The Werelion and the Cat Read online

  The Werelion and the Cat

  Paranormal Protection Agency

  Mina Carter

  New York Times & USA Today Bestselling Author

  Copyright © 2019 by Mina Carter

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  * * *

  NB - Please be aware that this title was previously released as ‘Bad Moon Rising’ and has not been extended.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Also by Mina Carter

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  They said diamonds were a girl’s best friend. Beth disagreed.

  A girl’s best friends were a baseball bat, nerves of steel and the cool twenty million she would get for the item in the glass case in front of her. She paused for a moment to look at the object nestled carefully on a bed of red velvet behind the glass.

  Fenrir’s Claw. Apparently torn from the paw of the mystical wolf himself, it was supposed to be an object of great reverence for certain groups of werewolves, particularly ones that hailed from Northern Europe.

  It looked like a shriveled sausage. Dried skin with some random hairs still stuck to it wrapped around desiccated joints. Jagged bone was visible at one end and the other was tipped by a black talon worthy of any film studio’s special effects department. It was less a claw and more a whole finger. Gross.

  Finger though it might be, it was, however, an expensive one. One that someone was prepared to pay for her rather pricey and very specialized skill set to acquire. Stealing ancient mystical artifacts was not cheap, nor was it easy. But luckily, Beth happened to be very, very good at it.

  Which was fortunate, since getting in here had not been easy. She’d hit museums all over the world, but the Hale-Patterson Museum of Medieval History had the most impressive security setup she’d ever seen. Cameras with intersecting fields of view on every entrance and exit, motion detectors and heat sensors were just the start of it. They also had guards on patrol and individual security systems on the higher-level exhibits. Like the claw.

  But…she wasn’t known as the best for nothing. Because, unlike her competitors, she had a little extra edge they didn’t have. As well as her impressive larceny abilities, she was a magic user, and spells were something high-tech security systems didn’t cope well with. Like, at all. So far she’d managed to work her way around all the measures taken to stop people like her.

  A chameleon spell had gotten her past the cameras without a hitch, and the Winter’s Breath charm around her neck had dropped her body temperature to fool the heat sensors. The motion detectors had taken a little more muscle with a spell not many knew about and even fewer spell slingers had both the magical muscle and physical ability to pull off—a Wraith Run. The incantation gave her a sore throat for days and the speed she’d had to pull…well it was a good thing this last part, actually getting the claw out of the case, was relatively low key.

  No magic required, just brute force and speed.

  “Hello, retirement fund,” she whispered and swung the bat.

  It connected with the glass, shattering it into hundreds of tiny little cuboids that cascaded and danced over each other through the air before hitting the floor to continue their merriment. The loud smash was followed moments later by the raucous squawk of the alarm.

  Grabbing the claw, she shoved it into the swag bag slung crosswise over her torso and ran for it. A shudder racked her body. Ugh, even touching the thing with gloved hands gave her the creeps. She didn’t believe in the legend. Didn’t believe that Fenrir had been the son of a god.

  Regardless, someone, somewhere, had torn the finger from a big-ass fucking werewolf and kept it as a trophy. She sure as hell was glad werewolves weren’t that long-lived because she didn’t fancy being caught holding the baby if the owner came back to reclaim it.

  With the route out of the place mapped out in her mind, she ducked through the door at the end of the hall, turned right at the screaming mummy exhibition, and made a sharp left by the shrunken head display. From there, it should have been an easy ride out. One long, straight run down the north corridor, a leap through the window at the end while casting a wind-runner spell and she’d be home clear, her bank balance fatter by twenty mil.

  She could then book her ticket to Hawaii. Or Venice. Or maybe somewhere else. She hadn’t decided yet. One thing was for certain, it was going to be somewhere no one knew her. Where she could start all over with a new name, a new identity, and where people had no idea of the fact that she was a dead woman walking.

  It should have been an easy ride out. Should. She’d just opened her mouth to start the wind-runner incantation when the large figure flitting out of the shadows in the corner of her vision made her revise her plans on the fly. Changing the incantation, she pulled power from deep within to leap to the side, running up the wall and onto the ceiling as easily as she had on the floor. Her head snapped up, looking down as a low snarl filled the corridor. She got a quick glimpse of a harshly handsome face and a set of broad shoulders.

  Shit. It was him.

  Some form of shape-shifter from his general demeanor and bearing, he’d been tailing her for months, watching the same targets and appearing on the scene shortly before or after. Her extra senses, those she didn’t talk about, that didn’t fit with either her human or spell slinger abilities, usually warned her when he was around so she could walk away. That was her rule. If anything felt off, she walked away, screw the money. It was how she’d avoided capture by the human authorities for so long. That and the fact sometimes they were just dumb, assuming the thief had to be plain old human.

  But…he wasn’t human either. Nor had he gotten this close before. Her heart sped up, snapping her back into focus as she reached out. Her fingers drew a spell directly into the air and with a flick, she sent it sailing toward him.

