Shepherd's Moon (26 page)

“Try to keep up, kitty.” Billy smirked, grabbing an apple from the bowl on the table and taking a sharp bite.

“That’s enough.” I shot him a warning glance.

I could have stormed the cat’s mind to see what he really wanted to do, but I needed to be firing on all cylinders tonight. A migraine wasn’t in the game plan. Instead, I took his silence as a clue he wanted to sit in on the meeting and pulled out the chair closest to me, motioning for him take a seat.

Billy moved away from the timid cat and took a seat on the sofa, followed by Jace. Brock pushed a series of buttons on the cabinet, which lowered a nearly transparent, six foot screen from the ceiling. On my desk, I would be able to control the images that appeared like magic in the center of the conference table. Instead, I moved aside and allowed Brock to take the lead while I moved closer to the screen.

“The short version is that we have two cougars near the campus that need to be trapped and brought in. Then we need to find out where they came from and get them relocated somewhere safe. But first we have to catch them.”

Brock typed in a string of characters on the keyboard to bring up a holographic image of the campus in the form of 3D topographic map. “This is where we’ll be tonight. I think we can corner them here or here.” He pointed to an area on the back nine where a large water hazard was waiting to consume the golf balls of frustrated tourists. At this time of year, the course would be packed — as our cool weather attracted snowbirds the world over.

“What, no ‘X’ marks the spot?”

Taking a moment to shoot Billy an icy glare, I rotated through the images, examining the satellite feeds before zooming to an empty field behind the college’s recreation center. “What about here?”

“Too crowded,” Brock said quickly. “Unless you want to lose a few students in the trapping process — evening classes start at six and end at nine. Afterwards, several groups head to the gym.”

Hell, we didn’t even know if the cats were still on campus, let alone which area they were setting up shop. I pushed the hair out of my eyes then twirled it around my hand, wrapping it into a thick ponytail as I studied the map.

“All right. The golf course will work. Near as I can tell, this is the safest place to shift.”

“Who’re we taking along?” Billy mumbled, his mouth full of apple.

I considered the question. After the cats were trapped, I could probably keep them calm by storming their minds and explaining what was happening psychically, but
getting
them trapped was a different game. If I were more experienced, like Victor or any of the other Shepherds, I could rely more heavily on my ability to control the animals. But in a time of stress or panic as a novice, I would be a fool to rely solely on my limited skills. More importantly, I had to avoid getting killed while I tried to explain things—and that meant I wouldn’t have much time to make a connection before they attacked.

No one else we knew was local. It would take Victor and Caleb at least a day to get here. Richard wouldn’t be much more help than someone we picked up off the street, and would ultimately become more of a liability than anything else.

I could call Tristan. But, the thought of working with the Nephilim made my skin crawl. I shuddered involuntarily. Despite my initial revulsion, I knew that I would do whatever I had too to keep my pack safe. If that meant dealing with Tristan, I would do it. He had managed to stay alive for a lot of years while working with creatures of the night.

But, I hoped another solution came along before I had to make that call…

“I would like to help.” Daniel’s thoughts rushed through my mind. A glance around the rest of the table verified that he communicated only with me, not to the group.

I stared at the young cat. He seemed to have adjusted well enough to the pack during the day. Being a chimera meant I wouldn’t have to worry about a potential injury as much as I would with the others, and the team seemed to have taken to him well enough. He was obviously trustworthy enough to allow into public after so many months living with Meg, and it may make him feel a little more involved with the pack to be a part of a hunt.

And most importantly, I wouldn’t be forced to call Tristan.

Leaning towards him, I gently searched his mind and discovered he was more fearful of being accepted than of helping us track a feral or two. His motives were sincere and that’s all I needed to know.

“You sure?” I asked out loud.

At a nod from him, I announced it to the team. “Okay. We’re taking Daniel. Billy, you’ll run backup for me and Daniel. Brock and his team can handle the perimeter and logistics.”

“No way,” Billy immediately retorted, snorting loudly. “You’re not taking an amateur in there. Those are big cats, Alex. Killers. They’ll tear him to pieces.”

“You didn’t.” I reminded him.

“I’m a coyote — we have a little more control over our predatory instinct.” He growled low at Brock who stifled a laugh. But, then he appeared to consider the idea, rubbing his chin. “A domestic, on the other hand,
would
make pretty good bait.”

I shot him a very clear
be quiet or get out
look before answering. “He won’t be bait. He’ll work with me. And that’s only if he really wants to help.”

We all glanced at the nervous shifter sitting next to me, his blue eyes taking in the new surroundings. I turned to face him, wondering what it was about this man that allowed me to trust him so completely. Had any other shifter wandered in off the street, he wouldn’t be sitting in my home with the pack I was sworn to protect with my life.

Instead, the trespasser would be sitting in a makeshift cell in the cellar until I knew every detail of his life.

Yet, here we are.

“Daniel, you haven’t been trained, you’ve never worked with us, and these are two very dangerous cats. Are you sure about this?”

He gave a brisk nod.

“See?” I inhaled sharply, then pushed away from the table. “He’ll be fine.”

Brock lightly reached for my arm. “I’m not sure this is a good idea, Alex.”

“It’ll be fine. Billy will show him the ropes.” Billy stood off to one side, his arms crossed, and a look of disapproval on his face.

“Tell me, Alex. If Billy’s playing backup, Daniel’s on traps and I’m running perimeter, who will be playing bait?” Brock did his best to hide his concern, but I could see it in his eyes. He didn’t like my sudden trust any more than I did.

“Me. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time.” Before he could protest, I held up a hand. “We’re running short on time, so we’d best get a move on. Billy, take Daniel downstairs and show him the holding area. Give him a rundown on how to operate the traps and the cages.”

