Cat Scratch Fever Read online

  Cat Scratch Fever

  By

  Alecia Monaco

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Cat Scratch Fever

  Copyright© 2007 Alecia Monaco

  ISBN: 978-1-60088-184-8

  Cover Artist: Cris Griffin

  Editor: Melissa Darnell

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  Cobblestone Press, LLC

  www.cobblestone-press.com

  Dedication

  To my mother,

  who makes all things possible.

  All Hallow’s Eve.

  The night when the veil between the living and the dead becomes as thin as sheared silk.

  Vega walked steadily down Sycamore Lane, his black trench coat swirling behind him in the late October breeze. It was perfect, this night. Halloween, the one evening of the entire year when he could walk undetected among mortals. A night made for threshold beings like him.

  A night to be savored.

  The trees were hung with their autumn splendor, a riot of colored leaves in hues from scarlet to gold and bronze. The very air carried the scent of apple cider. Yes, this was perfection, and he intended to enjoy it to the hilt. The sun had finished its descent, and he’d risen from the crypt where he passed the daylight hours in a sleep deeper than death. Soon children would scamper past in their costumes, the prerequisite clowns and ghosts mixed with this year’s action figure. None would run from him in fear. In fact, they might even ask him for some of the candy he was on his way to purchase.

  Vega rounded the corner, approaching a graveyard of undeterminable age, the headstones crumbling, the stone angels showing faces with worn off features. This was nothing like his daytime retreat, a modern cemetery with immaculately kept grounds. But he didn’t want to think about the dead or the undead. Not now, when he could pass among the living with such ease, his vampiric appearance taken for a well-done costume.

  He quickened his step, forcing his gaze away from the spiked black iron fence surrounding the decrepit bone yard. He spotted a bat out of the corner of his eye and moved to cross the street.

  “It’s time.”

  The voice came from somewhere behind him and just to the left. He stopped in his tracks. It couldn’t be…

  He turned to face the graveyard fence and watched the bat shapeshift into the familiar form of his maker, who sat like a gargoyle, leering at him with a fanged smile.

  “Silas.” He regarded the ancient strigoii morte with trepidation. “Always the bearer of glad tidings.”

  “You were expecting Yuletide greetings?” Silas removed a watch of burnished gold from his pocket and glanced at its face. “It is All Hallow’s Eve, after all.”

  Vega heaved a sigh. “Say what you’ve come to say, and let me be on with my evening.”

  Silas let out a rusty, hacking chuckle. “Oh, you’ll be on with it.” He narrowed his golden eyes. “Before dawn, or your body will return to the dust from whence it came.”

  Vega’s throat tightened. “Surely it hasn’t been…” He did quick mental calculations.

  “A hundred years?” Silas’ laugh grated on his ears. “But it has. Tonight is the night. You must drink the blood of a virgin to survive the next century.”

  A knot tightened inside Vega’s chest. He hated this, despised it with a passion. “You know I never feed on the innocent. It’s the criminals, the outlaws, who sate my nightly bloodlust. I harm only those who seek to harm others.”

  Silas slipped the watch back inside the pocket of his tattered black coat. “Vega, you’re a vampire, not an angel of justice. You must make this compromise to secure your own survival for the next century.”

  “But feeding on the life of an innocent virgin makes me no better than the reprobates who serve as my prey.”

  Silas took a conciliatory tone. “We’ve been having this discussion since you were a fledgling. It’s not as if you have to kill her. You only need drink enough to empower your blood again, not drain her to the point of death.”

  “But, what if I can’t stop myself? What if the taste of virgin blood pulls me into such a deep thrall that I…” He turned his face from his maker. “I think of what became of that young maiden in Pompeii and—”

  “Such a thing won’t happen again,” Silas interrupted. “You learned the power of virgin blood, the sway it holds over you. You know your weakness and won’t bring harm to an innocent just to glut yourself on her succulent taste.”

  “I pray you’re right.” Vega heaved a deep sigh.

  “I am right. The elders of the old coven are watching, and you know yourself it would be…unwise to make such a mistake again.”

  Vega raised his eyebrows. “The punishment would be?”

  “Final.” Silas slipped effortlessly down from the fence, landing with both feet on the damp ground. He craned to look up at Vega. “Perhaps that’s why the elders decided to issue something of a challenge.”

  “Dare I ask?” Vega peered down into his maker’s wizened face.

  “The virgin chosen for you this Hallow’s Eve is no ordinary maiden.” He paused. “She’s a shifter.”

  The term was familiar to Vega. He braced himself. “What breed?” He pictured a temperamental red fox, or a she-wolf howling at the moon.

  “Feline.” Silas ambled down the lane, and Vega followed, slowing his steps to match the shorter stride of his Adra. “A cat-shifter, specifically…a child of the goddess Bast.”

  Vega drew a deep breath of the crisp autumn air and considered this. Silas continued. “But there’s more. She’s unawakened.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Silas croaked out a grating laugh. “You, my progeny, must awaken her before you feed from her.”

  Surely a task he could handle. “How does one awaken a child of Bast? By bringing her a bouquet of catnip?”