  Cat’s cradle. A snare spell, it was powerful enough to hold any paranormal up to and including some of the lower hell demons. Shit, she sure as fuck hoped he wasn’t a demon… No, he was a shifter. Had to be. The deep male…very masculine…scent wrapping around her like an insta-lust spell said he couldn’t be anything else.

  His snarls increased as the air around him thickened like treacle. His movements became slower, more erratic, and filled with rage. His lips curled back to show teeth sharper than a human’s, visible even in the darkness as he came to a stop. Held in place by the spell.

  She slowed down. The spell would hold for another couple of minutes, allowing her to walk on any surface as though it were the floor. It was an obscure bit of magic, which had taken her months to track down but sure came in handy sometimes.

  “Who are you?”

  He surprised her by speaking, his pale eyes sharp and intelligent as he looked at her. Studied her. Assessed her. With an expression like that, he had to be noting every little detail of her appearance.

  Instantly her evaluation of him changed. He’d come after her once she picked up the claw, but she didn’t think it was his quarry. His presence proved he’d successfully circumnavigated security, which meant he could have picked up the claw himself.

  No. He’d been waiting for her. Which meant his target was not the claw or the other artifacts she’d believed he was casing out when she’d seen him in other locations.

&nbs
p; It was her.

  “Why are you following me?”

  She kept her voice level, adding a buzz of power to alter the sound. Even if he had any kind of recording device or voice recognition software, it would do him no good. Her voice print wouldn’t match anything on record. She’d made sure of that.

  Dead women couldn’t be too careful. And she’d been dead a long time.

  He tilted his head, the only part of his body he could move, to the side.

  “You’re smaller than I thought you’d be. Why’d you do this?”

  Answering questions with questions, just like she did.

  “Because I can?”

  Her lips quirked as she strolled across the ceiling. Even though the building was old with high ceilings, this was one of the back areas. Lower ceilings, drab flooring and smaller windows for the staff areas.

  “How about you? Let me guess… Shifter? Hmm, yes… Feline, for sure. Sorry, kitty, I think they’re all out of balls of wool. Better luck next time.”

  She was talking when she should be running. The cat’s cradle wouldn’t last that long, probably less time than the spell she was using to wall walk, but there was something about him. Something elusive and fascinating. It called to her on a level so deep she couldn’t make sense of it.

  “So what now?” he asked, tilting his head back as she came within feet of him. Certainly close enough that if he were free, he could grab her. And the size of him, so much bigger than she was, she’d never get away if he got hold of her. A tiny shiver rolled down her spine at the thought. Perhaps it wouldn’t be that bad after all…

  “Well… Seeing as I have you at my mercy…” Her voice was low and husky, way too sexy to have come out of her mouth, but it had. Her hand moved of its own accord and she felt like she was outside of herself, watching as she gently stroked his cheek. He had strong features: high cheekbones, a straight nose, strong jaw and full, kissable lips.

  As though the thought prompted action, she leaned forward, her free hand pulling on the balaclava she habitually wore on the job to reveal her mouth. His breath caught in surprise as she pressed her lips to his. It was meant to be a soft kiss. A parting gift, so to speak. A consolation prize because he’d lost this time. But it turned out to be so much more. Her lips clung to his, finding them soft, smooth and utterly addictive. He rumbled in the back of his throat, a sound she didn’t recognize for a moment until his lips parted in invitation. He was purring.

  Her groan was lost under the sound and she almost, almost, fell for it. The temptation to sink into his kiss, tangle her tongue with his, lose herself to the passion that sparked between them almost overwhelmed her. Until she felt her magic slacken.

  The cat’s cradle had begun to break.

  Shit.

  She tore her lips from his and yanked the balaclava down. “Sorry, kitty cat, gotta go… Places to see, people to do… Ciao!”

  With that she turned and ran, full pace, down the corridor toward the window, using the ceiling as the floor until she reached the end. The window was closed, but with a single word she conjured a fireball. The glass shattered a second before she threw herself through the opening and into the night beyond.

  She’d tied him up, called him a kitty and kissed him. And all he could do about it was fucking purr.

  Alex Sullivan, Sully to his friends, blinked as the woman wiggled her fingers in farewell and took off down the corridor ceiling. Literally running upside down before hurling a ball of fire at the window in her way before leaping through it. On the fifth fucking floor.

  “Holy fuck!” he hissed, a purr still on the edge of his voice as he heaved his shoulders and broke what remained of the spell she’d bound him with. Fear added a boost of speed as he raced after her, hoping beyond hope that she had some kind of harness or abseil rigging set up to help her get to the ground safely.

  The window had been whole, the analytical part of his mind pointed out, while the primitive, alpha male lion inside roared with the need to protect. Ropes couldn’t pass through glass, not even using magic. Surely?

