“Anna,” Antoine said, his Cajun accent thickening as the power he wore like a second skin gathered and tightened about him. “Good, you come. To back.” Antoine locked the front door and skirted through the shadows to lock the side door. The three disappeared into the gloom down a short hallway. A door opened. Voices filtered out. The door closed. The place was well built—hurricane proof—and soundproofed. I couldn’t make out anything.

I considered jumping down and eavesdropping, but from the way the sounds had echoed when they entered the room, there might be no exit from the back. I didn’t want to be caught trespassing, listening at the door. I dropped down, landing lightly on the bar along with a scattering of dust bunnies, which I swept to the floor on my way to the keys. Silently I thanked the nice person who had carefully labeled each, and I made off with one of three for the side door. I hoped no one would notice it was gone.

It was only after I was out on the street, the stolen key in my pocket, that I considered the possible presence of cameras in the restaurant. Cameras that could have seen me leap to the ledge. Not a totally human move. I dismissed the worry that followed. The meeting in the Royal Mojo Blues Company was secret. Unlikely that cameras would be active to catch the attendees arriving or leaving. I was pretty sure I was safe.

I was halfway home when I remembered where I had seen Anna. In the Times-Picayune. Anna was the mayor’s wife. Now, that was an interesting situation. Rick and the mayor and the rogue all with the same woman. How in heck did she stand the rogue’s stink?

CHAPTER 14

Beast was born

By dusk, I made it back to my freebie house, stripped off jewelry and sweaty, dusty clothes, and took four steaks and the necklace of panther claws into the yard. Though it was only marginally night, I shifted.Hungry. Ate dead cow. Stretched. High on sun-warmed stone, plopped on side, face on rock, whiskers tickling. Purring, as sunset painted sky many purples. Rain sprinkled on warm stone, damping pelt. Scents strong in shower. Mold, river, fish, cow blood, dogs, cats. Prey.

Mouse came out to play, leaving tracks in mud. I softened breath. Watched it dart among stones. Eyes slit, lazy, content. Had eaten or would play with mouse. But hunting soon. Foolish to waste strength on mouse. No matter how fun.Full dark fell. Rain was constant and sluggish. A distant bell tolled. Time passed. Stirred, stretched again, pulling joints, muscles, shaking off rain. Studied garden. Prowled it. Marked it. My den. Leaped to wall, slipped into shadow. Padded along alleys and side streets, full of smells. Jumped over tall gates keeping humans out, pets in. Kept to shadows, following her scent back. Food/alcohol/mating place open. Club. Different music makers filled night with sound. Crowd smaller. Humans smelled lonely again.

Slow, steady rain returned, keeping humans indoors. Prowled walls of building, finding dark place on side street. Cars parked. Sniffed out big one, owned by vamp. Leo.

She commanded me, Hunt. Now. Huffed but rounded building at swift trot. When street empty, crept near front door. Made self small in shadow, tail tight, feet together, close. Pulled in scents, mouth open, lips pulled back. Found Anna’s and Rick’s trail, covered by many others, washed by rain. But I am good hunter. Could tell they had left within short time of each other, taking same route. Rick’s trail overlay Anna’s. Perused her. Prey. Followed down Royal Street, away from club. Trail scents overlapping. Rick stalking Anna. Hunched low, creeping, keeping to shadows. Cars passed, moving slow. Hid from each. Following. Hunting.

Found their scent hanging on air. Mixed with smell of sex, sweat, chocolate, wine. Above. On ledge. A private balcony with an open door—her thoughts. A hotel, an expensive one. Room beside theirs contained only faint people scents. Empty. Dark. Doors closed.

Single leap over balcony railing, tail spinning for balance. Table, two chairs took up floor. Dropped between them, bumping table. Pot rattled, rolled for edge. Rose fast. Caught in front paws, held still. Released pot, which settled. Crouching in dark, I/we listened.

“You have to go soon?” Rick asked, his voice lazy.

“Why? You miss me already?”

“Always.” Lies in tone of words. Human lips made smacking sounds. Kissing.

Silly thing, kissing. Licking better. But the sound made Jane sad. Angry. I hacked softly. Take him. Hunt him. She fell silent.

Bed creaked. Scents of sex spilled into night: sweat, semen, hot breath, scent of flowers. Chemicals of Anna-human perfume, stink of detergent, fabric softeners. Also, faint, was part of mad one’s scent and blood. Anna-human had been blood meal to it recently, after it fed enough to hide rot scent from human nose. Though Anna-human water-washed, I still smelled it, hidden under chemicals.

Ahhh, Jane thought, excited. It only smells of decay when it’s hungry. That’s one reason the scent signature is so complex. Why didn’t I figure that out?

Jane not Beast. Not good hunter. I made quiet sound—sheeeeghhh—inhaling, pulling air over tongue, over scent sacs in roof of mouth. Anna-woman not fertile. Yet mated. Confusing humans. Strange. Scent of mad one was also strange. Had new, different parts. Still mad one but not. Confusing as humans mating out of season. Sound and smell of sex ended.

