Howling Moon Read online

  Raphael stirred sugar into his coffee and took a sip, trying to clear the remaining fog from his thoughts. A rooster crowed in the distance. It was incredibly loud to his ears, reminding him all the more strongly that the full moon was just behind the rising sun, waiting to pull the animal out from inside him—and from inside her.

  There was no time to lose. He had to find her and isolate her from the humans before the moon rose and pulled the beast from her body.

  He glanced at his watch as he reached for the portable phone next to his coffee mug. The sultry scent of the dark roast helped him relax and think in cop mode again.

  The phone rang twice before he heard his son’s familiar voice “Ramirez.”

  “Raven. It’s me.”

  “Oh, hi, Dad! It’s good—”

  “Raven. Beta Six.” Raphael disconnected the phone and set it down, feeling his heart pounding and adrenaline racing for the first time in a very long while. He tried to imagine what his son would do next. Beta Six was an internal agent code that was the equivalent of trust no one. If Raven understood the code, he should know not to contact anyone in charge—there was a breach of security, and everyone was suspect. Even his own father.

  Raphael didn’t wait for the phone to ring again. Even understanding the code, it would take awhile for Raven to verify that his father had indeed called him on his own cell phone. He would probably also check to see that the triangulation of the signal was Boulder, Colorado, and that he had not left the area by any traceable transportation before the call was placed.

  There was plenty of time to get started on gathering what was needed to track a rogue feral.

  Raphael was still a very young shifter, by Sazi standards, but since leaving Wolven, he’d been feeling old, out of shape. As an alpha male, he would probably live until he was two or three hundred, but there was no substitute for daily training and regular field work, and he’d had neither of those things.

  When his handguns were scattered across his desk, the sets of chairs, and rags spread out over the floor, he stopped to take stock. A rifle would be better, or even a shotgun, but all of his long guns were in the safe at his pack office at the school. If he went to get them someone was bound to see and ask the questions Raphael wouldn’t be able to answer. Besides, handgun fire was much easier to muffle or “bend” using his magic so humans didn’t notice it.

  Checking his ammo cans determined his choice of weapons. He only had silver ammunition for the Ruger Blackhawk and the 9mm Colt. There was more ammo for the Ruger, so that would be his first choice. But the Colt would be handy to have along, too—just in case.

  He checked the fit of the Kevlar vest. He’d bought it on impulse over the Internet. Tonight he wouldn’t be facing gunfire, but the Kevlar might stop jaguar claws briefly, if he was lucky. He was making adjustments for comfort when the phone rang.

  It rang a second time before he made it back to the kitchen. “Ramirez.”

  “Okay, Dad. What in the hell was so important that you had to use a thirty-year-old code to drag me out of the office? I had to buy a brand-new phone to call you!”

  “What do you know so far?”

  Raven sighed. “I know I had to dig through piles of paperwork before I could even find what Beta Six meant. Then I checked your position, and the phone’s position, and did a satellite track. Then I made an excuse to leave the office, bought a phone, and called Granddad.”

  Raphael cursed under his breath. He should have expected that—he would have done the same damn thing. “He told you what the situation is?”

  “He didn’t tell me a frigging thing. He just said, ‘Yes, your father called. Call him back,’ and hung up. Big help there.”

  Raphael nodded even though he knew Raven couldn’t see it. “I need whatever information you have on Jack’s latest get. Background, aunt’s address, the car she drives, license plate—everything.” A long pause made him ask, “Raven? Did you get that?”

  His son’s voice sounded strange when he responded. “Yeah, I got it. But Jack’s last confirmed attack was nearly a decade ago. Why would you need it?”

  Raphael nearly dropped the phone. How could Wolven not know about this? They checked into every animal attack in the world, regardless of what the papers reported. Was that why Charles had called him? Didn’t he want the rest of the council to know? If not, why not?

  “Dad? Talk to me. What’s going on over there?”

  “Shit.” He ran his fingers through his hair again. “Are you sure you’re on a secure line?”

