, calmed her as if by some magic. “We will continue later. No problem.”

  Hah! Easy for him to say. Her body throbbed with need. How would she face her work now?

  “Your appointment is here.”

  “I need a moment to finish this, Mildred ….” Oh, hell, bad choice of words.

  “Dammit,” she whispered.

  Meanwhile Lugar took his sweet time returning her slacks to their former place and straightening them with his wicked hands. He did not hide that he explored her curves, drawing out the ache rather than soothing it away. On purpose. “Devious male.”

  “Do not fret, female. We will finish this later. I will find you.”

  Not if I run like the wind, she thought. “Go.”

  He laughed and sauntered with too much damn languid grace to the door and out.

  * * * *

  As Lugar walked away, he nodded to the flustered Milly at the outer reception area.

  As he rode the elevator to the ground, he thought over their encounter. It surprised him how well the female had adapted to her alien surroundings. She was a Rules Enforcer here -- not unlike her father’s lineage at home. Tryth’s kin were known as excellent pride leaders. Good at telling others what to do anyway. Over the years of Eliavan history most had been good and wise, but some, like Tryth, had had vicious blood-thirsty streaks as well.

  If she was indeed Tryth’s daughter. Her mother had been a widow, her first husband a professor as her mother was also. Tryth had taken over her life shortly after her mate had died. Hell, maybe he caused the accident that killed the man. All Lugar knew for sure was that Misha’s mother and she had traveled here to Earth with Tryth.

  Tryth’s nephew, Gald, was much like his uncle in nature and avarice. Now that he was making a bid for power via membership to the Judicial Tribunal, only this lost female stood in Gald’s path.

  One way or the other, he would not see this female used by Gald for his own power hungry, selfish ends.

  * * * *

  “What’s up with you today?”

  “Hmmm?” Misha mumbled.

  “Your mind is not with me, friend. You’ve got that distracted air people get when they’re only half paying attention. Or less.”

  Sala, her friend and landlord for the six past years and more recently her legal client in real estate matters, stared at her with a deep question in her lovely cocoa brown eyes.

  “You’re not your usual sharp, attorney-on-the-move-self today. You’re distracted, distant. Your mind is definitely not on my real estate deal, that’s for sure.”

  “No, I’, ah … I’m, ah, fine.”

  “Yeah, I can see that by the hunted look in your usually calm and pushy eyeballs. Have anything to do with that piece of man that strode out of here as I was coming in? What a handsome guy, if you like the big, tall, lanky sexy type. And, oh, yeah, I remember. Every woman with blood in her body does.” Sala grinned shamelessly. “I thought your taste in men ran more to the slick, metro types like your Bronson.”

  “True. Of course,” she nodded too vigorously for believability. “They do. Bronson and I are in a serious relationship.”

  Sala raised a doubtful eyebrow but said nothing
to refute the statement.

  “The man just now was an unfortunate case of mistaken identity. That’s all he is to me. He wasn’t even supposed to be here. Had no appointment. He was looking for someone else. I need to speak to Mildred about allowing him in.” Especially since she thought there for a second he planned to murder her in her own office.

  “Hmmm, hmmm. Oh, he has your number now, whoever he came here to see today. I saw the way those otherworldly green eyes fixed on your ass when you turned away from him and asked me to come in here. Did he come to see Liz? The sexy chick in the next office over? That the identity mistake?”

  “Something like that.”

  Sala’s tone became hushed. “I say keep him if you want him. Good old Bronson is not that into you. That boy needs someone to surprise him, shake him up a little, I say.”

  “Sala!”

  Her friend threw up her hands. “I’m sorry to say it. You don’t pull your punches on legal matters with me. I owe you the truth in personal matters. Hell, I’ve wanted to tell you for a long time now. Especially important now with Mr. Alpha cat sniffing around you. Don’t want you to miss out on that ride. Your Bronson never looks at your ass like that one did. He’s not clicking right with you, hon. Bronson isn’t that into you. No sparks.”

