Cat Scratch Fever; Blue-Collar Werewolves V (13 page)

Being the brunt of the wolves’ curiosity and
seeing that Brandon did not lessen his vigil one bit, Matthew
pushed past Morrow to pad his way to his brother-in-law’s side.
Feeling Nathan’s protest, Matthew angled his path to stop behind
and between the two. He was assured enough to know that his present
form offered his best line of self-defense, but well aware that of
all of them, Brandon and Nathan were natural warriors. He sat, tail
curling around his feet as he impassively sized up the wolves. He
shored up his own strength as he waited for a signal from his
self-appointed guardians.

“The Tarrant Pack may claim all of the DFW
area, but your Pack charter only covers Tarrant County. You want to
clear us out,
Uncle
Gavin, go ahead and try.” Brandon’s lip
curled as his voice rose in a challenging sneer. Matthew tensed
with Nathan, sure that the wolves wouldn’t take that kind of verbal
challenge. The angry murmur of the rest of the wolf hunting party
confirmed his suspicion. Two wolves came forward, intent on
protecting their leader who raised a fist at Nathan’s warning
growl.

The hair on Matthew’s spine prickled and he
stood up, bracing himself for an attack he wasn’t sure they’d
survive. The wolves were fresh and they’d been through hell already
escaping the BioPet labs.

Gavin sighed and shook his head, angling his
sight to catch those of his Pack. “Stand down boys. I’m not going
to kill my favorite nephew,” he drilled a hard gaze at Brandon that
relaxed into wary affection. “Even if he is being a stubborn ass.”
Turning, the wolf leader presented his back to Brandon and the
cats. Matthew decided to take it as a sign of trust, rather than
disrespect. “Mick, bring the van around. The rest of you, get on
with the clean up before someone
not
a shape shifter decides
to come out for his paper and calls the police.”

Turning back to them, Gavin frowned and
tipped his head in the direction of the small run down suburban
area. “This way.” He directed them, continuing his monologue as he
walked away, expecting them to follow. Matthew didn’t hesitate.
Having decided this was the best course, he stepped between his
guards to walk alongside the blond Pack leader. Gavin looked down,
meeting Matthew’s silent leonine gaze before eyeing his injury.
They both ignored Nathan’s low feline growl of protest as he moved
to protect Matthew’s flank. Gavin’s eyes roamed constantly, like
Brandon’s, taking in their surroundings. “You’re lucky a couple of
our families live nearby. It’s been tense since the vamps dragged
us into public eye. We’ve spread out even more over DFW, monitoring
magic use. The sudden spike since last night made us think that the
psychics were on the rampage.” He glanced down again at Matthew.
“Or that another group might have decided to challenge our
territory.”

Matthew evaluated his personal power level
and decided that he could manage the Change. Besides, he’d
apparently been living in the dark all this time, and he was tired
of letting others do his talking for him. The wolves went on alert
as the magic overtook him, pulling him into the remembered shape of
his human form. He barely felt the reshaping, or the recession of
hair and fangs. Naked, tired enough to sleep for a month, but still
able to walk and talk. He pushed himself forward, not daring to
stumble and show weakness to his new and dubious allies.

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news,”
Matthew was pleased that his voice held steady. A bit deeper than
he remembered, but the earlier awkwardness of his body seemed to be
wearing off. “But you
do
have a psychic problem. More of an
infestation.” He amended at Gavin’s sharp look.

“Those weren’t psychics hunting you.” The
werewolf stopped and glanced at an approaching oversized blue work
van. “I figured it was one of the supernatural hating mobs that has
cropped up since we were exposed. Pitchfork-and-fire mentality,
only carrying guns.”

Matthew had heard about the militant
vigilante groups intent on taking out anything that might possibly
be supernatural since the vampires and werewolves had been outed on
national television. He refrained from looking at Morrow or Naomi,
because only someone locked in a secret laboratory for the last
year would have missed the news. Practically nothing else was on TV
anymore.

Because of their extremist witch hunting
attitude had caused quite a few ‘accidental human collateral
damage’, the President had declared such activities to be
considered terrorist threats. It also went a long way toward
stalling Congress on its final determination of supernatural
rights. Still, the werewolves had a right to know about the threat
in their own backyard.

