Feral Magic (3 page)

Roaring metal boxes zoomed by at a speed that made Dak's head ache.  He'd left a lot of spoor here – blood, spit, pawprints – that Bretine could follow.  Deadly or not, the hard pavement would mask his tracks.

He set his paw on the satchel that had spilled from his invisible storage-space in his aura when he'd changed with so little control.  With a breath, he yanked it back.

He ran and ran and ran.  Until one more step on the harsh surface would make his paws bleed – and leave a track others could follow.  Curling up, he curved his tail over his nose and dropped into a light yet wary doze.

Wounded pride, anger, even a tinge of despair churned through him.  The smells of this place had defeated him.  He had failed.  He could not track his nephew.

*~*~*

Brandy tossed and turned, finally got up.  Putting Stanley in the center of the bed, she closed the door and went to her office for some remedial study on large cats.

Stanley should
not
have a mane.  She'd found no mention of black lions and there was no such thing as a black panther – they were either jaguars or leopards.  The cub looked like a jaguar and jaguars had the strongest bite force of any cat.  Which, of course, led to another terrible dilemma.  Before long, he could really hurt her accidently if she kept him.

Blood pounded in her temples as she rubbed her eyes.  What was she going to do?  Who could she tell and be believed?  She ached for Ross.  He'd have believed her.  She could almost see his gray eyes light with fascination, his grin of delight at the puzzle.  Three years since his death she missed him, hurt when she thought of him.  Grief had not worn off or transformed to comforting memories.

Two months ago, when she'd found herself hovering above her own limp body, she'd almost been ready to die – but she hadn't seen that white light people talked about, or Ross waiting for her.  And she'd only been dead for a few seconds before she'd been revived.

She was alive, but changed, and now she had a
changeling
to take care of.

Mewling came from behind the bedroom door.  Along with an odor.  Brandy's shoulders slumped.  She took a big breath before she turned the knob and went in.  Yep, time to change another diaper.  She'd laid out a few soft pillowcases.

She'd have to do the right thing by Stanley.  But what was that?

The black jaguar cub climbed the curtains, no diaper on that furry bottom, his tail suspiciously icky.  He hooked his claws in the designer cloth and squealed as he went down, shredding all the way.

She couldn't suppress a yell and the air clouded around the cub, dark with tiny sparks.  Brandy gasped and raced in.  When she got there the air cleared and a woebegone baby stared up at her, fingers in his mouth.

She
had
to watch her reactions around Stanley.  All this shifting back and forth couldn’t be good for him.  Another thing to worry about.

*~*~*

Purrs roused Dak near dawn and he tensed, stared at the small, black female cat who'd awoken him.  He'd gotten no more than a couple of hours of sleep and weariness dragged at him.

After a disrespectful conversation, the cat led him to food.  She slunk over to a few bites in a dish set outside a wooden fence.  Dak's nose twitched.  He hadn't eaten for a long time.  He stared at the cat.  He supposed it would be rude to eat her.  No matter how irritating she'd been, she'd helped him.  And he really didn't eat felines.  Except after battle with Bretine's klatch.

He caught a whiff of something and his heavy mane lifted along his spine. 
Favel!

With one leap he was over the fence...and hit by two small and plump cat bodies.

This is OUR house, go away!
said the black and white one.

Go, go, go!
said the long-haired black.

I have come for my kit,
Dak snarled, putting vibrato into his threat.

The thing.  He has come for the thing!
the younger, long-haired cat said.

Good.  He can have the thing.  He is another thing.
  Black-and-white cat was older and dominant.  Dak sensed that though the two lived together they weren't family or friendly.

The black-and-white cat lifted his lip to show tiny fangs.

Dak let his growl rumble all the way from his gut.

The damn black cat shrieked.  Neither of the small ones backed down.  He could admire their courage even as their foolhardiness disgusted him.

Creaking door, stomping feet.  The hopeful and wonderful smell of Dark Panther Klatch shit and urine – Favel!

"What's going on here?"  A woman walked out, holding the baby who wore a cloth on his nethers!

Dak bounded over the small cats, sending them tumbling with his tail.

