What's New, Pussycat? (Wolf Mates Book 2)

  Wolf Mates Book 2

  What’s New Pussycat?

  Copyright ©2014 Dakota Cassidy

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the copyright holder. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then purchase your own copy from appropriate distributor. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. Any trademarks, service marks, product names or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement from the author of this work.

  Text copyright © Dakota Cassidy 2014 All Right Reserved

  Cover Art: Renee George

  Other works by Dakota Cassidy

  Paranormal Novels

  The Accidental Series

  The Accidental Werewolf—Book 1

  Accidentally Dead—Book 2

  The Accidental Human—Book 3

  Accidentally Demonic—Book 4

  Accidentally Catty—Book 5

  Accidentally Dead Again—Book 6

  The Accidental Genie—Book 7

  The Accidental Werewolf 2: Something About Harry—Book 8

  The Accidental Dragon—Book 9—Coming February 2015

  The Hell Series

  Kiss And Hell—Book 1

  My Way To Hell—Book 2

  The Wolf Mate Series

  An American Werewolf In Hoboken —Book 1

  Fangs of Anarchy—Forbidden Alpha Serial

  Part 1—Alpha Down

  Part 2—Girl Most Lycan

  Part 3—Were in the World is Gannon Dodd?

  Part 4—In the Zone

  Part 5—Revelation

  The Bundle—Parts 1-5

  Contemporary Novels

  The Call Girls Series

  Talk This Way—Prequel Novella

  Talk Dirty To Me—Book 1

  Something To Talk About—Book 2

  Talking After Midnight—Book 3

  The Ex-Trophy Wives Series

  You Dropped A Blonde On Me—Book 1

  Burning Down The Spouse—Book 2

  Waltz This Way—Book 3

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Books by Dakota Cassidy

  About Dakota Cassidy

  Join the Tiara Diaries

  Dear readers,

  Please note, if you recognize the title and concept of this book, this is an expanded, revised, revisited, rejuvenated, re-everything’d version of the original Wolf Mates novella, published with a small e-press in 2006 as a stand-alone, then sold in a collection of four stories once available in digital and also print. This book, in its latest incarnation, is the second in the revised Wolf Mates series. The first book in the newly revised series, An American Werewolf in Hoboken, can be found here

  Enormous thanks to my BFF Renee George, who creates the most amazing covers and is the most amazing friend. If not for you, I don’t know that I would have had the courage to just let go. But I’m glad we did—together.

  To my brain twin Robyn Peterman Zahn—I remain convinced we were separated at birth. Savagely torn apart, but ironically reunited by Facebook like some bad soap opera. You’re an angel, and your advice is invaluable. Always remember, if you pull the fire alarm, I’ll plan the escape route.

  Chapter One

  “Mrowwww!” Martine Brooks howled again, extra long and extra loud for the benefit of her viewing audience. Then she hissed, opening her mouth wide for clarity—in case anyone in the room mistook her mewling for anything other than complete dissatisfaction.

  Because being so rudely awakened from a sound catnap, then thrown into a plastic sweatbox the size of a sardine can, heinously lobbed into a moving vehicle smelling of beer and Fritos, bounced around for what felt like an eternity, and dumped at a 7-Eleven was surely cause for discontent.

  And now she was here. Wherever here was.

  Rescued.

  By a man named Derrick Adams, who drove like a lunatic. A man who, though he’d rescued her, appeared put out by her very existence.

  Which, on his part, was incredibly rude. It wasn’t as though she’d asked to be kidnapped to begin with. Though, she had to admit, as rescuers went, she could have made out far worse, because phew, this Derrick was pretty. So, so delectably pretty.

  Angular cheekbones, hair the color of coal just touching the collar of his T-shirt, blue eyes with thick lashes, leaving his eyes looking like they’d been outlined with smudged liner. Dusky skin stretched taut over his biceps and thick thighs flexed against his low-slung jeans.

  Yum.

  Martine shook off her stray lustful thoughts. First, because who the fresh hell was Derrick Adams anyway, and what did he want with her? Second, how had she ended up in a Dumpster at a convenience store, warranting the need for rescue to begin with? Third what if Derrick Adams was a homicidal maniac and she hadn’t been rescued at all? What if this was the place where he did all his killing?

  Though, if this was the killing room where Derrick the Homicidal Maniac did the deed, he kept his sacrificial altar clean as a whistle, because it was beautiful.

  But they weren’t alone in this beautiful place. So there was either a Cult of Derrick or these other two scantily clad people in the room were blissfully unaware he was a homicidal maniac.

  Derrick and another equally hot, yet edgier-looking man named Max, and a pretty woman with gorgeous hair were in on this, too. This Max, according to the eavesdropping she’d been doing, with the sheet wrapped around his waist and the sinfully delicious body made of steel, was brother to the man who’d rescued her.

  Max stuck his handsome face in the opening of the infernal carrier she’d been so callously stuffed into and muttered, “A cat.” He offered this wisdom with wooden words and a confused expression.