“The BioPet facility is actually a cover for
some kind of laboratory that experiments on our kind.” Privately,
Matthew wasn’t sure if he was comfortable with how easily he lumped
himself into the supernatural monster group. He didn’t care what
Kemlec, his father, or any others thought. Given the abilities he’d
had as a psychic, shouldn’t he have already been classified as part
of that group anyway? He remembered feeling more relieved than
alarmed when the initial television reports of vampires and
werewolves came out. He and his family weren’t alone. There were
others with strange abilities out there.

“BioPet researches and develops weapons
against supernaturals.” Naomi’s voice finished his explanation,
jerking him out of the tired daze he’d fallen into. “The hardware,
chemical, and biological kind.”

Gavin stopped and stared at them. “No shit?”
the van stopped alongside and he reached out to open the door. The
revelation shook the werewolf and he looked to Brandon for
reassurance. “It’s true? How do you know this?”

“Because we just came from there,” Matthew
answered with more confidence and force than he felt. “Now if
you’re finished with the questions for the moment, I’d really like
to head home, take a shower, and find something decent to eat. Not
necessarily in that order.” He could feel his cats’ warning beating
at him for the request. Matthew had already decided home probably
wasn’t safe, but now he didn’t care. Going to the wolves’ lair
didn’t appeal to him either. Home at least held his basic
requirements. He could pack and make plans to go elsewhere.

“Need a lift?” Gavin asked, calculation in
his clear blue gaze.

Matthew smiled, giving back a feral-toothed
response. “Sure.” Relaying his address, he boarded the van, waiting
for his small group to follow suit. Then nodding to Brandon and
Nathan, he settled into his seat to begin the task of staying awake
until he got home.

Chapter Nine

Matthew surfaced from sleep like a diver
slowly making his way through murky sludge. A heavy weight on his
chest gave off a steady vibration that thrummed his body, adding to
his aching head. He peeled his eyes open to glare into Rameses’
mildly curious, yet completely dismissive furry face. “Get off,
cat.”

Ramses thought about hanging on. The idea
was visible in his triangular face. Matthew could feel it in the
prick of claws as he sat up. Then the cat made a small irritated
grunt and jumped off to the bed. With a twitch of his tail, he
turned his back and began washing his shoulder with studied
nonchalance. The cat kept purring, looking at Matthew once, with a
smug expression before continuing with his bath.

Rubbing his head, Matthew slid to the edge
of the bed, trying to remember the reason for his little bender,
which was probably the reason he was sleeping sans the boxers he
usually wore. He disliked dealing with drunks and hated hangovers,
so he rarely touched the stuff. Standing, he stretched, enjoying
the movement. “Maybe you’ve got the right idea,” he told Ramses. A
shower and coffee were the first order of business.

Of course, I am right. I am always
right.
The cat stood up and bounced to the floor in two leaps
before strolling by Matthew.
And the first order of business
should be
you
getting those dogs out of
my
home.

He stared at the cat, who jumped up to do
his own full-body stretch along the doorjamb. His cat could talk?
No, that wasn’t right. Matthew pressed the heels of his hands
against his aching temples. He didn’t feel drunk or high. “Get a
grip. Cats can’t talk,” Matthew started to the bathroom. Ramses
looked over his shoulder, scratched at the latch, which popped open
as he did his door-opening maneuver.

Of course cats can talk. You simply
learned how to listen. It’s about time too. Because we need to have
a discussion about the brand of litter you buy.
Opening the
door was an old trick of Ramses’ and he slipped out the moment the
door opened.

Matthew ordered his thoughts. He wasn’t
going to think about the cat. He wanted a shower and coffee. In
that order. His feet stayed glued to the floor as he brought his
right arm up to his face. Crossways over his forearm, a long,
fairly deep cut was scabbed over. It looked older than say…
last
night
. Controlling the urge to panic, Matthew took two steps
sideways, angling himself to look into the open door of the master
bathroom. Another scabbed over cut bisected the top of his
shoulder. Other small details drew him into the bath as he studied
the mirror. Carefully, he blanked his mind. Shower first, then
coffee, he reminded himself. Then he’d deal with the other
stuff.