  Misha frowned. “No sparks?”

  Sala nodded her head up and down slowly. “Mr. Sexy there had only eyes for you. Didn’t even see me and we both know I’m the prettiest.” She laughed to soften the blow. “A little meatier, too.”

  Sala was a classic dark beauty. Most men were fascinated by her. She worked at it and loved the attention from men.

  “It’s not like that. The man is a total stranger to me.”

  She just went on. “So if you have a chance with a better male, I say give old Bron his walking papers and check it out with the other one. See where it goes. He has ‘give me a passel of little ones, woman,’ written all over him.”

  Misha shook her head no. An emphatic, definite, no. The big male who’d just left had scared the living hell out of her. “He’s too, too--”

  “Male?” Her brazen friend asked.

  “Too bossy, too damned arrogant.”

  “Too protective, too much a street fighter in modern clothes? Hmm? That’s what you mean?”

  “Why did you refer to him as a cat?” Misha asked, knowing she should not do so, but feeling driven to hear the answer.

  “I did?” Sala shrugged.

  “You called him Mr. Alpha Cat. Not dog, cat.”

  “I did? I have no idea why, hon. Maybe the way he stalked out of here, all long-leggedy grace and strength. Did you see those wide shoulders? Oh. My. Jesus. And his muscled legs? And better than all of that, he looked half-wild to me. Sort of feline with that dark skin and those hypnotizing eyes…”

  Well, damn, she had the answer and agreed completely but she said, “Crazy talk. Who wants a wild man.”

  Sala threw back her head and laughed, a throaty, tinkling sound. “I speak only the truth, my friend. You asked.”

  Desperate for a little understanding and frustrated at getting none, Misha plunged her hands in her hair.

  “He frightens you, chickie,” Sala whispered solemnly, her eyes sympathetic. The good matches always do.

  “No. No, that’s ridiculous.”

  “Oh, come on, Mish Mash.”

  It measured her love of her friend Sala that she allowed her to call her that goofy nickname and live. “Fine. You’re right, Sal. Okay. He does, dammit. Scares me to death, I mean. I have to leave here. Now. Before he returns. I have to escape. I have to run from him. Tonight.”

  Her friend’s eyes turned sad. “Yes. I recognize that reckless, trapped-too-long-in-a-cage look you get from time-to-time, hon. In that way, you remind me of a cat too. Where to this time? Riding huge river rapids somewhere? Big ass sport horses in Ireland?” She sighed. “I’ll be glad to water the plants on your rooftop garden for you again.”

  “You know me too well.”

  “For a woman that will stand up to any criminal or any DA in Chicago’s court system and back them down into submission, you are not all that brave in a personal crunch time, are ya?”

  “I … ” She closed her eyes. “I know. I’m not. I need to see Uncle Joe.”

  “Everyone copes with life’s emotional rapids in their own way, hon. You go ahead and run and then return home later all relaxed and better.”

  “Yes.”

  “I can’t help but wish you’d stay around and let the sexy new man take you out on the town.”

  “I’m going home this time. Tell no one, please.”

  “Not even Mr. Alpha? I only want to tell him, no one else. For your own good, you see.”

  Misha knew Sala was teasing her. She’d never tell a soul. “No. No. Especially not Mr. Alpha.”

  “Huh. Too bad. Oh, Mish?”

  “What?”

  “Have you forgotten about your big party for Bronson tomorrow night? Can’t go yet.”

  “Shoot. Shoot.”

  “Another twenty-four hours in Chicago with Lugar on the prowl,” she whispered. Sala’s laughter filled the room again.

  She could do that.

  She could survive it. But the fight or flight response pounded through her blood.

  “That would be a yes, then?”

  “I’ll stay until after the party.”

