Cat Scratch Fever (4 page)

Her boot heels barely touched the floor as she streaked toward the exit. At the last second she remembered her coat and grabbed it from the antler rack. Not wanting to waste precious time trying to struggle into the damn thing, she scrunched the coat over her shoulder and slipped outside. By the time she hopped into her Escape—
boy, there’s an appropriate name
—her teeth were chattering so hard from the cold, it sounded like a castanet troupe was practicing in her mouth.

“Great,
now
my body decides to lose the hot flashes.”

Dante turned his back on his father and stalked to the sink. Squirting a few drops of liquid soap into his palm, he nudged the faucet on. The entire time he was lathering up, he felt the heat of Foster’s scrutiny lasering into his skull.

“Do you have something going on with that woman?”

Swiping the dishrag from the counter, Dante dried his hands. “I’ll say it again—it’s none of your business.”

An angry sputter tumbled from Foster. “It damn well is. You’re my son. I won’t have you cavorting with loose women. Particularly a lynchat.” He spit out the last word as if it were rancid. “You’re the next head alpha in line. It’s high time you start acting like it.”

Dante pivoted, granting his father a narrow-eyed stare. “Why don’t we cut through the bullshit? What you really mean is I need to start obeying your demands and accept Anna Gifford’s mate-bond proposal.”

A spark of hope homesteaded Foster’s face. “Are you ready to consider it?”

Permanently shackle himself to that scheming wolf bitch? “Hell no.”

Foster stormed forward and pummeled his fist onto the island’s granite top. One precariously perched orange toppled from the bowl of fruit and rolled toward the counter’s beveled edge. “Do you have any idea the trouble I’ve gone to trying to make this match happen?”

“I never asked you to do any of it.” Dante grabbed the orange, his grip so fierce it was a miracle juice and pulp didn’t spray between his knuckles. “In fact, I distinctly recall plenty of times I’ve told you to knock it the hell off.”

“For once, think of someone other than yourself. The entire pack would benefit from this merger.”

The caged wolf inside Dante strained at its bindings. Tempting as it was to give his inner beast full rein, he tempered the urge. Didn’t stop him from flashing his incisors in warning though. “Don’t throw duty in my face, old man. I care more about the pack than you ever will. That’s why I’ll never allow your unholy merger to take place. You and I both know the only ones benefitting from it would be you and the Giffords.”

It was no secret that Foster’s sole reason for wanting the merger was the nice chunk of change that Lewis Gifford was ready to dole out in exchange for sealing his place amongst the more powerful Morgan pack ranks. Unlike Dante, Foster didn’t feel any responsibility to honor the excommunication decree that Silas Morgan issued against Lewis and his brethren decades ago, after it was discovered that Lewis was engaged in shady business dealings that would reflect poorly upon the pack. Dante was prepared to do everything in his power to uphold his grandfather’s wishes and ensure that the Gifford’s seedy taint didn’t touch the pack again, but with each passing day, Foster pushed harder and harder to undermine Dante’s determination.

As if he’d read Dante’s mind, Foster gave a knowing smile. “You can only hold out so long. Sooner or later, you have to decide which is more important—your personal pride or the pack.” Calculation gleamed in Foster’s eyes. “I’m giving you exactly one week to meet your mate-bond requirement. If you don’t, I’m assigning a new head alpha.” Snapping up the collar of his jacket, he strode from the kitchen.

Dante waited until he heard the front door slam before he hurtled the orange. It cracked through the drywall behind the dining-room table. “Shit.” Thunking his elbows onto the island’s granite top, he buried his face in his hands. No matter how hard he tried to pretend otherwise, he could no longer ignore it—his balls were in the wringer.

Chapter Four

Swaddled within her three layers of clothing, Lilly stood on the uppermost step of the porch and gave the snowflakes pirouetting from the sky a wary eye. Sure, the stuff was pretty to look at—from inside a toasty warm cabin while she threw back some hot toddies. She started to inch backward, toward the doorway, but a phantom voice entered her head, mocking her.
Wimp. What’s a little snow?

“Little? There’s got to be three freakin’ feet of the damn stuff out there.”

The phantom voice started clucking like a chicken.