His clothes did not fit. Matthew glared at
the jeans in his hands, then at the contents of his closet. A small
fissure cracked in his self-control and he gave into the simmering
emotions. His hands thickened as sharp knifelike claws slid from
his fingers. The denim parted with a satisfying
rrrip.
The
sound provided an outlet for the disturbing feelings inside him.
The rest of the fabric shredded like tissue, littering the bottom
of the closet. A small sound, easily missed, stopped his
destruction of a second pair of jeans.

Matthew turned, unaware of the feral snarl
that pulled his lips away from his sharp canines or of the low
leonine rumble that froze his ‘guards’ into place. Nathan watched
him with the same manner one used when trying not to spook a wild
animal.

That managed to piss him off more. Who
exactly were the panther and wolf trying to keep safe? Him or
everyone
from
him. Matthew took great satisfaction in
ramming his claws through the leg of his jeans, making ribbons of
it. The action helped quell the desire to simply let go and fall
into the power that wanted to overwhelm him. He dropped the ruined
pair and stared at his hands, mentally going back over the steps
needed to bring his body back to a human state.

He knew he couldn’t do what he’d done all
his human life. Ignore, reject, and wall away the part of him that
wasn’t normal. Acceptance was the key here. Ironic how life made
you face what you tried desperately to hide from.

Taking a calming breath, he curled his human
hands into fists and turned to face the other two men. He managed
not to lash out at Nathan’s careful attitude and focused on
Brandon’s
are-you-done-yet
raised eyebrow as his
brother-in-law leaned against the dresser.

“Nothing fits.” When said aloud, Matthew
realized how silly his explanation sounded. He shrugged, hoping his
embarrassment wasn’t written all over his face…and scent, now that
he thought about it. Brandon shoved his hands in his pockets as he
approached. His body language was comfortable and nonjudgmental as
he assessed Matthew, then stuck his head into the closet.

“That sounds reasonable,” the werewolf
snagged an old pair of sweats that Matthew only wore in the winter
and tossed them at him. Matthew’s hands automatically grasped the
fabric. Mentally he did the same to Brandon’s words. Holding them
close, so he didn’t doubt his sanity. “Wolven pups hit a growth
spurt when they Change for the first time. They grow about a size
all over and lose most of their baby fat.”

“He’s not a wolf. He’s the Panthera Leo.”
Nathan shut his mouth when they looked at him. Obviously, the
designation meant as much to Brandon as it did Matthew. Zilch. That
feeling that the werepanther was handling him with kid gloves was
blaring a warning. Nathan’s face remained studiously blank. Matthew
could practically feel the effort the panther was making to find
something neutral, yet somewhat helpful. “Cats don’t do that when
they Change the first time.” It wasn’t very, in Matthew’s
opinion.

“He’s Bitten,” Brandon stated. “If a psychic
isn’t in top condition already, the Change is going to push the
body into a state better suited for survivability.”

“Ooo,” Nathan relaxed, rolling his eyes at
the werewolf’s attempt at scientific conjecture. “Those are some
big words. Besides, cats and other Weres are born. Our bite doesn’t
infect.”

“Fuck you.” The wolf’s words had no
heat.

“Hey. No using the F word.” Matthew pulled
himself from the fairly good-natured argument to jerk the sweats
on.

“You’re not getting puritanical on us are
you Ridley?” Brandon asked.

“You’re using those big words again. And no,
I don’t like the use of it when I’m standing in my closet
bare-assed naked with two other guys.”

“I’ve got a mate,” Brandon shrugged as if
settled the matter for him. He raised an eye at Nathan. “But
you
don’t, panther.” Nathan flipped him off. Brandon
laughed, a short burst of mirth that faded quickly as if he weren’t
comfortable showing that side of himself. He focused back on
Matthew as if he were a puzzle to be solved. “Back to the growth
spurt. You were underweight before. That’s not much mass to
accommodate the extra muscle in your other forms. Regular lions and
tigers get up to 400 pounds.” He glanced at Nathan. “Leopards are
about half that, little man.”

“What’s with all the info on cats,
encyclopedia-man?” Nathan shot back, not offended at the remark on
his panther’s size.