  A pause. “As secure as I can make it in the middle of Paris.”

  He blew out a slow breath and sat down. Then he proceeded to tell Raven about the call from Charles and what he had been asked to do. He concluded with, “So, do you have any information, or can you get any information?”

  “Jesus, Dad! Just drop a nuclear bomb in my lap. This is the absolute first I’ve ever heard this. I know about the Turner woman, but no hint of Jack’s involvement ever reached Wolven. There were multiple witnesses to the event. Her parents were killed by a wild animal, all right. But all parties agreed that it was a cougar attack. Hell, someone got a photo as it was running off, according to what I heard! Councilman Monier personally checked with all of the cougar shifters and verified their whereabouts, so it was shunted into the wild animal files. Are you certain our spotted friend was involved?”

  Raphael took another sip of his now-cold coffee. Bright sunshine was bouncing off the copper bottoms of the pans over the stove. He had to shift his chair to turn his sensitive eyes away. “I’m not sure of a damned thing right now. I can’t imagine why Charles would lie. He seemed shaken when we talked—almost afraid. He said that someone had been blocking his ability to see the future, so he hadn’t been able to stop the attack.”

  “Good God! If you’re right about this…but why wouldn’t Charles tell Lucas, Fiona, or one of the council? Why you?”

  “He asked for a personal favor. I’m hardly in a position to refuse. After all, it’s only thanks to him that I’m still alive right now.” Raphael’s chuckle had bitter overtones. This situation meant he was going to have to once again face the very thing that had nearly caused his death; the very same mistake that had made Jack Simpson his mortal enemy years ago.

  “Right.” Raven paused. “So, what do you need me to do?”

  Chapter Two

  CATHERINE SHUT DOWN the laptop she’d borrowed from her aunt and slid it back into the leather carrying case. She’d finally managed to fall asleep at 4:00 A.M., only to sit bolt upright, heart pounding in terror, less than an hour later from a nightmare reenactment of the animal attack that had killed her parents. So she’d tried to distract herself with business. It had worked. It was now 9:00 A.M. and she was wide awake. Unfortunately, she also had a whole laundry list of problems that needed to be taken care of.

  She stood and stretched until she heard the soft pop of vertebrae sliding into place, then bent to touch her palms to the floor. Stretching out always seemed to ease the muscles stiffened by sitting too long in one position at the computer keyboard. Funny how things changed: when she’d been in her late teens and early twenties the last thing she would’ve imagined herself doing was working with computers. That was her father’s bailiwick. He’d earned his fortune the hard way, coming up from nothing to become the “Bill Gates of computer hardware.” She’d simply enjoyed the fruits of his wealth and status as a local celebrity. She’d become a notorious “party girl.”

  But while her former friends never seemed to tire of the party circuit, she’d grown bored. She had gone away to college without regret, worked hard for her degrees, and settled down. When Brad had proposed after graduate school, she’d gladly accepted.

  Cat winced. Thinking about Brad would tense back up the muscles she’d just loosened. There had been e-mails from him today, the first in a very long while. Probably condolences, but she’d deliberately skipped over them. What would it prove, or solve? He’d been horrifie
d to find out from the local press that his future mother-in-law was not a well-heeled, southern socialite, but rather a former high-end call girl. He’d dumped Cat before the ink was even dry on the newspapers.

  “Asshole.” She said it to her reflection in the vanity mirror and fought down a wave of anger and pain. She’d loved him so damned much and thought he loved her. Maybe he even had. More likely, he’d loved the notion of being married to a beautiful blonde who just happened to be the only heir to the Turner Computer Industries fortune.

  Was everyone this cynical when they closed in on their thirtieth birthday? She hoped not.

  “Aunt Violet, can I borrow the car?” Cat called downstairs to her aunt. She had deliberately waited until Violet had been happily writing for an hour or so before she interrupted to ask the favor—time enough for Violet to get over her irritation of yesterday.