“Oh, for Pete’s sake.” Ashamed over caving so easily to her inner bitch, Lilly snatched her cross-country skis from where they were leaning on the porch rail and stomped down the steps. She propped the poles against the door of her SUV and lined the skis up parallel to the vehicle. Giving the cabin behind her a final longing glance, she wedged the toe of her boot into the top binding on her right ski. The stubborn clip refused to lock in place. Grinding her teeth, she wiggled her foot, trying to force the boot into the binding. The ski slid out from beneath her, knocking her flat.

Dazed, she blinked against the snowflakes drifting onto her lashes. “This is a great sign. I’m not even on the stinking skis and already I’m falling on my ass.”

It was pretty damn ironic—and pathetic—that she possessed not one iota of the grace her species was supposed to be gifted with. Anchoring her boots into the thick snow, she inched her way upward and grasped the Escape’s door handle before hoisting into a standing position. Cautiously, she dragged her boot over to the left ski and clicked it into the bindings. She let go of the door and momentarily basked in her grand achievement. Until the skis crawled forward. Flailing her arms, she made a grab for the poles and managed to wrap her fingers around their straps before the momentum of the skis plowed her halfway down the drive.

Digging the spiked ends of the poles into the snow, she wobbled to an unsteady halt, the tips of the skis touching. “Oh God, I’m going to be the first known fatality caused by cross-country skis.” Despite the certainty of her dire prediction, she tightened her grip on the poles and set her chattering teeth in determination. As head events coordinator for the Lynchat Foundation, she needed firsthand experience with all the activities they’d have at their disposal if—no,
when
—Dante sold his property to the organization. Even if said activity killed her. Which in all likelihood it would.

Burrowing her chin deeper into the scarf tucked around the lower portion of her face, she unlocked her knees and hesitantly glided one ski forward. When she didn’t immediately topple over, she attempted the same maneuver with the other ski. Before she knew it she was shuffling along the winding driveway. “I don’t freakin’ believe it. I’m actually doing it!” Since no force on earth would convince her to let go of the pole for even a second, she settled for mentally pumping her fist in victory.

Rather than risk a collision with any vehicles she might encounter on the main street, she decided to chart a course along the perimeter of the property line. Forking away from the drive, she
shush-shushed
her way through the alley of pines. Other than the fact her nose resembled a block of ice and she no longer felt her butt, she was sort of enjoying the moment. Grinning, she lengthened her strides, injecting a little more oomph in her pace. Unfortunately, she didn’t count on the pitch of the terrain suddenly taking a steep, downhill slant.

The skis adopted a will of their own as they picked up speed. She grappled desperately with her poles, but the damn skis seemed determined to hurtle her to an imminent death. Horrified, she stared at the rapidly approaching drop-off for the ridge. In one last-ditch effort at self-preservation, she speared the poles into the snow. Apparently that was the wrong thing to do.

She took off like a rocket, her scream muffled by her scarf as she flew over the side of the ridge.

“What the fuck?” Lowering the volume on his radio, Dante frowned at the skis protruding from the snow-laden branches of the giant blue spruce bordering the Prescott’s land. He slowed his pickup and peered out the passenger window. When he caught a glimpse of a fur-lined silver hood buried in the dense greenery, he shook his head and shifted into park. He jumped from the cab of his truck and ambled to the base of the spruce. “How original. A cat stuck in a tree.”

“Go to hell.”

He tucked his thumbs in the rear pockets of his jeans and chuckled. “That any way to talk to the guy who’s gonna give you a hand out of there?”

“I don’t need your help, thank you very much.” The entire tree shook, dislodging its blanket of snow as Lilly attempted to extricate herself from the spruce’s tenacious grasp. Several seconds later, her frustrated growl pierced the frigid air. “Fine, I might require some assistance.”

He was damn tempted to hoot in laughter, but he didn’t relish getting a ski cracked upside his noggin for the trouble. “Hold tight. I’ll be right with you.”

“Not like I’m going anywhere,” she huffed.

Zipping his jacket, he returned to his truck and snatched a pair of leather work gloves from the toolbox he always kept in the bed of the pickup. Satisfied he was as protected from the spruce’s scratchy needles as he’d get, he strode to the tree. Peering through the foliage overhead, he assessed the situation.

