Shepherd's Moon (5 page)

“That’s one of their subsidiaries.” He tapped his foot, a sure sign he was growing bored with the conversation. I was obviously keeping him from something. “But they work with everything from biotechnology to publication of trade magazines.”

“Biotechnology, huh?” I frowned. “They do any animal testing?”

“It’s scientific research, Alex.” He signed off on the file and placed it atop a growing stack of papers. “That would be a logical conclusion to draw.”

I grunted my disapproval, making my feelings as obvious as I could make them. “And which area did she work in?”

Richard raised his hand, warning me against my predictable tangent on the evils of testing on animals. “Don’t start, Alexandra. She’s a scientist. I suspect she has delved into the evils of animal testing at some point in her career.”

I shrugged. “Fine. I just hope this
unusual cat
wasn’t one of her prior subjects.”

My casual comment seemed to catch his attention, but he dismissed whatever he was thinking with a shake of his head.

“Is this something I need to mention to the Council?” The last thing I needed was to jeopardize my standing in the Council. Again.

It represents the only real law that a preternatural, or a Shepherd, is held accountable too. Each continent has a specific number of Shepherds delegated to a region. North America has a total of five Shepherds, including myself. For the most part, the states are split up equitably. South America has two Shepherds, but in my opinion, could use a few more. Africa is our most densely populated region with twelve Shepherds and Europe is a close second. Once a year, we all get together for a weeklong working conference. And each week, the North American Shepherds have a virtual meeting to update one another on the events of our territory. It’s one way I stay grounded in a very demanding position with a lot of responsibility.

“I don’t think that’s necessary yet.” Richard glanced at the calendar on the desk, tracing his finger along the large blotter. “When’s your next meeting?”

“Friday.”

He moved a pile of paper to the side and marked the date on the large desktop calendar with a cross.

“You can tell them if you feel it’s applicable. It’s not like they won’t find out anyway.” Now, he set his pen down and stared at me, “what time shall I tell Meg you’ll be arriving this evening?”

I opened my phone and searched the calendar, pretending to be much busier than I was. It was a ploy that had worked well for me in the past. “Seven o’clock, I guess. I have to run a few errands first. I set the phone on his desk, wincing against the sudden movement as my shoulder seized with pain.”

He lifted his eyebrows. “How
is
the arm?”

“Sore,” I admitted. “But Bren gave me an injection last night.” While vampires are some of the most toxic creatures in the world, their white blood cells have healing abilities that could only be described as miraculous. The downside is that the same blood is heavily trafficked as a street drug.

And vampires don’t like to share.

“I’ll bet he loved that.” Amusement creased the corners of his eyes and he pressed a key on the computer to print out a map to my next unwanted assignment. “Just remember how dangerous that is, though. Tougher people than you have gotten hooked on that junk.”

“I’m a Shepherd, Richard. I’m immune.” He knew as well as I did that we had a much higher tolerance for the injections.

“No one’s immune. It’s always a risk — although I will admit in your case, it’s a smaller risk.” He pulled the map from the printer and held it out to me. “Speaking of Bren, are the two of you getting along any better?”

Bren is the only vampire who lives with us at the house. As he is the twin brother of my alpha werewolf, Brock, we make an effort. As far as I’m concerned, the only real benefit of having him around is his healing blood. While their saliva is straight toxin, the plasma from their blood holds healing properties that exceed those of even a shifter. Besides, shifters aren’t able to heal the effects of a bite from a vampire. So, while I don’t particularly like the guy, he does have his uses.

He gets his revenge on me by making the pack miserable every chance he gets.

“You have no idea,” I smiled, rolling my eyes and taking the map from him.

Richard nodded, taking in my underlying meaning. “You’ll be alone when you go to Meg’s tonight, correct?”

“Would it make a difference?” I asked, suspiciously.

He shrugged, feigning indifference, but I could sense something was up. “It’s a domestic cat, Alex. Name one member of your pack that isn’t a natural predator.”

“They’re with me to become socialized, Richard.” An impatient sigh escaped me. But even I had to admit that even our jaguars wouldn’t turn down a meal of domestic cat if it were handed to them. Hell, at this point I was lucky to keep them away from Billy. They were getting better, but you can’t domesticate an animal overnight, and while Weres tend to get along with others better than most, it’s always questionable how long the fragile peace will hold.

I grumbled, pushing my hair away from my forehead and sighing in resignation. “Fine. I’ll go alone. But she’d better have some food there for me.”

Actually, the timing was perfect since it was Billy’s turn to cook tonight. Truth be told, I wasn’t confident I could stomach another of his experiments; but Richard didn’t need to know that. At least this would give me a reason to grab a burger on the way over to the house without insulting him. One day, I really needed to take some time and teach that boy how to cook a decent meal.

“Oh, if I know Meg, you can count on that.” He glanced up at me. “Just be nice. She’s old, she’s worried and she’s a good friend of mine.”

“I’m always nice, Richard. Look at all the free hours you get from me while I’m handling your little side projects.”

He passed by my chair and opened the door of his office, clearly my cue to leave. “For starters, I don’t have a 45,000 square foot home to live in while I save the world. Second of all, you’re the only one who can do what you do.”

“Ah, yes,” I said. “My great claim to fame is being the world’s only female Were Whisperer.”

“We all have our purpose, Alex. You just happen to have a slightly more unusual purpose.” He circled around the desk, placing a hand on the small of my back as he all but pushed me out of the door. “Say hello to Meg for me.”

“This had better be worth my while,” I mumbled, taking the hint.

He leaned against the doorframe as I moved past him, crossing his arms over his chest. “I have no doubt it will exceed your expectations.”

I dug in my heels, turning to face him. Richard was up to something; I could feel it in my bones. “What do you mean by that?”