  His heart pounded as he skidded to a stop by the broken window. Sudden fear made him pause. Would he see her broken body sprawled on the ground far below? And why would that bother him? She was just a job like all the others he’d taken.

  Steeling himself, he looked out the window.

  “The fuck…?”

  The ground below was clear. Empty. Just a short access road and two parking spaces marked “staff.”

  A whistle jerked his head up and his eyes narrowed. Impossibly, his quarry was on the roof opposite, the black on black of her clothes making her blend in almost perfectly with the shadows. If she hadn’t caught his attention, he’d never have known she was there.

  She didn’t stay long, though. Just enough to wave, blow him a kiss and then jump from the edge of the roof. Sully caught his breath as she fell. She wasn’t a shifter, even though his lion insisted that she was, so there was no way she could make a drop like that safely.

  In a heartbeat, he was crouched in the window frame. His size eleven boots crunched the edges of the broken glass as he tried to track where she would land. Adrenaline coursed through him, his inner lion pumping power into his human muscles. He could make this height, just, and be at her side in seconds. He had a small first aid kit on him. Hopefully, it would be enough. It would have to be.

  But she didn’t fall all the way. Before she’d passed the first window, a squall blew up, the wind forming into a tornado and racing to meet her feet. His jaw dropped as it sped away with her balancing on the torrent of air as though it were a surfboard. The ease she moved with said she’d done it before, but he’d never heard of such magic, let alone seen it. And he’d seen a lot of weird, mystical shit in his time.

  That spell wasn’t the only one that gave him pause either. When the human authorities had transferred the case over, citing the belief that a paranormal was involved, he’d expected a spell slinger, but not one as powerful as she seemed to be. He’d seen some top notch warlocks in action, but he’d never seen one cast spells layered over one another like that. Nor control both visibility and weather. Generally, they focused on one area and stuck with it. She seemed to be able to hop around them all, which was how she’d evaded capture for so long.

  One of the top-level operatives for the agency, Sully was the man when it came to tracking down people who didn’t want to be tracked down. And the thief the media had nicknamed “the Cat” certainly belonged to the “didn’t want to be found” category.

  He’d been tailing her for months, and despite his expertise, he’d only gotten close a couple of times. Somehow, he always seemed to just miss her…catching sight of her out of the corner of his eye or, in the opera house heist four months ago, her perfume teasing his senses as she passed.

  He’d kicked himself for that one. She’d been within touching distance and he’d missed her. The one time she’d been without her trademark black clothing and balaclava, and he hadn’t realized. Therein lay the problem, he had no idea what she looked like.

  She had brown eyes. An image of her close to his face filled his mind’s eye. Upside down, but he’d still been caught by exotically tilted, wide eyes. Gorgeous, dark brown eyes that called to him and sparked something deep inside that made both his lion roar and the man snarl with the need to possess.

  He tracked her until she was out of sight and grumbled in frustration. How the hell was he going to catch her when she threw out spells like they were nothing and kissed like a siren? Okay, well the kissing had nothing to do with catching her. Unless it was to pin her beneath him so he could claim more of them…and the rest.

  Heat surged through his body, lust heavy in his groin as he hopped down from the windowsill. As though triggered by his movement, alarms cut shrilly through the air, almost deafening him.

  “A little fucking late,” he muttered to himself, heading back down the corridor. Perhaps he could glean some clues from the security footage. He’d nev
er been able to pick anything up before, but she had to slip up sometime, right?

  The thunder of booted feet heading toward him told him that the guards were en route. Sure enough, within ten seconds, four burst through the door ahead of him with the museum manager hot on their heels. The man’s shirt was buttoned lopsidedly and his hair stuck up at odd angles, evidence that he’d been pulled from his bed.

  “Where is she?” the manager demanded, gaze darting around when the lights came on, as though Sully had hidden the woman behind a cabinet or something. When it was obvious she wasn’t there, he turned and fixed Sully with an accusing gaze. “Don’t tell me you let her get away with the claw?”

  Anger simmered, overtaking his frustration, and he stared the little man down. “Perhaps if you’d told us that you had an artifact like the claw on site earlier,” he growled, “then we’d have known to focus our attention on this site rather than the three in this area with items worthy of a thief like the Cat.”

  But no…they hadn’t. All they’d been told was there was a credible tip-off that the Cat would hit one of three possible locations in this area tonight, and he’d damn near worn himself ragged trying to cover them all. If he’d known ahead of time that Fenrir’s Claw was being transported here today for a surprise reveal over the weekend, he’d have known she would be here.

  A priceless lycanthrope artifact from the year god-knows-what. There was no way the Cat would pass up such an opportunity.

  “But…the claw… It’s…” The museum manager paled, his skin not as white as snow but with that sickly green undertone of someone who had just seen their own death up close and personal in high definition.

  “What?” Sully was in no mood to piss about. The guy had already lied to him once, so what else was he hiding?