"I—" She'd wanted to review the case files tonight. Technically, though, this was one of her days off. And, she did want to be with this man...

  She drew in a breath, gathering courage. "Yes," she said. Then, more firmly, "Yes."

  She'd succumbed to her heart, and it felt good.

  Even so, when he left, promising to come back for her at eight, she was grateful. She needed some time alone. Some time to think.

  There’d been something familiar about his name when she’d heard it at the party. Other than that, though, she knew nothing about him. Nothing other than a burning intensity shining deep in his eyes, and a desperate, almost violent need to possess her. To fill her. To consume her.

  To mate.

  She shivered, her body tingling from the memory of his hands on her, his mouth tasting her, his body filling her.

  Oh, dear Lord, she was wet again. Wet and needy and frantically wishing that he hadn’t left after all.

  Frustrated, she headed for the bathroom, then turned the cold water in the shower to full-strength. Still naked, she stepped under the spray, fighting a scream as the icy blast of frigid water pummeled her.

  When she’d finally adjusted to the temperature, she switched the spray to hot, and let the water wash over her, numbing her senses.

  A thousand recriminations danced through her head, but she shoved them all away, allowing only a single question to rise to the surface—who was he?

  Luc Agassou, yes. She knew that. Prominent, apparently, if Armand’s deferential manner was any clue. Which probably explained why his name was familiar, even though she couldn’t quite place it.

  If she’d been smart, she would have researched him on the Internet, not Alma’s bottle.

  But she hadn’t, and now Luc remained a mystery. And all she knew for certain was that she craved the man.

  * * *

  Cate glanced at the clock above her sofa. Just past two. She’d spent most of the day researching Luc Agassou. She’d called in a favor to one of the clerks at Division and got her to expedite a search, stretching the truth by suggesting that Agassou might be relevant to a case that Cate was keeping her eye on. But even that obfuscation had been for naught. Because all she learned was that he was clean. No criminal record. Not even so much as a traffic ticket.

  Which was good, but didn’t answer her questions.

  Her own Google search supported what she’d learned. The man was a pillar of the community, although he'd left New Orleans years ago, only to return in the past week. That explained why she'd never heard of him. According to her research, he was the son of internationally known geneticists and had inherited their fortune when they'd been killed in a car crash almost ten years ago.

  She'd felt a stab of sadness for the man who'd lost his family. He'd grown into a well-known philanthropist, donating a huge percentage of his net worth to handpicked causes. She scrolled through the list, noting several youth services groups, animal rights funds, literacy programs, the Audubon Zoo, the—

  She stopped scrolling, then leaned in closer to the screen, suddenly realizing why his name had seemed so familiar to her. Luc Agassou had sponsored the panther habitat. He'd donated Midnight, the panther that had escaped.

  With a start, she sat up straighter, a ridiculous thought occurring to her. She'd been sitting in front of Midnight's cage the first time she'd heard that voice. Luc's voice.

  Slowly, she let go of the mouse and rolled the chair backwards, her eyes never leaving the screen even though her pulse beat wildly, fear-induced adrenaline coursing through her veins.

  It really had been Luc's voice. She'd heard it. In her head. Right after she'd opened Alma’s present. She'd been holding the bottle and then, as she'd looked at Midnight, she'd heard it. Heard him.

  I know, Caitlyn. I know that you are mine.

  Mine. He'd said the same thing in bed.

  Trembling, she hugged herself, bending over to stop the threat of tears.

  He'd been in her head. He'd been in her bed. He'd even started to sneak into her heart.

  Dear Lord, who was he? How could she hide from him?

  More important, did she want to?

  * * *

  "The lady will be moving in with us." Luc sat at the table, his fingertip idly tracing the rim of his iced tea glass.

  "She is amenable?" Martin looked up from where he'd been fussing nearby.

  Luc avoided the butler's curious glance. "She doesn't know yet. I'm taking her out tonight, and I intend to be extremely persuasive." Martin didn't even blink, simply moved closer, the crystal pitcher in his hand. "More tea?"

  "Dammit, Martin, it's the only way."

  "I don't recall arguing, sir."

  Luc stabbed at a piece of andouille sausage. "The hell you didn't."

  "You seem put out, sir."

  "I'm not put out. I'm frustrated. It's entirely different."

  "Of course, sir."

  "I swear, Martin, if you call me sir once more..."

  "I understand ... Luc."

  Luc pushed back from the table and tossed his napkin on the chair. "I'm out of here."

  "May I ask where you're going?"

  "I'm going to go get the girl," he said, feeling like a total prick even as he said the words. He headed to the garage. Caitlyn deserved to be romanced and seduced, but he needed her to be available when the change approached.

  More than that, he needed the sex to be wild. Feral.

  A violent coupling to stave off even more violence.

  The most vicious of circles, and he was perpetuating it.

  His gut ate at him, a tinge of humanity coloring the instincts that drove him. He moved silently through the garage and slid behind the seat of his Porsche, then fired the engine. The garage door was still down, and for a moment, he just sat there.

  So easy.

  It would be so easy to end the suffering. His own.

  His victims.

  No.