  Silas bared his fangs in a hideous grin. “There’s only one way to awaken a female cat-shifter.” He stopped, his yellow eyes fixing on Vega in the darkness. “Through making love.”

  * * * * *

  Angelina Katz loved Halloween. It was the one night when she could be anything she damn well wanted to be.

  And what she wanted to be at the moment was a successful hostess.

  She placed a platter of Goblin’s Eyes on her makeshift buffet table, along with other spooky themed treats. She’d been planning this party for weeks, as she did every year. Angelina’s annual Halloween bash had become a tradition among her coworkers at the Museum of Natural History, where she worked in the Egyptology department, catering to her lifelong fascination with all things Nile-related. But this year needed to raise the bar for all future Monster Mashes.

  This year, she had something to prove…to herself, and everyone else. Angelina Katz’s days of being a wallflower were about to come to an end.

  Satisfied with the arrangement of food, party plates and napkins boasting a haunted house print, and the giant jack-o’-lantern she’d carefully carved for her centerpiece, she turned on her heel to return to the kitchen.

  She paused in front of a gold-framed mirror, checking her costume. She raised her hand to adjust the velvety black cat ears atop her head, smoothing her dark auburn hair in the process. Her feline-inspired makeup did look outstanding. She might not be ready to join the chorus of an Andrew Lloyd Webber stage production, but the effect was good, including the vintage cat-eye gl
asses perched on the bridge of her nose. She’d finally conjured up a costume idea that worked with her need for glasses instead of against it. At least the glasses were fashionable, in a funky, offbeat sort of way. Better than the Coke bottles she’d worn as a kid.

  She returned to the kitchen and took a container of punch from her fridge. The punch was her masterpiece, and she poured it into her grandmother’s crystal punchbowl, occupying the place of honor at the end of her buffet table. She admired the deep crimson brew before helping herself to a cup. The cranberry, seltzer, and raspberry liquer concoction made her taste buds sing. Vampire’s Blood…what could be more perfect for Halloween?

  “Having a date for my own party, for starters.” The punch turned bitter in her mouth as thoughts of her recent breakup flashed through her mind.

  Greg, the paranoid, overbearing jerk, Chief of Security at the museum, who watched her like a hawk, doing everything short of stalking her.

  No wonder she’d ended the relationship with her virginity still in tact.

  But not for long, if she could help it.

  She hadn’t really wanted to lose it to Greg. He was about as close to her fantasy man as New York was to California. But she’d been holding out for the arrival of her fantasy man for too long. The dark, brooding mystery man of her heat-fueled dreams hadn’t shown up with a plan to awaken her passions. What made her think he’d show up at all?

  That’s why she wasn’t waiting anymore. Her V-Card was as good as history.

  With a little sigh of resignation, she slipped the “Rocky Horror” soundtrack into her CD player. Hearing her doorbell ring, she stood up and smoothed the wrinkles from her black spandex cat suit, pasting on a smile as she made her way to the door to greet her first guests.

  * * * * *

  “It’s all been arranged,” Silas explained as they approached a cozy, refurbished bungalow at the end of the street. “The young lady is having a party to celebrate All Hallow’s Eve. She’ll merely think you came with another guest.”

  “What about a costume?” Vega took in the cheerful Nile green curtains in the windows, and the flower beds planted around the house. The entire property had the energy of a beloved home.

  “You’re wearing it.” Silas halted as they reached the front steps. “Need I remind you of your…distinctive appearance?”

  Vega was all too aware of his unearthly glow, his pale skin, the entire dowery of vampiric traits he possessed. “I’m uneasy about this, Silas.” It’d been so long since he’d desired a woman. He could still function as a man, even feed on the energy created by sexual union. But his lust for blood had long ago surpassed his desire for female flesh. The task of awakening this virginal Bastet daunted him as nothing else had in his centuries of immortal life. If he had no desire for her…

  “Don’t,” Silas said, obviously reading his thoughts. “May I remind you that this form of a thirty-year-old man in his prime you so enjoy will be the dust of a five-hundred-year-old corpse by sunrise if you fail?” Vega winced. “But you won’t fail. It’s not your powers of seduction in question. No, those are powerful beyond measure, as is your gift of spellbinding. It’s the predatory instinct lacking in you, the drive to deflower this young kitten and draw on her blood.”

  Vega feared his inner predator, knowing it could cost an innocent her life, knowing that no passion equaled that of bloodlust, and nothing tempted him quite like virgin blood. But he couldn’t fail. He couldn’t return to dust or let this immortality end over his inability to push himself back from the vampiric table.

  “I won’t fail, beloved maker.” He gave Silas a pat on the shoulder. “I’ll continue this journey through the centuries, no matter what it costs me.” Climbing the steps, he heard the sounds of music and voices inside, the scent of blood and warm, living humans drifting out to tantalize him. With a final glance over his shoulder at Silas, he tried the door.

  Finding it unlocked, he let himself inside.

  * * * * *

  Angelina drank down the contents of another cup of Vampire’s Blood, jiggling her knee in time with the music. She’d never imagined it possible to be bored at her own party, or to feel completely alone in a room full of people. Everyone had arrived in pairs, rearranging her living room furniture to make room for dancing.