*~*~*

Brandy froze, angled her body to protect the baby.  Her heart pounded.  The one step back into the house and closing the door would be too slow.

The threatening black jaguar pinned her with his glare.  His head was taller than her waist.  She'd viewed a lot of photos of wild cats on the internet, and though the cat had a jaguar's facial features and build, his mane was a lion's, long and growing nearly halfway down his back.

Huge, bigger than any of the "largest" stats.  Longer, heavier.  Bigger teeth.

His upper lip had risen, showing really scary fangs.  A dangerous, predatory,
intelligent
purple gaze watched her.

She managed a tiny swallow.  She'd known Stanley had been well cared for.  But why hadn't she thought someone – something – would come for him?

The adult version of Stanley tilted his head back and his nostrils flared.  His plumeless tail lashed.

Don't run.  Don't run.  Don't run.  Mountain lions.  Make yourself appear bigger!  Yell!  She didn't think that would work with this beast.  She supposed she was lucky seeing him at all instead of being ambushed and killed.  She took a step back.  Didn't stumble over the threshold.

He prowled forward.

A bigger swallow.  "You're scaring me and I'm holding Stanley, please stop," she quavered.

The tip of his tail twitched.

Dak, dak, dak!
 Stanley shrieked into her mind as he gave a loud shout and wrenched free and
jumped
.  Straight for the small concrete patio.

He missed the steps.  The beast rushed, twisted, and the baby thunked onto his back.  Stanley grabbed his mane, laughed and laughed and laughed.

Hand over her heart, knees weak, Brandy sank to the top step, dizzy with fright.  She needed to put her head between her knees, but not with that beast near. 
Not gonna happen.

The large cat strode to the grass, lowered himself, growled at Tom-Tom and Gypsy as they belly-slunk toward him.  Sure, she hadn't mowed for a while, but the grass wasn't that high, and it was pretty yellow.  Her boys were
obvious
– and obviously dumber than she'd thought.

When she stood, the black jaguar whipped his head around and fixed his gaze on her.  She wanted to retreat, and it appeared she could trust Stanley with this...whatever he was.  If he'd wished Stanley dead, he could have just stepped aside and watched the baby smack the concrete.  "Well, uh, nice meeting you."  Lie.  "Glad you came for Stanley."  Truth.

She wanted to believe the beast meant the baby no harm.  Matching his gaze, she took the step up and backward, reached for the doorknob.

STAY!
  The mental order rolled from the creature as he crouched and tipped a gurgling Stanley to the ground.  Definite power behind that word, command presence radiating from the alpha male.  Stanley hunched into fetal position, tense and quiet, as if he already knew that order.

Brandy inched back.  Then stopped, stunned, as she saw the black-jaguar-with-mane
morph
.  Air wavered around him as if he was giving off heat waves.  She saw beast rippling weirdly into man, reshaping, fur changing to skin, bones contracting, face reforming and flattening from feline muzzle to human.  No raw, red muscles or stark, white tendons or bones, but the outward change was weird enough to have her eyes widening and mouth dropping open.  It didn't take long, only a minute or so, and the air rippling intensified, turning colors, turning
dark
as if light warped in some way around him.

Then a naked man stood before her, clothes and a pack at his feet.  His narrowed gaze scrutinized her.  He was...attractive in a unique way, with the same rich caramel-colored skin as Stanley, but features more Asian than African-American.  Black hair, long to his shoulders, and thick.  Black brows.  Black body hair, but only lightly dusted.  He stood more than six feet.

Extremely well-muscled, not much fat, but with a few scars pink enough to be recent.

Naturally her gaze flickered to his sex, which matched in size with the rest of him, then she glanced back up at his unsmiling face, with those eyes so dark a purple they seemed black.

He bent and picked Stanley up, and the baby relaxed and cooed, leaning against the man’s broad chest.

"I thank you for watching Favel," the man said with an accent she couldn't place.

They stared at each other more, tingles zipped up and down her nerve endings.  Amazingly attractive, extremely dangerous man.  Fear won over sexual interest.  "Are you going to kill me?" she whispered.

He blinked.  "Why?"

"For knowing your secret."

"What secret?"

"That you can change into a black jaguar.  That you're a... shapeshifter."