Lilly appeared to be pinned close to the tree trunk by two branches crisscrossing behind her back, near her tailbone. The angle made it impossible for her to reach her skis, which left him with the task of removing them.

Locating a sturdy branch that would afford him extra height, he climbed upward and fumbled around with one hand until he knocked into the edge of the nearest ski. He smoothed his gloved hand across the slick fiberglass and bumped into Lilly’s boot. Working his fingers lower, he encountered the top binding and pried at the toe clip until it released. He wrenched the ski off, and it plummeted to the ground. Hugging the massive trunk of the tree with one arm for balance, he switched his focus to the other ski. Less than a minute later, it sailed down to join its mate.

He slid his palm up along Lilly’s inner thigh, and he swore she hissed. Not the mean, ornery kind of hiss that usually accompanied a swipe from a sharp-clawed feline. Nope, this sound made him think of slapping body parts and the ecstatic rake of fingernails down his back.

Ignoring the sudden thickening of his cock, he reached behind her leg and snapped off the thinner twigs that impeded him getting to her backside. He discovered the culprit keeping her snared in place. A broken section of branch had poked through her bulky ski pants.

Concerned the sharp tree limb might have lodged into her skin, he pulled his glove off with his teeth and patted the back of her thigh, searching for the end of the branch. He located it—thankfully not embedded in Lilly’s flesh. “I’m gonna have to rip your pants a little more to get you freed.”

“Go ahead. Not like I plan to ever ski again in my lifetime anyway. Something all the trees in the neighborhood will be profoundly grateful for, I’m sure.”

Her dry statement earned his laugh, and she frowned at him. He tossed her a questioning look and continued grappling with the fabric bunched around the tree branch. “What?”

“Nothing. I’ve just never heard you laugh like that before. It actually makes you semi-pleasant.”

He twisted his mouth in a wry grin. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re flirting with me.”

She snorted. “Clearly all this cold air has killed off some of your brain cells.”

Probably. Too bad it was doing nothing to numb the persistent throbbing in his cock. Between the satiny flesh he glimpsed through the gaping hole in Lilly’s pants and the intoxicating aroma pouring off her in waves, his hormones were getting beat to hell.

Hormones.
His fingers stalled in mid-rip. “You’re in heat.”

A sharp inhalation sounded above him, and he lifted his gaze to find Lilly staring at him with fire in her eyes. “I take it back. You’re not pleasant at all, you rude ass.”

“Christ, what’d I do now?”

“You’re not supposed to point out something intensely personal like that.”

He grunted. “You’ve got to be shittin’ me. We’ve seen each other masturbating, and your dander is up because I mentioned you’re in heat?”

She scrunched her nose in a manner he found oddly cute. Not that he’d tell her so. His luck, he’d probably earn her boot in his balls for the compliment.

“Would you like it if I went around pointing out every time you get an erection?”

Like now?
This conversation sure as shit wasn’t helping in that department. “Why would it bother me? It’s not my damn problem you can’t keep your eyes off my crotch.”

She hissed. This time it definitely sounded like the kind that preceded bloodshed.

“Keep those claws of yours retracted, baby. Otherwise I just might leave you up there.”

“How very heroic of you.”

“Hell, I’m not stupid.”

“Fine. I’ll let you off the hook. But only this once.”

Taking his chances that she’d keep her word, he gripped her by the waist and tugged her forward. She yelped, her left knee swinging dangerously close to his face. He jerked his chin out of the way just in the nick of time. “Damn it, what are you trying to do, knock my teeth out?”

“You startled me. A warning would have been nice, you know.”

“How’s this for a warning—keep wiggling around like that and we’ll both end up dunked headfirst down in that bank of snow.”

“I’m stopping. Jeez.”

Tightening his hold on her, he pulled her into his arms. His hand automatically curved beneath her butt. He waited for her to smack him and was relieved when she limited her response to a slight narrowing of her eyes. “I’m going to lower you to the ground. It isn’t much of a drop.”

Nibbling the corner of her lip, she nodded. He balanced himself by grasping a nearby branch before swinging Lilly toward the thick snow at the base of the tree. She let go of him and leapt the few feet to safety, landing on her side. Pushing away from the spruce’s trunk, he dropped down beside her. He reached to give her a hand up, but when she started to stand, she winced and hobbled onto one foot.