  That’s right, big and brawny—a cat. Hashtag #Meow and all that feline-ery.

  Martine sniffed the air, unable to pinpoint exactly what Max was. He wasn’t human, that much she was sure of, and neither was Derrick.

  She sniffed again. Gargoyle? No. They didn’t have the right hint of musty old man and dragon breath to be gargoyles.

  Derrick’s sigh grated her ears on the way out of his delectable mouth when he addressed Max. “Yeah. A cat. So what do you suppose this means, pack leader?”

  Max tightened the sheet around him and chuckled. “You’d better get a laser pointer? Cat litter?”

  Ah. Funny. Max was both funny smelling and ha-ha funny. Two funnies in one.

  Derrick narrowed his eyes at Max, sending out a distinct vibe of displeasure. “You know what I mean, Max. Where do I go from here?”

  What did Derrick mean? What did any of this mean? And what was a pack leader? Like a Boy Scout leader? Cult leader? Boy-band leader? Thank God she was stuck in full shift. If she had to escape, it
would make getting away easier.

  Max pulled the pretty woman wearing a bathrobe much too large for her to the couch, settling them both in before speaking. “Listen, you know the rules, Derrick. This is how it goes.”

  Derrick held up the carrier, waving it in the air, making her dizzy. “How come when it goes for you, you get a woman who walks and talks, but when it goes for me, I get one with four paws that sheds?”

  Wow. That was harsh. She walked and talked. In fact, she’d once had a really great job that involved plenty of walking and talking.

  Dickknuckle.

  The pretty woman next to Max pointed to the carrier. “Put her down, would you, please? Stop treating her like she’s not in the room and she can’t hear you, Derrick. I thought when you were in shift you paranormal people could still understand everything we humans say? If that’s the case, don’t be an insensitive knuckle-dragger. There’s a person inside that carrier you’re talking about.”

  Thank you, pretty woman with the hair to die for. Girl power.

  Derrick set the carrier on the coffee table between the couch and an enormous chair, leaving the grate opening to face the far wall so everyone could see inside. “You’re right, JC,” he said to the woman, looking down into the carrier. “My apologies,” he offered, gruff and low.

  Martine opened her mouth wide and yawned.

  Derrick ran a hand over his jaw, littered with dark stubble she wanted to rub against. Which, of course, made her a dirty, dirty whore. But so be it. It had, after all, been six months since she’d had contact with a man. With anyone, for that matter.

  Now, because the universe was LOL lately, a sinfully good-looking man had rescued her. One who potentially had nefarious intentions and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it.

  Derrick looked to Max. “So…shapeshifter, ya think?”

  JC rolled her eyes at him, moving to the edge of the couch. “Oh, wait, I know what we should do,” she said, her voice laced with sarcasm. “Let’s play a guessing game instead of just asking her? You know, seeing as she’s in the room with you.” Leaning forward, she popped open the gate on the front of the carrier.

  Derrick jumped up, his hand moving to snap the door shut, but JC whipped a finger in the air. “Leave it open! For the love of Pete, she’s not a saber-toothed tiger. She’s a cat, Derrick. You’re behaving like you’ve never encountered another species of the paranormal. Max told me you have vampires here in Cedar Glen, but you’re afraid of a cat?”

  Derrick sat back, his pretty face turning hard. “I’m not afraid of a cat, but we don’t know if she’s just a cat. I’m just taking precautions because with the paranormal, you just never know.”

  Okay, so JC was definitely a human, Derrick and Max were paranormal. Good to know. And they were in Cedar Glen. As in, New Jersey? Like farms and cows and trailer hitches?

  Um, no. That wasn’t going to work. She was a city girl through and through. New York forever. No disrespect to the people who hoed the fields or tilled the lands or whatever they did in the country, but she liked city living.

  Because you’ve done so much of that lately? Living, that is.

  JC slipped off the couch and peered into the carrier, but she didn’t do it as though she were leering at some alien life form.

  She smiled at Martine with a flash of white teeth and red lips. “You come out when you’re ready. Until then, I promise to help Neanderthal Derrick use his big-boy words to communicate. Deal?”

  Martine decided poking her head out probably wouldn’t get her killed. She sniffed the room, taking in her first full view of how breathtaking this house she’d landed in really was. Windows spanned an entire wall, with a magnificent view of all varieties of trees, and there was a fireplace in the living room from floor to ceiling that was to die for. One a girl could curl right up by on a cold winter night.

  JC sat back on the couch and looked at the men with a smile of satisfaction. “So, introductions. I’m JC Jensen, the Neanderthal is Derrick Adams, and the man next to me is Derrick’s brother Max. You’re in Cedar Glen, New Jersey.”

  She let one paw touch the coffee table then another, wary as she listened to JC speak.

  “You do realize you’re talking to a cat, right, J?” Derrick asked.

  JC made a face at him. “You do realize that while your brother pretended to be my dog during our courtship, I talked to him all the time, don’t you? So quit waving your crazy stick at me like I’m the one who flew the freak flag first, buddy.”