He shrugged. “I’ve seen the cat around, and I think that you’ll find him…interesting. Besides, I thought you liked cats.”

“I do like cats. I like
big
cats. You know, lions and tigers and jaguars. Those kinds of cats.”

“Well, you shouldn’t have any problems with this one.”

He began pushing the door closed behind me, then abruptly opened it before I could move away. “By the way, we’ve got a new guy working with the department. His name is Tristan. Try to avoid him, but if you do run across him in your travels, try to be a little more charming than usual. With luck, he won’t be here for long.”

Richard ran the entire Special Investigations unit of the Phoenix PD, and I had worked with him a long time. If he was warning me away from someone, he meant it.

“Contrary to popular belief, I’m generally a pretty charming person, Richard. Why would you automatically assume that I would piss him off?” I hesitated, cocking my head suspiciously. “And why are you telling me about a new hire?”

He waved his hand and returned to sit at his desk. “Don’t worry about it. You may not even meet him. Just be polite if you do happen to cross paths.”

I didn’t like the sound of that. “Why would I avoid him, then?”

“I’ve just got a feeling the two of you won’t get along well. And from what I’ve seen, he has a quick temper.”

But from the sound of his voice, he was quite sure. The secrecy bothered me, but I left it alone. No point in worrying about something that hadn’t happened yet. Besides, Billy was the only fulltime detective for this specially formed department, and served as my officially appointed chaperone when I was out and about on government jobs. Chances were good I wouldn’t even run into the other guy.

Richard nodded towards the door.

“Okay, okay. I’m going.” I stepped onto the busy floor of cubicles and the chaos of ringing phones as irate people screamed at one another.

Time to go visit Richard’s mysterious cat…

I stared into the cat’s bright blue eyes. Its magnificent white fur was tipped in soft brown making his slightly matted fur look like someone had dipped him in coffee. Yet, his startling eyes reflected intelligence and a strong spirit.

Meg had chosen to sit in the flowered armchair furthest away from us both, nearest the door as if she were planning the fastest escape route from me. The elderly woman wrung her hands nervously.

“Do you really think you can help him?” She asked. Her anxious eyes swept over my face in search of hope, but reflected only doubt.

“Maybe…” I nodded cautiously. Animals, especially cats, are unpredictable at best and I hated making even a slight commitment. “I’ll need some time with him, though. It may take more than one visit.”

“I can pay…” Meg watched me carefully. She was no fool, but when it came to her cat, she could be. What’s worse is that I knew she would be.
What is it with old women and cats?

This silver-haired, obviously skeptical, but still overly trusting grandmother had a good heart and I had no intention of taking the money she so obviously needed. In fact, her comment was borderline offensive and although I was fairly confident that she hadn’t planned on offending me, the words still hung in the air between us.

“Actually, Richard will get my bill,” I said stiffly.

There are plenty of con artists in the world and with a skill bordering that fine line between the metaphysical and scientific theory, there are more cons than normal. Most of the people in this line of work call themselves psychics, animal whisperers, communicators, readers—the title doesn’t matter. They say a few words for the animal, twist a supposedly enchanted crystal in front of them, and put on a dramatic performance for the sole purpose of setting the owners mind at ease, which wouldn’t be so bad if they didn’t drain them of cash while they did it. Scam artists had roamed the world as long as legitimately gifted people had.

Fortunately for Meg and her cat, I was one of the latter.

She nodded, as close to an apology as I would get from her. “Do you mind if I ask… Well, you see — I am, or more accurately I once was, a scientist.”

I hesitated. The one thing I didn’t like talking about was my ability with strangers. But the intense curiosity in her eyes steadied me, made me feel a little more at ease.

“I was born with an ability.”

“And if you don’t mind my asking, how far does this ability extend?”

“I pick up on the feelings of animals,” I said, beginning to feel uncomfortable. Picking up on the feelings of animals is the super short version of what I do. If people really knew how far my ability extends, most would run screaming from the room.

It was obvious she wanted to ask more questions, but to her credit, she picked up on my obvious unwillingness to divulge additional information.

I couldn’t really fault her for being curious. My abilities are just too difficult to explain. For too many years, I didn’t believe in them myself. My talents dated back to my birth, or at least as far back as I could remember. By the age of six, I’d realized that I understood animals a hell of a lot better than I understood people. It was a quality that most of my former foster families had little appreciation for, and that — more than anything — is what initiated my cycle of running away. But, it never took long before I was found and placed in yet another home. Authorities tend to search a lot harder for the young, cute kids. By the time kids reach the age of ten, it’s not as important to find them. Luckily, Brock had found me wandering the street within a few weeks of my final disappearing act and took me home to his Shepherd, Joseph and his wife, Isabo. Eventually, they became my adoptive parents.

Isabo taught me to be a lady. Joseph taught me to shoot. The pack, well — the pack taught me more about family than I ever knew. But both Isabo and Joseph were gone now. It was up to me to carry on their life mission.

Shaking their memories from my thoughts, I steeled myself and returned my focus to the graceful feline lying on the floor in front of me. His tail moved back and forth through the air like a metronome and I allowed myself to slip into a meditative state to touch his thoughts.

Before I could prepare myself, colorful images rolled over me in an uncontrolled, chaotic rush.

Brush rustles and birds swoop to the sky with loud, whooshing sounds. I know they will see them, but I continue to run across the uneven earth. Weaving easily around the larger bushes, I use the last of my energy to jump the smaller ones, thinking only of escape. Always of escape. I know that each movement in the dried grass gives my location to my pursuers, but I don’t care. Running, always running. Leaping over a puddle of water left from the rain the evening before, I navigate the darkness and push forward instinctively. The air holds the scent of sage, amplified a thousand times by the rain, but it is barely a thought as I run.