Panda and the Kitty (Furry United Coalition Book 8) Read online

  But as with everything else right now in his life, his manly truck had broken down, and he was stuck feeling out of place behind the wheel and everywhere else.

  Where did he belong? Seeing his mother had only made that question worse. Maybe if he found her, he would find an answer. And get his kanga back!

  Jakob carried his new prize into his ground floor apartment. It had only the one door going in and out and one moderate-sized window. It wasn’t the homiest of places.

  He missed the country. City living looked a lot more fun on television. In truth, he hated the lack of greenery. He longed for his connection to the wilderness.

  He set the table on the counter before sitting on the only chair in his apartment to stare at it. Now that he had it here, he was even more baffled. He had no need of an accent side table. Yet, he’d bought the overpriced thing.

  He poked it. Ran his hand over the smooth wood. Next thing he knew, he was licking it again. Not just slobbering all over it but trying to bite the wood. He’d already gnawed off the veneer in some places. Shocking, and yet it didn’t curb his craving. He wanted to chew on it some more.

  Obviously, his diet was lacking in something. Now, some people might have chosen at this point to go see a doctor to get their blood tested. Or even hit a pharmacy or health food store for vitamins.

  Rather than do any of those things, Jakob grabbed the table and slammed it down on the floor. In no time at all, he had seven-hundred-dollar splinters. He went to bed with a belly full of bamboo and slept sixteen hours.

  The next day, a specialty shop sold him some fresh bamboo shoots, and he bought the crunchy juicy ones in cans. He spent that day gorging, lying on the floor of his apartment, stalks and tin cans splayed around him, happy as could be and was ready for a nap when he heard a noise outside.

  Probably rats. They thrived on the waste people in the city tossed out. And if you tried to stop them… they tore apart your shit looking for discarded treats. Jakob knew better than to fight them on it. He left them all the dinner scraps, plus some extra, and in return, the rats didn’t raid his home looking for food. It was a form of blackmail really, but given getting rid of scraps meant less garbage and flies, it worked out rather well for them both.

  From the chunks of bamboo by his side, Jakob snared a piece with a dark knot in it and wondered if it would taste different. He was just crunching into the interesting spot when he heard a thump overhead.

  Not unheard of given he had neighbors.

  He popped a piece of wood into his mouth and rolled to his feet. He chewed the tasty bit as he opened the dishwasher and pulled out a rather large gun. He also slipped two full magazines in his pockets along with a smoke bomb.

  Many people in the books and movies had this misconception about shifters, mainly that they only relied on their beast when it came to fighting.

  False.

  Shifters knew better than to unleash their animal side in public. Places where they might be discovered were best served with guns and subterfuge.

  Weapon in hand, he waited. When his door handle turned, he fired through it then dropped to the ground.

  There was no return fire.

  Interesting. They wanted him alive. The question being, how many had they sent?

  A voice, projected through a bullhorn, yelled, “This is Detective Lawrence with the fifty-first law enforcement district. Come out with your hands up.”

  Cops? Who in the blazing hells called the cops on him? And why?

  “You got the wrong apartment,” he yelled.

  “Are you Jakob Jones?”

  Shoot. Right apartment. He didn’t reply and instead dove for his phone, only to curse when he saw he had no signal. He wouldn’t be calling for help. He glanced at the ceiling. Did he have time to cut through it and get to another level?

  The door blasted open, and he fired high so as to not accidentally hit any humans because then he’d be in real trouble. He emptied the clip as he charged for the opening, feeling his body adrenalizing.

  And wait, was that a spark as his body contorted as if ready to shift. Oh shit. The timing couldn’t have been worse.

  He did his best to keep it stuffed, but his animal self shoved to dominate.

  “Not now,” he rumbled as his skin started to stretch. He couldn’t hold it in!

  Hide. He had to hide, somehow. He fumbled for the smoke bomb and tossed it. Just in time, as he felt his body morphing as he went through the door.