  Cat sighed. She hadn’t meant to cause a problem. But yesterday morning she’d woken up craving meat. So she’d borrowed her aunt’s car before Violet awoke, and escaped the stifling confines of the organic, vegan household her aunt maintained. She’d found herself at Jake’s Burger Joint, a local restaurant just a few miles down the road. The infusion of steak, eggs, bacon, and strong black coffee had been a welcome relief from oatmeal and herbal tea. Cat had enjoyed the lively discussion about video games she’d gotten into with Holly Sanchez, her waitress, almost as much as the food itself. She’d like nothing more than to go back, but she was a guest in her aunt’s home and didn’t want to risk a repeat of the argument she’d had with Violet on her return.

  Cat would love to go again today and continue her debate with Holly Sanchez, the friendly waitress she’d met, about the relative merits of different video games. But she was a guest in her aunt’s home and didn’t want to upset her.

  Fortunately, Violet was always happiest when in the throes of writing one of her romance novels, her imagination taking her away from the humdrum of daily existence. She loved her career, and it showed in the framed copies of book covers on the wall, each bearing her aunt’s name in bold pink letters. Two hours was probably adequate time for Violet’s normal good humor to reassert itself.

  “Why? What did you have in mind?” Violet shouted back. Her voice was warm and anticipatory. Cat felt a pang of guilt. She didn’t like deceiving her aunt, but Violet would bristle at the notion of eating out.

  “I need to do some shopping.” It was the absolute truth, as far as it went.

  “Really?” Violet sounded surprised, and more than a little pleased. Cat supposed it was natural. After all, her first week at Violet’s house had been spent alternately sleeping or crying in her bed, and the second week she wandered around like a zombie. Today was the first time she’d felt close to normal since her parents died.

  They were dead. She was beginning to accept that fact. It seemed like forever, and at the same time as if it had just been yesterday. It made it worse that Violet wanted to talk endlessly about them. Cat just couldn’t.

  Therapy would probably help. But therapy was a long-term process, and she didn’t want to stay in Boulder long-term. No, this was a stopgap, a short respite before she resumed her real life. Colorado wasn’t home for her. But there was no fiancé, no job, no life for her back in California, either. She couldn’t imagine going home to her parents’ house without them being there. Yet, it would be a good place to lose herself in business for a while. She knew she could run her father’s company given the chance. Unfortunately, none of the board members believed it.

  She’d followed her father’s advice and started a small game design company. The plan had been to show her business savvy by running a small enterprise before he moved her in to take over for him. They’d assumed it would be years before he decided to step down and retire. There was supposed to be plenty of time. Plenty of time to learn his business, and teach him hers.

  “Cat?” She blinked and realized that Violet had been speaking to her. Her aunt wore a hopeful smile. “I was wondering if you’d like a bit of company. We can make a regular day of it.” She looked her niece up and down critically. “You could use a few new things. Why don’t you change while I finish this chapter?” Catherine hid her disappointment well, agreeing to Violet’s plan with fake enthusiasm. So much for a meaty breakfast.

  Finishing a chapter always took longer than Violet thought it would, so Cat decided to take a quick shower and pull on some decent clothes.

  She walked into the bathroom, marveling at the fact that she’d lost even the last traces of a limp. There was no explanation for it. The doctors said she’d never walk properly again. The wild animal that had mauled her took most of the long muscle out of her thigh. It had been replaced with some muscle from her calf.

  In the shower, Cat rubbed her thigh. The stitches had fallen out that morning—small bits of black covering her foot and the floor like tiny spiders. The skin was pink and shiny and new, soft to the touch. There was no pain when she pushed on the muscle.

  Cat was thrilled, but also frightened. There was no reason for her to be healing this quickly. It wasn’t normal. She couldn’t find any information on the Internet about rapid healing in humans—except, of course, on comic book Web sites about mutants. And Cat wasn’t a mutant, or a comic book heroine.

  So how was she almost entirely healed from the attack by a vicious cat that had left her parents dead?

