Shifter (5 page)

My escape attempts have been futile. That first night I tried to sneak out the door when her sister arrived with her kids, but the oldest boy grabbed me. I got stuck in her basement once, after sneaking down there when she left the door open, thinking it would have a way out. There wasn’t an exit. I had to meow at the door for an hour before she came looking for me.

She laughed at the sight of me, then said, “I bet you won’t go down there again, will you?”

The situation wasn’t at all funny.

I haven’t resigned myself to this place, but for now, I’ll have to make do. Without my powers or any way of contacting my family, I’m stuck.

On the plus side, I’ve gotten to know the woman who has temporarily adopted me. Her name is Abigail Sinclair. She works from home, which means she is always here. And I mean always. That is another reason why my escape attempts have failed. I can’t make a move toward the front door without her noticing. It’s annoying because I never have any peace from her.

Okay, truth be told, the woman isn’t all that bad, and she really is quite beautiful. She’s actually funny, something I would have never guessed, considering she seemed so quiet when I first met her. Her loneliness makes her a nuisance to me. I guess she is annoying to Sebastian, but since he can’t speak, not even telepathically, I don’t really know.

Yes, I’ve tried to have a conversation with the cat. Abby isn’t the only one lonely and in desperate need of a little companionship. Unfortunately, there is nothing special about Sebastian. I sound like a crazy person, I know. The truth is a small number animals, as well as humans, have some supernatural abilities. I’ve had conversations with dogs, wolves, deer, and even a few rabbits. I’ve had most of these conversations in my wolf form and mostly we’ve discussed food or exchanged safe places to roam away from humans. I’m not sure why certain of these otherwise mundane animals have these abilities, but they do.

My first vet appointment was two days ago. I have to get out of here before I have to go back. The entire visit was supposed to entail a bunch of shots, but she had to go and open her mouth about my antisocial behavior. Now they are insisting I take antidepressants. Antidepressants for cats, whoever heard of such a thing? Luckily for me, Abby isn’t keen on the idea. She promised Dr. Smith that she would watch me for another month or so to see how I’m doing before she decides.

“It isn’t that I can’t afford the medicine for you, sweetie,” she told me when we got back to the house after that visit. “I’m not sure if I want you on any needless medications. I’m not a big fan of resorting to medications for every little thing. If you don’t get any better in a few months, I will consider giving them to you. Meanwhile, I want to do some research on your breed and the medications.”

She still hasn’t given me a name. She appears to feel awful that I have been here this long without one, but she can’t seem to find a name she likes. Katie, her niece, wants her to name me Sparkles, which I threw a visible fit over. The fit was embarrassing to throw, but I wanted her know how much I was against the name.

My reaction drew a puzzled look from Abby, and for a brief second, I almost thought she might have guessed my secret. Well, not my exact secret. But she seemed to almost touch on something close to the truth about me. She suspects that I understood what her niece said and didn’t approve. I saw understanding flicker in her eyes before logic squashed it. Granted, a part of me would love her to figure out my secret, just not in front of her family. To cover my actions, I quickly made out as if I saw a bug crawling across the kitchen floor and bounded in that direction. Another embarrassing move. Sometimes, I feel as if my feline side has a bigger hold on me than I know.

Her nephews, Maddox and James, on the other hand, want her to name me Ironman. Neither name seems to fit to her liking, thankfully.

The vet didn’t seem to think it was odd that she hadn’t named me, considering that she can’t officially adopt me for another five months. Dr. Smith said it was normal for her to be reluctant. I can tell it bothers her. She hated listing me under her last name at the vet. She said it made me seem like a non-person or to be more accurate, non-cat. I don’t mind it at all, especially not while in this cat form. If I had been in my dog or wolf form, I think I might have minded. Occasionally, I get a little distant and unemotional in this form, and her naming me seems unimportant.

I’m basically human, but when I’m in animal form for too long some of the mannerisms of the animal I’m pretending to be seep through. They have to in order for me to pull off a convincing change. This form seems to be doing this more than any of the others.

“I should name you, but I can’t think of anything that fits,” she says to me now, petting my head. I’m perched on the arm of the sofa near her desk. I don’t purr at her touch. I do flinch slightly to keep my body from nuzzling her hand. “Aw,” she coos at me and bends forward. Not paying attention to what she is about to do, I lean into her touch. I chide myself for doing this. I can’t believe I’m acting like an animal.

Her hands are soft, and I really want to purr. Wait, what is she doing? Is she kissing me for rubbing my head into her hand. Great. At least I hadn’t purred. There was no telling what she would have done if I had purred. Her lips are soft. Damn it. I have to stop thinking about such things. I’m a cat, and she isn’t my type. Okay, well, maybe she is. I never thought I had a type. I have dated too many different types of women to think I have a type, but maybe I have a preference, and her soft round body is exactly the type of body I want to caress and bury myself in on a daily basis. What? Wait. Why am I thinking about that now?

“Who could that be?” she says.

What now? What did I miss? Something must have happened while I was deep in thought. I stop moving, waiting, listening, then I hear it. Someone is knocking on the door. In all of the time I have been here, no one has knocked on her door in the middle of the day. Her sister has been the only one to ever come over, and she only comes in the afternoons when she has her kids.

Abby has friends. I’ve heard her talking to them on the phone or on Skype, and I think she has gone to meet up with them a time or two, but none of them have ever come here. No one ever comes here. The only delivery she has ever had was the pizza guy, and that had been on my first day here. She picks up most of her mail from the post office twice a week unless she gets a notice in her mailbox or on her front door of a large package that needs picking up, so not even the UPS people have been here. The only other thing delivered to the house mailbox is junk mail.