  He'd found his cure. He'd found Caitlyn. He could have her. He could have a life. With her.

  He’d claim her now because he had to. But later, he'd give her as much romance as possible because he wanted to. She intrigued and aroused him. Fascinated him. Nature—or whatever perversion of nature had created him—had selected the perfect mate. The only flaw was that it was too much, too soon. He’d taken a headlong dive into passion and need. But Caitlyn…

  He’d given her no time.

  No.

  The curse had given her no time.

  Horrible and unfair, but he couldn’t wait. Couldn’t romance her and gently seduce her. He needed her now. Needed them to be together right now.

  The situation was far from perfect, but it was the only softball nature had thrown at him, and he intended to take it. Besides, Luc had seen enough of this world to know that very little was ever perfect.

  He steeled himself, seeking strength. Then he lifted his hand to the visor and pressed the button to open the garage door. The mechanism kicked in, raising the door and letting the late-afternoon sun filter into the space.

  Eerie shadows danced on the walls, but Luc ignored them. Shadows didn't disturb him. The only monster that mattered already lived in him.

  With a violence born of frustration, he slammed the car into reverse and peeled out, leaving rubber scorch marks on the polished concrete and the pale asphalt driveway.

  He maneuvered the street in a frenzy. The change didn't tingle in his blood right now, but even so, he was desperate to see her.

  Her apartment topped a garage in the Garden District, and he parked in front of the stairs leading up to her home. He got out of the Porsche, not bothering to close the door behind him, and climbed the stairs two at a time.

  He pounded on the door, anxious for her to answer, desperate to touch her once again.

  Nothing.

  He pounded again. And still Caitlyn didn't come.

  After a moment, he simply broke in.

  Her rooms were dark and had an abandoned feel. He shook his head, sure he was simply being foolish. It was after three. She'd probably simply gone to work.

  He crossed to the phone and dialed the precinct, his confidence not dwindling until the receptionist told him that Detective Raine was on one of her days off, and could someone else help him?

  No. There was no one else.

  Silent, he hung up the phone, then walked to her bathroom as if sleepwalking. No toothbrush. No hairdryer. No deodorant.

  Damn it all to hell. She'd left him.

  * * *

  "You want to tell me again why you're camping out in my guest room?"

  Cate shook her head, avoiding Adam's stern gaze.

  "I'm sorry. Weird date. I ... I just thought I should make myself scarce for a while."

  He sat on the edge of the bed, tugging his wife, Alice, down beside him. "Shit, Cate."

  Alice smacked him on the thigh. "Adam!" She rose and went to hook an arm around Cate, steering her to the bed and shoving Adam aside. "You're welcome to stay for as long as you need. I completely understand." She flashed Adam a meaningful look. "Men can be such asses."

  He held up his hands in surrender. "What the hell did I do?"

  "Nothing. Yet." Alice stood, pulling Adam up with her. "We'll leave you to unpack or whatever. If you want to join us in the living room, feel free. We'll most likely be watching some television program that drips testosterone."

  Adam pointed to himself, an affronted expression drawn on his face. "You see? You see what I put up with?"

  Alice rolled her eyes and tugged him from the room with one last sympathetic look in Cate's direction. Alone, Cate curled up on the bed and hugged the pillow, willing herself not to nibble away another nail as the horrible truth ate at her—that was what she wanted. What Adam and Alice had. Love. Camaraderie.

  They were soul mates, and Cate was certain that, no matter what, they'd always be together.

  Would she ever find her soul mate? She licked her lips, her arms tightening around the pillow as the real question seeped through her. Had she already found him and then run away?

  Restlessness tinged her blood, and she slid off the bed, determined not to think about it. She'd made the decision to stay at Adam's place and it was a good plan. She needed distance, needed to think. And she wasn't about to second-guess her own choices.

  She glanced at the clock. Not quite six. Time to unpack and then pop into the living room and join her friends. Adam had said something about ordering pizza, and her mouth watered with anticipation. She lived in New Orleans, a city of amazing food, and yet a super cheesy pizza always sent her right over the edge.

  She hadn't packed much, so it didn't take long to put everything away. Underwear. A few pairs of jeans. A couple of T-shirts. Some slacks and tops for work.

  And there, in the little side pocket under a pair of socks, she found the bottle.

  With a tiny bit of trepidation she pulled it out. She didn't even remember packing it, and yet for some reason, her subconscious had thought it was important.

  She didn't know why, but she was determined to find out, and so she rummaged through her purse until she found the business card Alma had given her the first week they’d met—a card on which she’d scrawled her home number on the back side.

  She’d never before called the woman at home, but she did now, and as the phone rang, she wasn’t sure if she wanted Alma to answer or if she’d rather remain blissfully ignorant.

  No. Better to know the truth, and when she heard Alma’s soft voice on the line, Cate exhaled in genuine relief.

  “Alma, it’s Cate. Caitlyn Raine? I was wondering if I could ask you about—"

  "The bottle?"

  "I—well, yes. How did you know?"

  "Simple. I recently gave it to you. And it is the kind of thing that fascinates, is it not? What do you wish to know?"

  "Anything you can tell me. The writing for starters. Do you know what it says?"