She thought, Soooo. It eats flesh to hide whatever is happening to it that makes it stink like rot? But why is it rotting? You said it was sick. . . .

“I still don’t understand why you want to talk to him,” Anna-human said.

“Business, baby. A deal big enough to take you away from him.” Smell of lies on words. “You heard what my friends said today. We need to know about those land purchases.”

She sighed, pouting. “I’ll try to get you in to see him.”

Another lie. More kissing sounds. Stinks on wind. Sex without mating is always lies. Humans cannot smell lies. Sad.

“I’d better go. It’s a long drive into the country,” she said. “Unless you have energy for . . .” More kissing. Low laughter. Smell of sex rising.

Deep within, Jane went silent. Retreating. Beast thought of mouse in garden. Should have stayed. Played with it. Small snack, fresh and frightened. Better than this.

Low moaning, laughter, whispers on air.

She was angry. I growled, soft. I/we should hunt, kill man. Kill mate who was not. Some, in past, crossed into my territory, giving signal to mate. Appearing again, again, yet only teasing. Memory of claws raking rump of one. Blood welling in hide as he flipped. Dashed from my hunting land. I huffed in remembered satisfaction. She smiled, amused, less sad.

Mating took long. Far longer than any beast’s. When it was over, Anna-human left bed. Showered off scent. Rick didn’t shower. Carried her scent on him. They left room. I listened, tracking them as they moved through hotel. A car pulled away from parking garage, her scent on it. Rick walked on street, passing beneath. Gone. I leaped to walkway below balcony. Followed, Jane’s interest rising. He walked two blocks, turned down side street.

His bike rested in small lot. I crouched tight beside wall and small porch, watching, listening. Rick stood, half in shadow, half in light from tall pole. He held out piece of paper. Sleepy human hidden in dark reached out. Took it. Money. “Thanks, man,” Rick said.

“Anytime, Ricky-bo. You get lucky?” Sex in question, leering. Hidden human stood, a lighter shadow on night.

“Don’t I always?” Pride and amusement in question.

“Details, man. I want details.”

“Not this time, Paco.” Rick grinned, his teeth white. “Maybe next time.”

“Come on, man. At least tell me if it was that high yaller gal. You say she put you down like a fighter pro. I didn’t figure you’d get lucky with her anytime soon.”

“Not her.” Man-grin in tone. “But I’m working it. Part of the game, my man. Part of the chase. But the girl’s not high yellow. She’s Cherokee, I think.”

“Yeah? I hear them Injun gals is hot after it.”

“We’ll see.”

Curled my lips, showing teeth. Jane not part of game.

Rick bumped fists with Paco, dropped helmet over head, and straddled bike. Started it with turn of key. Over growl of machine, he said, “Later, my man.” Wheeled bike around, over uneven pavement into street. Bike’s roar grew louder. Turned north. Hunter instinct gave destination. He headed toward her house. Her den. Go home! she commanded. Fast!

I leaped, whirled in midair. Threw self backward, into run. Raced through shadows and light. Streets empty. Dawn was close. I took unknown paths, following air currents moving through Quarter. Heart raced. Breath hot. Body hot.

Big cats are fast. But in summer, only for short time. Better chases in winter, breath billowing, ice on whiskers. Here is always summer. Water splashed from puddles, rank with gasoline and urine. Tongue lolled, breath hard and hoarse, wet sounding.

Smells flew by like wind: humans, dogs, cats, an opossum heavy with young. Food, spices, peppers, rotting garbage, stink from storm drains—warm, wet, full of dead things. Wanted to explore. Slink into dark. She refused. Heat built up inside. Breath like fire.

Near Katie’s I sprinted. Bike puttered slowly closer. Slower as he entered my/our territory. Too close. Whipped down narrow passage. Leaped. Landed atop brick wall, running on narrow ledge, like limb but flat. Birds squawked, fluttered, panicked in night. Bike died.

Not dead. She had explained. Not dead. But not alive. Stopped.

Dropped over wall. Landed on big rock. Breath heaving. Hot. Too hot. Too hot. Rick rang bell. Knocked, sound loud through empty house. Must shift. Must shift. Now. Rick at gate. Opened lock. Light in his hand. Where did he get the key? Her worry.

My territory. Mine. Pulled back lips to show killing teeth. Saw again paw swatting teasing male, drawing blood. Chasing teasing male from my den. Mine. Wanted to attack, but she held back. No. Wait. Watch. Panting, I dropped into shadow between rock and wall, curled tight, trying to stifle hot breath. Need water. Much water. Fountain tinkled softly. Teasing with need. As male cat had teased. Hated teasing.

Light played over garden, back, forth, up, down. Boots crunched earth. He moved broken pot, spilling earth, soft sounds of pot, of soil sliding out like insides of dead meal. He paused. Squatted down. I raised head to see; nose and ears not enough.