  After her shower, she opened the dresser drawers and began rummaging irritably through the contents searching for something to wear. Nothing appealed to her. The garments all seemed so bland, and they positively reeked of fabric softener.

  The logical part of her realized her reaction made no sense. Just yesterday she’d been perfectly happy to wear anything in the drawers. Not today. Today they felt all wrong.

  Finally, at the bottom of her underwear drawer she found what she was looking for, a sleek black bodysuit she’d used in a dance class years ago. She pulled it on, then went to the closet. Near the back she found a blood-red silk blouse that had belonged to her mother but had somehow ended up among Cat’s things. Although Janet and Cat had been blessed with the same cool blonde looks and dancer’s figures, they’d had wildly different tastes in clothing. Janet had preferred silk and rich, jewel tones, while her daughter dressed almost exclusively in pastels and denim. Still, the red seemed just right for today. She pulled it on, leaving it unbuttoned to fall around her hips. Black flats and a bit of makeup almost completed the look.

  Cat examined her reflection in the mirror. It needed something. Maybe jewelry. She reached into her jewelry box to retrieve her silver earrings and bracelets, only to hiss in pain and drop the hoops on the floor. Her fingers turned red and puffy with what looked like burn blisters—but they disappeared as she watched, healing as fast as they’d appeared.

  Rich, rolling laughter filled her ears, and she looked around frantically for the source, even knowing nobody would be there. No physical body, that is.

  Really, kitten, you know better! Silver? Besides, gold is better for your coloring. But yes, I like the outfit…quite a lot. Very, very nice. You have a magnificent figure. You should definitely show it off.

  “Shut up!” Cat slammed her hands against her ears and then down on the bureau top. She struggled to get back control of her mind from the dark voice—and prayed that Violet hadn’t heard.

  “Catherine, what was that noise? Are you ready to go?”

  Taking a deep breath, she felt the voice recede with a final, creepy chuckle.

  “I’ll be right down,” she called to Violet, and then slumped against the wall. A few deep breaths cleared her head.

  Why should she know better? Why did the silver burn her fingers? There was no time to dwell on it, and she definitely didn’t want her aunt to come upstairs. So she grabbed a pair of gold hoops from the jewelry case, careful to avoid the tangle of silver jewelry, and slid them into her ears.

  She pounded down the stairs to join Violet at the front door, forgetting to hide her lack
of a limp. There was no way to hide the fact that her leg wasn’t bandaged, either—the body stocking showed every muscle and curve.

  It almost amused Cat to see her aunt take a long look at her appearance and swallow, hard. “But…you’re not even limping! How…when—” She stopped speaking and just stared for a long moment. “I think we should call the doctor.”

  “No.” Cat realized her voice sounded cold, and she didn’t know why. Nor did she care. “I do not want to be poked and prodded like some damned lab rat. We’re calling it a miracle and leaving it at that.”

  She watched her aunt absorb the words. For a moment, it looked like Violet would argue, but apparently she thought the better of it. Good, thought Cat, because I’m not giving in on this. She decided to change the subject: “I’m ready to go now.”

  Another long stare, this time at her clothes. “That’s a different look for you.”

  “Yes. It is.” She waited for her aunt to pass judgment, but the older woman swallowed audibly and held her tongue. Instead, she smiled with false brightness and said, “So, would you rather go to the factory shops or to Cherry Creek?”

  Cat raised an eyebrow at the offer. Violet didn’t leave Boulder very often to drive down either to Denver or to the Silverthorne outlet stores. Apparently her aunt really did intend to make a day of it. The Cherry Creek Shopping Center in Denver was situated in an enclave surrounded by elegant and expensive little shops, while the mall itself had a number of the larger high-fashion chains and jewelry stores.

  “You pick.” She was fairly certain she knew what her aunt’s choice would be. Along with all the boutiques, there was a major independent bookstore across from the mall in Denver. Violet could never resist a bookstore. She might be loathe to admit it, but she always made a point of checking with the manager to see how well her books were selling, and offering to sign some of the stock. Business, after all, was business. And business was obviously booming.