  “Grawr!” His battle cry was deep and gruff as he emerged into the apartment complex’s courtyard, shrouded in lung-burning smoke. He chose a direction and charged, moving past the hanging cloud. It went from dark to really bright and not because of any sunlight. There were so many lights shining on him, making him blink as he tried to adjust.

  He could hear yelling. “Shoot it! Take that thing down.”

  Thing? How rude!

  “Watch for Jones. The animal is probably a diversion.”

  Aha. So they didn’t suspect. He should try and escape. He went to hop, only to fall forward. He felt more at ease on his hands and feet, which was weird. A kanga always bounced on its hind legs.

  He’d worry about it later. He had to escape. He feinted toward a group of officers clustered at the entrance to the courtyard. One of them fired.

  Thwack.

  He recognized the sting.

  Tranquilizers? Again?

  Was this his mother’s doing? Had she enlisted the police? Another dart struck him and another. These were smaller than the ones his mother used. Much smaller with low doses.

  Rather than put him to sleep, they dulled his senses. His usually harmonious beast side pushed for full control. It seemed just easier to let it do as it wanted.

  Let’s bounce out of here. It was what he meant to do. Yet he soon realized he was running on four legs, not two. People were screaming, “Oh my God, he’s huge.”

  “Holy shit, it’s a bear.”

  Damned tourists, not recognizing his kanga greatness.

  “Look at him. He’s so cute!”

  A sentiment he appreciated as he broke through the chain of tranquilizer-toting humans in full riot gear and went galloping off down the city streets.

  He’d be in so much trouble with the council. More than likely, they’d send him a few FUC’s to straighten him out. Maybe some ASS, too, for a proper spanking.

  It wasn’t until he made it outside of the city and collapsed by a stream that he finally saw what his mother had done.

  He wasn’t a human as he’d feared. It was worse. So much worse.

  The reflection in the river didn’t show a handsome ‘roo staring back at him. But a cute and roly-poly furry panda bear face.

  Nooooooo!

  3

  The footage of the panda bear racing off into the city played on every channel. Speculation abounded, some stating it was a hoax, that the fuzzy shape that burst out of an apartment complex through a cloud of smoke was never an animal to start with but someone dressed as one.

  Some thought it was a bear all along, panicked because it had been trafficked into the country and held in a confined prison. The animal activists were screaming bloody murder about the heavily armed cops who showed up and scared the poor defenseless bear, who’d tossed aside the humans like they were bowling pins when he charged through them and trampled the hood of a police car forming the perimeter.

  And then there some television hosts asking if this was proof that shapeshifters existed. It didn’t help that this incident occurred months after the revelation by Mrs. Jones that werewolves were only the tip of the iceberg when it came to shit humans didn’t know.

  The ex-Mrs. Jones, mother to a boy Maisy used to date, had risen from the dead and, to save her own skin, divulged their secret. Then she’d gone into hiding.

  The shifter Council—and that was Council with a capital C—was in an uproar, with good reason. The revelation, even if ridiculed, endangered all of shifter kind—or, as some of the older gro
ups called them, skinwalkers. Maisy’s grandad always hated the name, which had gained popularity in the last decade as stories emerged with shifters as heroes and villains. Heck, one of the biggest names in romance was writing from experience, and the Council would have sanctioned her except for the fact she bribed her way onto a seat.

  No matter the name used to describe them—or how many rippled abs adorned book covers—the world wasn’t ready for cryptids to emerge. Not ready for what they deemed “monsters.”

  Mrs. Jones didn’t care. The Council and shifters around the world went into defensive mode. Nobody wanted the humans to come looking for them with shotguns and pitchforks. The Council’s hackers went into overdrive, wiping anything that might prove their existence and planting seeds of doubt everywhere they could. There was an entire Reddit thread on the fact Mrs. Jones had hired a special effects person to perpetrate the hoax.

  To everyone’s relief, Mrs. Jones’s attempt to reveal their existence failed.