  And dance they had, while she refilled food platters, changed CDs, and bustled around like the hostess with the mostest, thankful that no one could read her heart and see the aching loneliness concealed within.

  The doorbell rang, and before she could rise to her feet, it rang again. She shouted a pointless “Coming!” over the din of music, nearly tripping over a couple locked in a heated clinch near the door.

  Rolling her eyes over Romeo and Juliet, Angelina threw open her front door.

  To her horror, Greg stood on the other side, his arm linked like a vise around that of his date.

  “Angelina!” Tammy from the butterfly garden shrieked, her blonde Marilyn Monroe wig catching the light. She wiggled out of Greg’s hold and took a step toward Angelina. Typical Tammy…so desperate for a date she’d even let Greg be her guest to Angelina’s party.

  “Tammy.” Angelina forced the corners of her mouth to turn up. “I’m so glad you came.” She stepped aside, pointedly ignoring Greg. “Please, come in. I have refreshments…”

  Greg interrupted her, grabbing her arm in a grip that hurt. “I can’t stop thinking about you.” He lowered his voice, the heat of his breath burning her face as he forced her closer to him. Angelina glared at Tammy’s retreating backside and white Marilyn dress. “Why do you keep avoiding me?”

  “Because we’re over,” Angelina said through her teeth. “Let go of me.”

  His hand closed around her arm like a vice.

  “Now.” She tried to shake herself loose, managing to break away from him but losing her glasses in the process.

  Muttering a vile curse, Greg stomped away to catch up with his ostensible date. Angelina lowered herself to the floor, fumbling for her glasses. Through the haze of her uncorrected myopia, she spotted them under the coat rack by the front door.

  She stood up and polished them with the hem of her sleeve before sliding them back into place. Her vision instantly returned to normal. Much better. Her gaze drifted to the other side of the room and locked with the most gorgeous pair of eyes she’d ever seen.

  Blue eyes. Watching her.

  Her breath caught in her throat. The creature leaning against the wall on the opposite side of her living room was without a doubt the sexiest man she’d ever seen. Tall – easily over six feet — with broad shoulders and a body of obvious perfection beneath the black pants and silk shirt he wore.

  She swallowed hard, unable to pull her eyes from his. Her heart sped up, blood rushing through her veins like a river about to burst a dam. Her dark fantasy had arrived, and he was walking toward her, getting closer with every step.

  Vega studied every inch of the girl whose blood would renew his life. But this was no girl. This was a woman in full-bodied, lush glory.

  He raked his tongue across his fangs, feeling them sharpen with lust. Other parts of his body, long unaccustomed to increased blood supply, stirred to life as his gaze flicked over the luscious breasts of the woman he was to awaken and seduce. She had hair the color of dark copper, eyes the color of emeralds, and skin that made him want to taste. And not just to obtain her blood. No, he was after another kind of pleasure altogether with her.

  He’d want her even if his life didn’t depend on it.

  Before he could reach the spot where she stood, she was accosted by the obnoxious lout who had roughly grabbed her a few minutes before. Vega stood back, summoning all of his powers.

  The poor fellow’s nose began to stream blood at an alarming rate. Vega permitted himself a grin of satisfaction as the poor bastard’s date ran to his side in alarm, his blood splattering the front of her white screen siren’s dress. The two of them looked like a pair of victims from one of the horror movies Vega
enjoyed viewing sometimes.

  He watched with a smile as the lout and his date left. Now to get rid of everyone else. He used the full measure of his psychic gifts to clear the room. Soon, he’d have his kitten alone, and awakening her to pleasure would be the most enjoyable thing he’d done in quite some time.

  * * * * *

  The party died a premature death.

  Angelina sank into the nearest chair with a heart like lead. Despite her meticulous planning and good intentions, her Halloween bash was far from a smash. It was dead as the proverbial doornail. Except for a couple of stragglers sharing a long good night on the front steps, the place had cleared out completely in the span of fifteen minutes.

  Alone again…naturally. Angelina huffed out a breath and went to the kitchen for a trash bag. She shuffled back to the living room. Might as well start cleaning up the post-party shrapnel. Happy frickin’ Halloween.

  Then she saw him. Him.

  It turned out she wasn’t alone after all.

  He stood in the exact spot where she’d first seen him, propped against the wall, staring at her with eyes that made every glance feel like a caress.

  She stood, clutching the white plastic trash bag like a lifeline, as he sauntered across the room to her. Once again, her heart went into double time.

  He stopped a few inches from her, close enough for her to look up into his eyes of indescribable blue with swirls of luminescent light of a hue and brilliance to put the Aurora Borealis to shame.

  His mouth curled up on one side, calling her attention to the suckable fullness of his bottom lip.

  One of them had to say something, break this mind-numbing tension. Angelina’s mouth opened before she had time to think. “I see you stuck around to see the last rites. I was just about to call an embalmer.”

  He laughed, a low masculine sound that did things to her body. “It’s my good fortune.”