Curious, I leap off the arm of the sofa and follow her to the door.

“So you finally show some emotion,” she says, laughing and bending down to scoop me into her arms.

I think about pulling a typical cat move and leaping from her arms, but I want to know who is at the door. My Spidey-sense is tingling. And her boobs are awesome.

Chapter 5

~~~Abby~~~

I am a woman who lives alone, which means before I even place a hand on the doorknob, I look through the peephole to see who is on my doorstep. The person I see through the hole is a man. A man I don’t recognize. His appearance is slightly skewed by the tiny hole, but I can see he is a big man with a stern look. I slide the chain on the door, pull my cell phone from my pocket, and open the door as wide as it will go, which isn’t far because of the chain.

“Yes,” is all I am able to say. The man before me is big, not just tall but thick from head to toe. He doesn’t look like one of those creepy power lifter guys you see on sport channels all oiled up and posing for photos in their Speedos. He looks like a guy who spends all of his time outdoors cutting down trees with his bare hands. His hair is dark auburn and nearly shoulder length. His eyes are almost the same color as his hair, and he has a day’s growth of hair on his face. He is absolutely delectable.

I can’t bring myself to say anything else. I just look at him, becoming all too aware of my t-shirt and sweat pants, and thanking God I had put on a bra this morning, not that it mattered. A guy like him wouldn’t even contemplate looking at someone like me. That thought makes me even more self-conscious. I feel my face heat. In that moment, I hate every part of my body. I hate myself.

I had been beautiful once. I’m five six, and not too many years ago, I had the perfect body for my size. Now, all I can think about is how many pounds overweight I am. How before too much longer my stomach is going to stick out farther than my breasts. How I can see the beginning stages of a double chin. Yep, if he doesn’t leave soon I’m going to cry.

I hate men like him. Insanely gorgeous people like him keep me in the house. I don’t want to look at them, and they sure as hell don’t want to look at me.

He starts to open his mouth to say something, but before he can, my new cat leaps from my arms and right into his. My cat latches onto the man with all four sets of claws, clinging to him as if he has been living in hell for the last month and this man has come to save him.

“Son-of-a…” the man says, staggering backwards a step or two, looking down at his chest in horror.

“I’m so sorry.” I gape at his chest and the cat dangling from him for a second before jerking the chain off the latch, pulling the door wide, and reaching out to try to remove my cat.

“You aren’t allergic, are you?” I ask, trying to get the cat free without ripping the man’s shirt.

“No, but…” he starts, then cringes as my cat digs his claws in deeper. “I hope he has had all of his shots because I think he just drew blood.”

“Damn it. And yes, he has. Just stand still, and I will get him off.”

Carefully, I remove my cat’s claws from the man’s shirt and carry him back inside the house. I briefly contemplate sitting him down on the sofa or something, but then decide shutting him up in the bathroom would be better, safer, in case he decides to attack the man again.

“Give me one second to lock him up,” I say, taking my new cat to the bathroom and closing the door on him, not realizing that I’ve left the front door wide open. For a second, panic sweeps over me, but when I turn to see that the man is still standing in my doorway, I breathe a sigh relief.

My cat makes the most God-awful noise as I walk away from the bathroom, and for a second I feel guiltier than I should for locking him up, but I can’t have him attacking strangers. Someone will press charges. I know they put down dogs who attack people. I’m not sure about cats.

“I am sorry about that. We don’t get very many visitors, obviously. I haven’t had him for very long either. Someone left him on the doorstep of the shelter. I don’t know what his old life was like, but he just mopes around here all day.” Shit, I’m rambling to this poor man who probably really wants to leave my house. “So, what can I do for you?”

To my surprise he asks, “How old is he?”

“I’ve had him about a month, and the vet said he was about three months at the time I got him, so four months I guess.”

“Oh,” he says, sounding disappointed.

“Why, are you missing an animal?” I ask, fear clouding my voice. This man is going to be his master. I just know it. Is that why the cat—I really have to give him a name—reacted the way he did when I opened the door? I sigh, resigned to what is about to happen. I knew he was going to have to go sometime, but if this man wants him, he is going to have to go through the shelter, who I’m going to sue for giving out my personal information.

“No, not a pet. My brother is missing,” he says.

“I’m sorry. How can I help?” I ask in confusion. If he is missing his brother, why is he asking about my cat?

“We have witnesses who say he was last seen in this neighborhood. My other brother Darius, along with some friends of ours have been canvassing the area trying to see if anyone else has seen him.”

“Do you have a picture I can look at?” I ask, thinking seriously that I should invite him in instead of making him stand on my front porch and wondering what the hell has gotten into that cat. He sounds as if he is pacing my bathroom floor. If he digs his claws into anything or scratches the paint off my door, I’m gonna… I don’t know what I’m going to do at this moment; this gorgeous piece of ass in front of me keeps distracting me.

“Yeah. We are handing out flyers.” He hands me an eight and a half by eleven sheet of paper with a man’s picture, name, distinguishing marks, and a number on it. The man on the flyer is as sexy as his brother is, if not sexier. He looks a little younger but not by much. His hair is darker, and he isn’t as big, but he is damn near close.

“I’m Devan by the way.” He points to his name on the paper and the phone number beside it. “That is a hot line we’ve set up for people to call if they have any information. Darius and I will be the ones to answer it most of the time, but if we aren’t there, someone will answer.”

Is my cat scratching on my door? The noises coming from my bathroom have me turning to glance at the door, listening intently. Yeah, that is defiantly scratching noises. You little shit. You had better stop that
.
As if he hears me, the noise stops. That’s right; you don’t want me catching you doing that.

Giving Devan my full attention again, I ask, “What are the police doing? If you and your family are doing all of this.”