  And then the rampaging panda video emerged just over two weeks ago.

  Maisy had no doubt the Council had people already working on debunking it. To make people doubt their own eyes. But Maisy knew the truth. What she didn’t understand was how Jakob got involved. His name was bandied about by the police as a person of interest. Interest in what? No one would say, but his face ended up plastered everywhere.

  The host on the news program returned after the clip finished playing, his expression serious as he said, “Truth or lie? What do you think?”

  The screen then flipped to Mrs. Jones at her press conference, where she looked right in the camera and said, “Shapeshifters are your neighbors and friends.”

  Yes, they were. Which was why the television host asked the provocative and dangerous question, “How can we protect ourselves from the monsters?”

  The people scrambling to buy silver thought they knew. But in reality, a bullet would shoot a person dead even if they could swap into fur. Strangle, shoot, dismember, poison. Shapeshifters weren’t immortal. She would know since she doctored them.

  Maisy flipped off the telly and its drama. She had no need of it. She rather liked her life as it was. Quiet. Predictable.

  Boring…

  A brisk knock at her door raised her head. Only one reason for anyone to be coming to her this late at night. Someone needed her help.

  As the only healer for shifters for hundreds of miles around, she often got calls at odd times. An ostrich who’d gotten an egg stuck playing erotic games. A hyena so depressed it lost its laugh. A hard case to fix until they’d discovered the hormonal imbalance. Now Tricia was laughing all the time, usually at the expense of others.

  No matter the case, Maisy did her best to offer a cure.

  Wrapping her sweater more tightly around her body, she ignored the bristling of her inner feline and grabbed the the walking stick with its pointed metal tip. Saving lives was one thing. Protecting herself, another. She wasn’t dumb. She lived by herself in the middle of nowhere.

  Pausing behind her door, a thick wooden affair that could withstand even the rampaging kick of a kanga, she leaned close and said, “Who is it?”

  The reply, just one word, sent a chill through her.

  “Jakob.”

  She opened her mouth to tell him to leave. She wasn’t ready to deal with him yet. She might never be ready. He’d broken her heart, and while it had been a while ago, time hadn’t healed that wound. Not to mention, he was a wanted man. She didn’t need that kind of trouble.

  But then he said the magic words she couldn’t ignore. “I need help.”

  She flung open the door and gaped at him. For one thing, he looked haggard, his skin a terrible shade, his eyes wide and bloodshot, and he was sweating. Profusely.

  No matter what she thought of him, the side that had sworn to help people kicked in. “Jakob, what happened to you?”

  “I got jumped.”

  “Obviously.” But he wouldn’t have come to her with just bruises and broken bones. “Get inside, and while I clean you up, you can tell me about it.”

  She stepped to her left, and he staggered in, making her note he’d gotten thicker since she’d last seen him. The chub around his middle suited him. He’d always been a touch on the skinny side. Not anymore.

  He might even be a tad too heavy. He flung himself onto the couch, and it groaned ominously. He glared at the bright-colored cushions.

  She sat across from him on the low coffee table, hands on her knees. “Jakob, what’s going on?”

  “Something is wrong with me.”

  “Can you tell me where it hurts?” Because, despite the roughness of his exterior, she saw no gaping wounds or bent limbs.

  “That’s just it; it doesn’t hurt. And yet it should, because it’s horrible. You have to fix it, Maze.” He turned a wild gaze on her. “Promise me you’ll fix it.”

  “Fix what?” she asked, distracted by the nickname only he used. “I don’t see anything that needs mending. No blood. No broken bones.”

  “That’s because I’m holding it in. I won’t let it escape. It wants to. It knows you’ll coo and aah over the cuteness of it. You’ll want to pet it. And I won’t be able to stop you.”

  The more he spoke, the more she got angry as she gauged his intent. “Did you seriously come banging on my door to get me to touch your thang?” She glared at him. Not that she would mind. Jakob always knew how to make her purr in bed. It was the fact he didn’t love her that hurt.