  Even as she asked the question, she felt foolish. What difference did it make what the inscription on some stupid glass bottle said?

  "It’s just that I’m curious," she said, as if Alma needed an explanation. "Because it’s such a lovely piece."

  She purposefully didn't relay the strange wash of sensations that had invaded her soul since she'd unwrapped the gift. That little tidbit was simply too personal.

  "It is a Romani inscription. It means, the strength of the gift. I thought it was appropriate."

  "Appropriate? Do you mean, like a gypsy curse?" Her stomach curdled at the thought and her mother’s harsh words came back to her—that she was a bad girl, an evil girl, a cursed girl.

  "A curse? I suppose it could mean that. It enhances the paranormal that surrounds you."

  Paranormal? "I’m sorry. I don’t understand."

  She could almost hear the smile as Alma said, "You will."

  "But—"

  Except it was too late. The older woman said goodbye and ended the call.

  Cate hugged her knees to her chest. Her mother had never told her why Cate was cursed or what that truly meant. And, fearing the worst, Cate had never asked. Besides, she’d repeatedly told herself that it wasn’t true. Her mother was the evil one, tormenting her daughter with horrible bad seed stories that left Cate feeling lost and alone and vulnerable.

  Only after her mother had gone did Cate think that she should have tried to get into her mother’s head. Maybe there was some family history of mental illness she needed to know about.

  Or maybe there really was a curse.

  Now, holding the bottle, she feared that was true. And right then, the only thing that Cate knew for certain was that she needed to stay as far away from the bottle—and Luc Agassou—as she possibly could.

  Chapter Six

  The setting sun cast dark shadows across the pages that Cate had spread over the large patio table, but Cate barely noticed. She was too lost in the work to pay attention to something as trivial as the fading light.

  "Come on, kid. You need to take a break."

  Startled, she looked up at her partner who seemed to have materialized behind her.

  He plucked up one of the dozen files and leafed through it. "Even you have to eat sometime."

  Cate frowned, reaching back to lift her heavy hair off the nape of her neck. She was damp and sticky, but none of that mattered.

  "I need to figure this out," she said. "I need to catch him."

  "You're supposed to be taking time off."

  "No shit," she said.

  Adam sighed and took the chair opposite. They'd been working this case since day one, and they'd both kept photocopies of all the relevant reports and key evidence. She'd spent the morning reviewing the documents once again, hoping they'd missed something before, and now she'd find the clue they needed.

  "Okay," he said. "What have you got?"

  She met his eyes. "Our perp is feline." As much as she hated the thought that the panther she'd spent so many afternoons with was a mauler, she knew there was no other explanation.

  Adam frowned. "There are some suggestions that the perp might be human. Honestly, it’s the weirdest damn thing I’ve ever seen. Manny agrees," he added, referencing the baffled medical examiner. New Orleans was not your average town in a lot of ways, and this series of attacks profoundly illustrated that truism.

  "Adam, I know I'm right."

  He met her eyes, and she held his gaze. After a moment, he nodded. “Okay. Tell me." The playfulness was gone from his voice, and his expression was totally serious. All cop. He nodded toward the evidence spread out on the table. "Tell me what you see."

  And so she did, trying to convince him without telling him the biggest clue of all—that, somehow, she'd seen the attacks.

  She wished she could simply write it off to her subconscious, her mind processing the details of a case as yet unsolved. But it was more than that. So much more.

  And there was no denying that the culprit was a great, black cat.

  * * *

  Three days.

  For three days, Luc searched for her, and three times the earth turned on its axis without any sign of his Caitlyn. He'd talked to her landlord, but he'd had no more clue as to her whereabouts than Luc did. He'd gone to the precinct, but these were her days off, and while they'd offered to have her paged, he'd declined. He knew well enough that she wouldn't return the page.

  Something had scared her off. He’d scared her off. But he needed to get her back, and soon. His feline instincts were clamoring just below the surface. He'd gone days without the change, but soon ... soon it would come again. And without Caitlyn, Luc was certain someone else would get hurt.

  He'd hit the point of desperation. She was gone, and if he wanted to spare any more victims he needed to lock himself in the basement at his house. A prisoner, but out of harm's way.

  With a deep groan of frustration, he stood in the middle of St. Charles Street, his arms to his sides. He turned in a slow circle, his head tilted up to the sky. He stood on the cable-car track, but there was no car coming. It wouldn’t matter, anyway. His fate was sealed. This was his one last-ditch effort to find her. If it didn't work ... well, he'd worry about that when it happened.

  Closing his eyes, he let nothingness fill his consciousness. Somewhere, in the depths of his soul lay the heart of a great beast. And a heart that sang with Caitlyn's. He called to her now, reached out, his mind finding that silken thread that connected their souls.

  Searching, longing, needing.

  The cable car approached, easing down the track toward him, but Luc neither knew nor cared. All his focus was on this mission. He had to succeed. He had to find her.

  His mind found the thread and he held tight, following it through the dark and dank shadows, the hidden places. Further and further as the cable car groaned closer and closer.

  A house. A room. A man and a woman.

  And there, finally, he found her.

  He opened his eyes as the car screeched toward him.

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9