“Yeah, yeah,” he smirked, and this time when his mouth landed on hers, his free hand found her shoulder in a hard grip, moving lower to the curve of her breast.
Oh, my god, he was going to rape her, and they were alone in this dark bodega, with no one to hear any cries for help. Terror swamped her, and she wrenched away from him, lunging for the door. Her fingers had barely brushed the doorknob when hard hands grabbed her, pulling her away.
Her cat rose up, furious, and suddenly Naomi was fighting two battles, struggling against Wayne, and keeping her cat under control. She couldn’t Change here, where Wayne, a human, would see. Raging, her cat didn’t care. She pushed forward, lending Naomi more strength than she would have imagined she could have. She curved her fingers, tearing at him with her fingernails, fighting to get away.
Wayne yelled in pain and anger, and backhanded her across the face so hard she saw stars. But her cat was beyond control now, and when he came at her again, she struck, and Naomi was pretty sure those were claws, not fingernails, that tore through Wayne’s shirt. Desperate, she gathered all her strength, her cat rising up to aid her, and she shoved Wayne so hard he flew across the room, crashing into one of the shelves, cans and boxed goods battering him as they fell.
Without a minute to lose, Naomi flew for the door, tearing it open and fleeing. The alley was dark, and she stumbled over something, going down hard on her knees. Oh, god, just like one of those idiot girls in the horror flicks she hated. She wouldnotbe a too-stupid-to-live victim. Determination filled her and she lurched to her feet, racing for the street. Her breath came in panting gasps as she turned onto the street, noting the traffic, and the people out and about. If Wayne chased after her, she could call for help. People would come to her aid… wouldn’t they? Nightmare scenarios rose before her eyes, of her calling for help and people ignoring it, not wanting to be involved. She wasn’t safe even in a crowd. She pushed herself into a run. Her apartment was only at the end of the block.
Wayne never appeared, even though she kept a wary glance over her shoulder as she ran, and she almost cried with relief when she reached the building where she lived. On trembling legs, Naomi climbed the stairs to her apartment. When she reached the door, her fingers shook so hard she could scarcely get the key in the lock. She managed without dropping the keys, and pushed the door open, stumbling inside. To safety. She turned closing the door and sliding the deadbolt into place, the solid ‘click’ of the lock sliding home providing some reassurance.
She made her way to her sofa and dropped onto it, burying her face in her hands. What was she going to do? She couldn’t call the police... Impossible to explain the claw marks she’d left on him… if she had. Had she? Oh, God! Her hands! Horrified, she lifted her head to stare at her fingers, extending her arms out before her. There was dirt on them, grime, and a rash from the roadway where she’d tried to catch herself when she’d fallen, but no blood met her terrified gaze, no smears of blood as she’d feared.
Somehow that didn’t make her feel any better, and she shuddered. She was a monster. The monster she’d always feared she would become, just like Beth, and their other sisters before her. Like her mother. Like Beatrice, her aunt.
Naomi shuddered. It was the nightmare that had haunted her since she’d been old enough to understand, and now it had happened. God! She didn’t want to be a killer. A murderer. She didn’t want to lure men to violent, vicious deaths, or wallow in their blood. But even now, she still felt the fury burning, the rage. She wanted to go after Wayne, hunt him down. She burned to claw and tear at him. Rip into his throat with her fangs.
No!With a cry, she slid down on the sofa, laying sideways and curling into herself. She couldn’t be that person…. shewouldn’tbe that person.
Not even if she had to do something desperate to prevent it.
Chapter1
Despite the chillof the early November morning, Liam McConnell let down the window of his Jeep Compass. Grateful to be leaving behind the pollution of Manhattan, he took in deep breaths of the crisp, fresh air. After spending the past year doing his internship in New York City, he was more than ready to get out of the city, into the semi-rural, heavily wooded areas of the Hudson Valley, an hour’s drive north.
All his worldly belongings were packed into the back of his Jeep. He’d been assured there was an inn nearby where he could stay until he found a place to live, so he’d just thrown everything in his vehicle and headed north. The meeting he had in half an hour wasn’t quite an interview, nor quite a first day at work. The North American Council for Shifters had arranged for him to do his residency at the Country Veterinary Clinic, so he had the job, but this was his first meeting with the partners of the practice. All of them were human, but they knew about shifters.
He had to admit that curiosity rode him about those in the clinic, or associated with it. Two of the human partners were engaged to Others; one to a Djinn, of all things! And another was engaged to Katerina Kazakis, the fashion designer who was also granddaughter to the Warden of the Northeastern U.S. The entire, huge, Kazakis clan were Maine Coon cat shifters, everyone knew that. Katerina’s two siblings also lived nearby, and there was apparently a clowder of bobcat shifters in the area.
It was unusual for so many cat shifters to be congregated in one area, and he couldn’t help grinning. The grin faded, though, as he thought of the grim news he bore. The Warden, Maroulla Kazakis, hadn’t wanted to relay the news over the phone, so he was charged with delivering it in person.
His GPS chirped at him to exit the Parkway, and he flicked on his turn signal. Ten minutes later, following the directions from his GPS, he turned into the driveway of the clinic. It was a long, low brick building with cheerfully painted shutters. Approaching the clinic, the driveway split left and right to parking lots on either side, while a sign post sent dog owners to the left, and cat owners to the right. O-kaaay, separate entrances for dogs and cats. Good idea, and one he hadn’t seen before. Amused, he turned to the left, and parked outside a door that bore a large sign announcing, “DOGS.”
Entering the clinic, he noted with approval the cleanliness of the wide, well-lit hallway leading to a cheerful reception desk where three ladies were stationed, one on the phones and two immersed in patient charts.
“Liam McConnell,” he told the pretty redhead who greeted him. “I’ve an appointment at nine.”
“Oh yes!” She put down the stack of folders she’d been putting into some kind of order, and came out from behind the counter. “They’re expecting you. Let me take you back… is it Dr. Shelton’s office?” She broke off to ask one of the other women, who shook her head.
“No, they decided on Dr. McCandliss’ office. It’s bigger.”
“No it’s not,” the third woman put in. “It’s just emptier.”
All three women laughed.
“That’s because Dr. McCandliss has another office in the barn out back, and that’s what he uses,” the red-head explained, leading him down another hallway where rooms branched off left and right. “He sees horses and livestock, usually. I’m Tamera Austen, by the way.”
“Nice to meet you.”
Opening a door at the end of the corridor, she ushered him in.
“Dr. McConnell is here,” she told them. Then, giving him an encouraging smile, she turned and headed back to reception.
Liam blinked a bit, not having expected quite so many people. It took a moment to realize that his first impression of a crowd was erroneous; there were only four people rising to their feet as he entered. It only seemed crowded in the small office that contained only a table and some chairs. The table, however, contained a large carafe from which the enticing aroma of coffee arose, and a tray with cream and sugar, cups and stir straws, as well as a bakery box of pastries.
He was greeted first by a young woman with short, sleek black hair, and the wide golden eyes that marked her as a Kazakis.
“You must be Katerina,” he told her. “Your grandmother would have looked just like you when she was your age.”