  “Who said anything about sex? Wait, would you have sex?” he asked rather hopefully. He shook his head a second later. “Don’t distract me. This is serious. We can’t have sex. Not until you fix me.”

  “Again, fix what? Spit it out. What’s wrong with you?”

  His expression held a hint of horror as he whispered, “I’m a panda.”

  She took a moment to digest this and then snapped, “Am I some kind of joke to you?”

  “Never!” he exclaimed. “I came to you because you’re the only one I trust.”

  “You are not a panda.” Although she would admit he needed a shower because he didn’t smell like himself. Given her sense of smell was poor compared to others, that said a lot.

  “I wish that were true, but she changed me. I’m not a ‘roo anymore. I’m a cute and cuddly bear!” His anguish was too real to be feigned.

  She reached to palpate his forehead. “You’re not running a fever. Have you ingested any mushrooms or herbs in the last twenty-four hours? Maybe smoked or smelled something odd?”

  “I’m not high. My mother did this. She’s somehow taken my ‘roo.”

  “That’s impossible,” she sputtered. “No one can take your animal and replace it with another.”

  “Oh, really? Have you forgotten what Mum was doing?” was his long-drawled reply. He reminded her of Nev, a human woman who ended up sporting wings, a new species that only a few dared whisper: harpy.

  “It’s one thing to change latent humans into a hybrid species, another to completely rip out your beast and replace it with another.”

  He winced. “Must you say rip?”

  “Well, you did say it hurt.”

  “Not that kind of hurt. This kind.” He thumped his chest. “It hurts almost as much as when you dumped me.”

  A part of her reveled in the fact he admitted he’d felt something. “Am I supposed to feel sorry for you? You deserved it.”

  “For doing what? Serving my country like a good citizen?” His voice rose as his emotions got riled.

  “Ha! You joined the army so you could blow things up.” Chose the military and their secret missions over her. It still burned.

  “So what if I did. You didn’t have to dump me.”

  “What else could I do when you signed up without even talking to me about it first?”

  “You would have said no.”

  “Of course, I would have. You know how I feel about violence.” The world would be a better place if people would keep their hands an
d bullets to themselves.

  “I didn’t have a choice.” He’d said it then and repeated it now.

  “You made your choice,” was her soft reply.

  “I know, and I’ve regretted it more than you could ever imagine.”

  “So you’re here to apologize?” She arched a brow. “Accepted. Have a good life.”

  “That’s only half of the reason. I need your help.”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  “Come on, Maze. Why not?”

  She couldn’t admit that seeing him again roused all kinds of feelings she’d thought long buried. “Help you how? And why not ask your family to help you?” The Joneses were known to be connected.

  “I can’t ask them because they’ll feel sorry for me. And then I’ll have to hit them, and Da will get angry, and then there will be some yelling.” His lips turned down. “Part of the reason Mum left was because we were so loud you know.”

  The vulnerable admission was so unlike Jakob she blurted out, “Bullshit. Who told you that?”

  “She did, right before she had her people sedate me.”

  Maisy blinked. “Wait, what? When did this happen?”

  “A few months ago. She kidnapped me and did something to me. My family says I was missing for more than three months. When I got back, I couldn’t shift.”

  “But you just said you’re a panda.”

  “A recent change. The first time it happened, I was minding my business, eating some bamboo—”

  “Eating what?”

  “Bamboo. Delicious. But not the point. My apartment was attacked.”

  “Holy hacking hairball. That was you in the news clips?” She gaped at him as the dots connected.

  He nodded.

  She paced. “Oh, Jakob. This is bad. So bad. You’re in so much trouble. The Council—”

  “Will want me arrested. I know. And maybe it’s for the best. They need to see what my mother is capable of so they can stop her!”

  She paused her steps and faced him. “I’ll need to send them a report. You have to tell me everything you can.”