Dark Side of the Moon (Dark-Hunter 9)

But those days were over. She'd never be a real reporter again.

This was it. Her life. Joy, oh joy-the bad-luck fairy had really screwed her over.

No, she thought as her chest tightened again, that wasn't true. She'd screwed herself over and she knew it. Heartsick, she turned around and headed back to her desk as she looked at the blog address in her hand.

It's stupid. Don't do it. Don't even go to the site...

But before long, she did, and there it was... a black page with some hand-drawn Gothic artwork on a Web site called deadjournal.com. But her absolute favorite part had to be the header that read: "Musings from the Dark and Twisted Mind of a Damned College Student."

The girl, Dark Angel, was certainly that. Her entries showed the typical angst of an average student... who was seriously delusional and in need of years of therapy from between the walls of a padded room.

JUNE 3, 2006, 06:45 A.M.

Someone please shoot me. Please. I really can't stress the "please" part enough. So here I was trying to study for my test tomorrow. Note the word "trying. " So here I am engrossed in the complexities of Babylonian Math, which isn't really engrossing, to say the least, when all of a sudden my cell phone rings and scares the total shit out of me because the house is even more silent than a tomb-and trust me, I've been in enough tombs and crypts to know this for a fact.

At first I stupidly thought it was my father harassing me, until I looked closer at the number and no. Not him. Those who've been reading my journal know that it's my boss, 'cause who else would call me at this ungodly hour and think that I have no life whatsoever except to serve his every whim and need? Really, take my advice and never work for an immortal. They have no respect whatsoever for those of us with finite lives.

5:30 in the morning, there he is. Calling to tell me that he's just killed off a bunch of undead people (okay, vampires, but I really hate to use that word 'cause it draws out all sorts of lunatic weirdos who want to know how they, too, can become vampires and where to find the ones I know, which wouldn't do anything but get you killed, but back to my original thought) and that I need to pick him up since it's about to be dawn and he can't make it home before the sun turns him into grilled toast. You know this isn't the way to motivate me, since a grilled toast boss = one happy Dark Angel.

Now here's where I tirade against the fact that if he were just a regular shapeshifter, I wouldn't have to go get him. He'd be able to get home without help. He could just teleport himself into the house, but back when he made the bargain to become immortal, that ability was taken from him, along with the one that allows him to travel through time and the ability to walk as a man in daylight. And why was this taken from him? One reason. To make my life a living hell of servitude, that's why.

Oh, and I have to bring him clothes since he'll most likely be in cat form at Pike's Market, which is the only way he can be in daylight and not be a crispy critter (really). So when he switches back into human form he'll be naked and will need clothing- yes, for those with gutter-bent minds, he's a buff god in theory, but since I've known him all my life it's like seeing your brother naked-can we say "ew"?!

All right, it pisses me off, but I go since he pays me and if I don't he'll tell on me again and get me into all kinds of trouble, none of which I want to hear right now. So after I hoof my butt over there to get his sorry ass, what do I find?

Yes, you guessed it. Nothing but a couple of homeless people who think I've lost my mind as I search for my "cat" while holding male clothing which I slowly remember won't do any good since he can't shift back into a human until after I get him home. That rank bastard and his pranks. A curse of poxes on his head. Better yet, I hope he gets fleas (I would wish ticks, but then I'd probably get Lyme disease from him). So fleas. Lots and lots of fleas!

I'm sure Catman Moron found some bimbo to shack up with and shag for the day, but damn it all. Couldn't he have called and told me that? No. So here I am, chugging extra-caffeinated espresso and hoping I stay awake for my test this afternoon. Thanks, boss. Appreciate it. You are the best. Where's Animal Control when you really need them? Better yet, get me an ax so I can cut off his head, and I don't mean the one on his shoulders.

Mood: Pissed

Song: "Everything About You": Ugly Kid Joe

Susan let out a tired breath as she rubbed her brow. Oh, yeah. The girl needed some serious professional help. But what the hell? It wasn't like she had anything else to do other than go and investigate the Immortal Catman of Pike's Market.

Susan cringed at the thought. "Now I'm doing it, too... Cheesy headlines are us." Groaning, she rubbed her eyes. "You know, if my life was a horse, I'd shoot it."

No matter the location or day, every animal shelter in the United States seemed to always hold the same pungent odor of cleaning antiseptic mixed with wet fur. And even though the shelters were warmed, there was always an odd chill to the air. One that penetrated straight to the bones.

Today was no different. The cat cages were lined along two walls where some of the felines slept while others played, ate, or groomed.

All except one.

That one crouched as if ready to kill and it watched everything around it with the sharp intellect of a vicious predator that belied its smaller size. It wasn't like the others. Only a fool would make that assumption.

At first glance, it appeared to be a regular Bengal house cat, but if one looked closer, it was obvious that it didn't hold quite the same facial characteristics that marked the Bengal breed. In fact, it looked just like an Arabian leopard-only it weighed a scant fifteen pounds instead of sixty.

More than that, its eyes were an eerie shade of black... an unnatural color for such a beast. And if one was really paying attention, they would definitely notice that while the other cats wore plain white collars, this one wore one of silver. It was a very special collar that caught the light and flashed with a preternatural gleam.

And what made it so special? Certainly not the thinness of its strap or the fact that it had no buckle on it. No. It was the unseen circuitry that ran along the underside of the silver fabric. Circuitry that had been designed to send out inhibitors that couldn't be felt by man or beast-unless the creature was both man and beast.

A devilish invention by those who wanted some control over the magick of others, this collar kept this particular cat in its current feline form.

And that seriously pissed the cat off.

Ravyn hissed as a man ventured near his cage. If he could get out of this, he'd tear the bastard's arms off and beat him with them. But unfortunately, he couldn't-that would require him to actually have arms of his own, which in his current form he didn't possess.

And it was all his fault. Damn him and his libido anyway. If he'd simply trotted past the sex goddess in the extremely short skirt at dawn, he'd be happily home by now-well, maybe not happily, since he'd have to listen to Erika bitch, but certainly he'd be home in his own bed and not locked in this damned cage.