His large hand stroked Stanley's – Favel's – head, rubbed his back.  "I heard that panther folk were rare in this dimension."

In.  This.  Dimension.  That's what he'd said.  Brandy's knees wobbled a bit, but she didn't think she could afford to sit.  She wet her lips before answering, "Try 'no pantherfolk' at all that I know of...here.  Only…."  She gestured to him and the baby.  "No werewolves.  No ... um ... shapeshifting human-to-bear.  Nothing."

His purple gaze remained steady and unrevealing.  She kept her scrutiny on his face, though he didn't seem to have a cultural problem with nudity.

"I am tired.  I do not have a safe place to stay here.  I need sleep and food.  Will you invite me into your domicile?" he asked.

If her eyes widened any more she'd get muscle strain.  Her abdomen had cramped tight, as if shrinking from the claws – his fingernails looked like they could become claws at any instant.  Not that a clenched stomach would protect her.  Was he lying?  If she let him in, would he kill her?

Her mouth dry, she continued to whisper.  "You trust me?"

He dipped his head, then answered equally quietly.  "Yes, lady.  You did no harm to a babe."

Well, no.

"Can I trust
you
?" she asked.  Her heart had begun to pound, her brain to blaze with more unanswered questions.  Where did he come from?  How did he get here in the first place?  How soon would he leave? 
Could she trust him?

He shifted Favel to one brawny arm, put his other hand on his heart, inclined his torso.  "I swear on the love for my murdered mother that I will cause you no harm while I am in this dimension."

More than just words, something like power or magic seemed to lend the sentence – the vow – terrible weight.

Time stretched as they stared at each other.

"By my honor, lady," he said, and for the first time she heard inflection in his tone.  Weariness.

He didn't appear tired, more like battle ready.

Of course an alpha cat wouldn't show any weakness.  Nor would a human commander.  Huh.

She didn't particularly like warriors or soldiers.  One of those, her Ross, had already died and left a big hole in her heart.

Then he bowed, slowly and deeply, inclining his torso from the waist...and dropping his head so he didn't meet her eyes.  Nearly vulnerable – like she could take him out if she had a shotgun within reach and she was fast enough, or could whip up a magic spell and fling it at him, or turn into a tiger herself  – though she saw that he protected the baby with his arms and body.   So if she
did
attack, Favel would not be hurt.  And she'd already proven that she'd watch over the child.

She let a breath sift out, and actually enjoyed seeing the muscles play under all that lovely skin as he straightened.  "Come in," she said, and stepped into the enclosed porch.  She even turned her back on him.  She'd have to give him her bed, the one in the guest room was a three-quarter and far too short for him.

Not that she'd gotten much sleep the night before, but some of her questions as to what to do with the baby-cub had been answered.  The unnamed jaguar man could take care of him.

She just had to deal with him.  Big problem.

He stepped into the porch, holding Favel and his pack.  When he closed the door, the space seemed much smaller.  She smelled him...a not unpleasant astringent odor.  Moving into the kitchen, she said, "So you're a stranger in a strange land."

"That is so," he replied, then
Can you speak this way?
he asked mentally.

She winced at the loudness of his telepathic sending and answered in words.  "Yes, I can hear you when you speak that way.  Speaking mind-to-mind is also extremely rare here, I think.  At least I haven't heard anyone admit to telepathy."

"I will have to hide much of myself, then," the man said.

Gazing up at him, she nodded.  "If you mean that you'll have to remain human all of the time, you're right."

"What? 
All
of the time?"

"Absolutely."  She eyed him.  He was even bigger up close, but not as lean as Ross had been.

This time the tingles she was getting weren't anything like fear, more like pheromones.  She liked the way he smelled, she liked the way his carved muscles looked in the dim light.  She liked his purple eyes.  Extremely compelling.  Though they weren't touching each other, her skin – her entire body – seemed sensitized to him.  Fascinating male to complement her female, and she became abruptly aware she hadn't had a lover in a long time.

Her pulse had picked up beat and felt like it was humming approval of the man under her skin.  Her body, at least, seemed to have mourned enough for Ross.  A pang of grief, ending quickly.