  Chapter Three

  “No, no, no.” Misha jerked awake that night. A nightmare from her childhood long forgotten, jerked her straight up in the bed, covers fell to the floor. She grabbed them back up, tossed herself over to her other side and pounded her poor pillow into submission. Not another nightmare from her childhood. No, no, no. They’d gone away. How long had it been since the last … ? Years and years.

  The scene from three hundred years ago came to her mind now even in waking. The running, the desperate hiding. First with her mom and a man, running from the indigenous men with exploding musket guns. But it had not been the stalking humans who’d killed her mother.

  The man of their kind, the one that traveled with them, had murdered her mom.

  She took a deep breath. After losing her mother, she’d been a terrified and lonely child. Survival instincts had kept her away from the ones her mother called the ‘new American immigrants’, the ones with the guns. The man who’d killed her mother had disappeared. What happened to him, her memory was fuzzy on that as if averting from the knowledge every time she tried to recall.

  She sighed and reached for the bottle of water by her bed. She called Bronson. She needed to hear his normal, male voice.

  A flash of memory came as she dialed. Bleeding. Someone bleeding. God, there’d been so much blood and the stark finality of death and loss. A black wall slammed into place as always. She remembered no more of the violence. A better memory usurped the others, the sweet voice of her mother singing her to sleep.

  Just as well she remembered only fuzzy images. Her instincts told her it was by far best left in the past.

  Bronson’s voice mail kicked in. She sighed. After today’s excitement with the strange male, she did not know how on earth she could accept Bronson holding her in his arms, kissing her ever again. Accept, funny word to chose.

  Lugar had used the same word, referring to her accepting him. She pounded her pillow again. Maybe Sala was right, not much love from Bronson. He was a decent man but not that interested in her. Truth was, she’d noticed him watching Sala on more than one occasion.

  He was comfortable with their relationship, like an old raincoat, that’s all. He liked having her handy for free legal advice, she added cynically.

  The stark sexual pull of Lugar simply emphasized what she’d already known all along. Dates with Bronson were about convenience and habit. No future there.

  And maybe the big stranger was right; it was time to find answers to her past, to seek understanding of her mysterious cat side. The animal she fought so hard to suppress and hide.

  She’d li
ved without questioning the existence fate gave her far too long now. Perhaps answers waited for her in the deep piney woods of home.

  She couldn’t sleep anyway so she got up and booked e-tickets on her laptop.

  * * * *

  “Who are all these others with you, megisha?”

  Startled, Misha put a hand to her neck and found the necklace her mother had given her, absently stroking it for comfort. “Dammit, Lugar, you frightened me. What on earth are you doing here?” The party was going full tilt inside, laughter drifted through the open windows.

  Only moments earlier, Misha had stepped out to the balcony to get a moment of air. All the people, although friends and coworkers, stifled her, smothered her. She had to force herself to be their congenial hostess tonight. Entertaining was a necessary evil associated with her work. This dinner party had been planned months ago.

  “It is Eliavan work I do, not your Earth’s. I informed you I would come to you again, did I not?” He waved a hand carelessly and walked toward her with an impossible arrogance in his stride. “Tell them all to leave so we can talk. Say this is an urgent matter that can’t wait until morning.”

  “You are crazy if you think you can enter my home and order me about like this, with that know-it-all look on your face. I --”

  “As I said.” He lifted one large hand in a clear signal to stop. “I gave you ample time to think. But instead of doing as I instructed, you waste time with visitors.”

  Misha closed her eyes, sought the iron railing to steady her self, regain control on her temper, which flared hot and fast. “How did you get up here?” she demanded. The shadowed darkness of the night made him hard to see, even with her excellent eyesight.

  “The steps are there.” He waved toward the fire escape.

  “Huh. Yeah, they are. Suspended twenty feet off the alley. So you used your cat … er … form to climb into my apartment, didn’t you?”

  “Shhh. Those in there may hear you. You were right yesterday. We must keep our shapeshifting nature to ourselves.”