“You’re really serious about this?” Billy asked. It was a statement more than a question. “You’re acting as bait…” He shook his head, frustration growing in his eyes. “You know, that doesn’t always work out well for the bait.”

“I’ll be fine. This isn’t my first rodeo.”

He shoved his chair back and turned to face Daniel, who remained surprisingly calm despite Billy’s sudden and potentially aggressive movement.

“Gently, Billy,” I warned.

Without looking back, he stormed off without waiting. Daniel stood, and I motioned for him to follow, doing my best to reassure him with my eyes. He trailed reluctantly behind Billy, who mumbled under his breath as he stormed down the hall. Watching them move away, I returned to the maps.

“Alex,” Brock said, lowering his voice and waiting until I made eye contact. “Just for the record, I don’t support this.”

“I know.” I nodded once. “It’ll be okay — Billy will take care of him.”

“That’s not what I was referring too.”

“He’ll take care of me too.”

He raised his eyebrows. “And who’s going to take care of Billy?”

“I was sort of counting on you for that,” I grinned.

But the truth was, I didn’t know how things would turn out this time. We had run this scenario a hundred times with a number of Weres, and I didn’t anticipate any problems, but then — that’s when problems jumped up and bit you in the ass…

By the time we all piled into the black SUV and an old, canvas-covered surplus Army truck, it was nearing nine o’clock. The truck belonged to Jace’s boyfriend Zack, a hawk-shifter who lived further North. His job as a bartender meant he could rarely accompany us on these hunting trips, but the use of his truck was assistance enough.

Jace and Aida stayed behind at the house — they were pacifists for the most part and neither enjoyed these little forays. On the rare occasion they did accompany us, Jace spent most of the time whining about the great outdoors, while Aida cowered, refusing to leave the car.

At least Jace had the advantage of being an herbivore. For Aida, the problem was much more complex. A carnivorous animal that refused to hunt had been problematic for Aida on more than one occasion. She had never fully embraced her inner wolf — probably never would. When she was forced to shift each month, she made sure she did it alone and on a full stomach. If I didn’t force her to take a run with the boys, she would spend her time locked in the basement, chained to a wall.

During her time with us, she’d gotten better. She rarely complained about sleeping on the ground, or trying to keep up with the pack. But, she still wouldn’t hunt and the fear of injuring someone was foremost in her mind. It was a problem we were still dealing with…

But it wasn’t tonight’s problem.

Tonight’s problem was two mountain lions that needed to be captured and contained. At least, we hoped they were mountain lions.

If we learned that the cats were Weres, they would be the first addition of native Arizona cougars to our pack, and that possibility was thrilling, despite the work I knew it would entail. First we had to safely trap them, though. I sorted through my limited knowledge of cougars. I knew they could jump 40 feet from a standstill and clear 15 vertical feet without much effort, and obviously those two facts would make the pair a little more difficult to corner.

One cat would be difficult. Two may be damned near impossible.

Nose to tail, the cats would be an easy eight feet and weigh in at over 250 pounds.

In terms of size, these cats were nearly the equivalent of a jaguar, which could be another problem if we had to bring them in our home for any longer than a few days. The holding cages were designed for temporary stays, not long-term confinement. The longest we had ever kept any animal caged was a week.

And then there was the added problem of trapping them without getting killed in the process. If I didn’t gain immediate control, we would have a problem.

“They favor heights when they feel threatened or are hunting, so keep an eye on any higher vantage points.”

Brock rolled his eyes at my words. “Great. More tree cats.”

A smile touched my lips. Tau and Pasha had a tendency to pick on him more than the rest of the pack, usually pouncing on him as he walked through the living room or backyard from one of the higher perches they favored.

“They’re fast, too,” I continued. “They can run down their prey at 40 miles an hour — and that’s when they’re not just stalking it from overhead.”

Jace had good reason to stay behind on this hunt. Mountain lions favored horsemeat and would often hunt the animals by standing on cliffs, then pouncing on the backs of mustangs passing below them. It was another reason horses hated to be saddled.

An elaborate plan was not needed for this assignment. To trap an animal, you needed bait. Since these big cats were menacing the student body, I had the best chance of being successful in luring them out. Billy and Brock would then run one of the animals into the trap, distracting the other long enough for me to storm its mind. The other would hopefully be forced into the trap, which Daniel would have ready and waiting. If that was unsuccessful, it only left a single cat for the boys to wrestle into submission.

Of course, there were more than a few problems with this plan and the biggest was that it assumed my ability to control at least one of the cats. Failing all, Billy would have the dart gun, which was really just more of a modified pistol. The darts made the gun even less accurate, but at close range, that wouldn’t matter as much. It would take a hell of a lot more juice to completely bring down a cougar.

Cats of all species are notorious for their inability to process medication properly. Even the genetic makeup of a domestic cat is unique, and they tend to either process medication too fast — which could cause organ failure, or not process it as planned — which could prove fatal to my team.

We needed to do our best not to use the guns at all.

Billy made a sharp turn over the bridge and headed down Mill Avenue to enter the campus. The lights from the bridge danced above us and the area was bustling with cars and people; traffic was forced to a crawl, and we watched people move along the street — students taking advantage of the cool weather to drink with friends and a few overachievers drinking coffee and studying. I could only hope that everyone would stay on this side of town.

“You could have probably avoided this road,” I said. Nothing like cruising Mill Avenue with two lion cages in the back of your Army truck to draw some attention. I shifted in the seat shooting a cold glare at Billy. He was obviously still annoyed at having to spend the evening hunting with Daniel, and while I can’t say I blamed him — enough was enough. His attitude was reminiscent of a two-year-old, and I had plenty of other things to deal with and tonight, my patience was waning.