  Come again? This man Max, who looked like he’d eat your face off if you looked at him the wrong way, pretended to be her dog? What kind of kinkety-kink was that?

  Derrick’s face tightened before looking at Martine and then he sobered, directing his gaze at his brother. “So again I ask, what now? I don’t get where I go from here.”

  Max ran a hand through his dark hair. “Maybe you should explain why she’s here? I mean, to her.”

  JC smiled and patted Max’s thigh with approval.

  Derrick rolled his head on his neck, the crack of his bones sharp as he rocked it from side to side. Like he was preparing for a boxing match instead of a simple explanation. “Do you think she’s ready to hear why she’s here?”

  JC leaned toward her again, her eyes warm and sympathetic. “I’m going to be honest with you. Girl to girl. This part’s a little hairy—the explanation, I mean. Literally and figuratively. But I promise you it’ll be okay. It might take some time before it’s okay, but it’ll be okay.”

  Martine cocked her head, following the line of her whiskers to look at Derrick, waiting as she inched her way completely out of the carrier.

  “Maybe we should wait until she shifts?” Max asked. “You can’t have a conversation if she’s not in her human form.”

  “We don’t even know if she has a human form,” Derrick responded, clenching his fists. “Maybe this is some kind of flub in the prophecy?”

  Prophecy? And she did have a human form. She just didn’t have it right now.

  Max shook his head, clearly unconvinced. “First, you can smell she’s shifter. So of course she has a human form, Derrick. Second, when was the last time Aunt Eva screwed up a chicken noodle soup reading? She’s legend and you know it.”

  His Aunt Eva read chicken noodle soup? Chicken noodle soup was good for the soul. Not your eyes. What sort of whackadoodle read soup? What in all of hell?

  Yet another reason to hate being paranormal. All sorts of crazy rules and legends and nonsense, but absolutely no explanations.

  Derrick’s lean face went grim and dark. “Fair.” He looked to Martine, his blue eyes scanning her face. “It might be a good idea if you shift now. So we can talk. There’s nothing to be afraid of. But we really do need to talk.”

  If she could let out an exasperated sigh in her cat form, she’d blow it right in Derrick’s face. She couldn’t shift.

  She hadn’t shifted in six solid months.

  And it didn’t look like that was going to change anytime soon.

  So now what, Derrick?

  Chapter Two

  Derrick weighed his options as he watched the cat, the color of ebony, stretch out her front paws and yawn again, settling down on the coffee table to curl into a ball as though he’d bored her to death. They’d waited a full fifteen minutes for her to shift while they made coffee, poured her a bowl of fresh water, and all to no avail.

  There were two possible reasons why she wasn’t shifting. Fear or avoidance. But there was no doubt in his mind, now that he’d adjusted to her scent, that she was half human. Well, mostly no doubt. She smelled half human, but then again, there was plenty of trickery to be had in the paranormal realm.

  If this was some damn stupid joke his friends were going to heckle him for on poker night, if he was talking to nothing more than a domestic cat they’d somehow managed to disguise with a human scent, who didn’t really understand anything he was saying, he’d kick the shit out of every single one of those yahoos.<
br />
  Yet, that didn’t sit right with him. Eva didn’t play on chicken noodle soup night. When she read a prophecy, she meant business.

  So, that left him with two choices. Tell her she was his life mate while she was in shift and take the chance she’d be so freaked out, she’d never shift again. Or take her back to his place and wait it out.

  But how fair was it for her not to understand why he’d brought her here to begin with? How scared would she be if she didn’t at least have some information to work with—like who they all were? Taking another gulp of coffee, he decided on the former.

  He gave her ear a light tap, for which she responded by lifting her chin, haughty disdain in her enormous glasslike green eyes. “I’m just going to lay this on the line for you. I don’t know why you’re not shifting, but it’s only fair you know why you’re here.”

  JC was back in the living room at the speed of light, dropping onto the sofa. “Hold that thought, Master of The Delicate Words. I want to be here to lend support to…her. Sorry,” she apologized to the cat. “But I don’t know your name yet.” Then she rolled her hand in the air to gesture Derrick should continue, patting the place beside her when Max brought her a steaming cup of coffee.

  Derrick leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “So here’s the deal. I’m a werewolf. I don’t know if you can tell, because you either can’t or won’t shift and tell me so yourself.”

  JC ran a finger across her throat, shaking her head. “Ixnay on the accusatory.”

  He fought the well of impatience boiling up inside him and forced himself to display some restraint. “Sorry. Anyway, I have an Aunt Eva. She reads our pack’s prophecies, and as werewolves, we’re all expected to find life mates. If you know anything about werewolves, you’ll know we’re part of a pack. Our pack, the Adams pack, was cursed in retribution for saving werewolves who’d been used as experiments. So when we’re sent on our life-mate journey, the curse ensures the journey to finding a mate will be next to impossible—in the hopes that we’ll die trying. Which is probably true at this point, because just look at you, not shifting.”