Jaguar at the Portal Read online

  Jaguar at the Portal

  by Aimee Easterling

  Copyright © 2015 by Aimee Easterling.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  Read more about my books at www.aimeeeasterling.com.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Epilogue

  Historical note

  For Kayla and her mother, who taught me everything I know about gunshot wounds.

  Chapter 1

  Ixchel always dreaded May 3, but not because she worried about growing old. No, the twenty-seven-year-old was more afraid of never getting the chance to see her next birthday than of sprouting gray hairs.

  Which meant she usually ended up running into doors on her birthday due to excessive over-the-shoulder looking in search of brothers who had every reason to wish her harm.

  And, yet, nothing bad has happened for the last nine years, Ixchel reminded herself at dawn as she and Mr. Fuzzy set off for his morning constitutional. The coddled spaniel had been in her charge for five days now while his owner was on vacation, and the veterinarian had quickly grown attached to the borrowed bundle of fur. She'd even gotten to the point where she'd deemed the dog attentive enough to run off-leash...assuming they set out the back way and stayed far from any roads, that is.

  Now the dog bounded ahead just out of sight, and Ixchel hurried her steps to catch up as she heard him begin to bark. It would be just her luck if Mr. Fuzzy got skunked or otherwise ended up in trouble that would make the vet look bad when his owner returned that afternoon. Nothing like failing to take care of the mayor's dog to turn a newcomer to the community into the county pariah.

  Ixchel wasn't terribly concerned, though. After all, Mr. Fuzzy liked to bark at squirrels, birds, and even run-of-the-mill trees that the dog thought were looking at him funny. So most of the vet's attention remained focused on self-chastisement. Today is just another day, she told herself. It's high time I got over my jitters.

  Ahead, Mr. Fuzzy came into view, his front paws resting on the trunk of a spreading elm tree as he yapped up into the canopy. Treed another butterfly, have you? Ixchel thought with a grin. But she still did her best to bring the dog to heel. "Here, boy!" the vet called, before craning her neck to see what the spaniel had discovered.

  Oh no.

  This couldn't be happening. Not in the safest place Ixchel could think of in which to sink her roots. Her practice was rural enough that the vet couldn't see any neighbors out either the front or the back doors, but the building wasn't located deep in the back country. So there really shouldn't have been a tremendous black feline crouched on that branch. Maybe if Ixchel blinked, she'd realize that Mr. Fuzzy had simply treed a raccoon.

  Nope, still there. Still a mountain-lion-sized cat whose fur seemed to suck light out of the morning air due to the intensity of its blackness.

  "Mr. Fuzzy, let's go," the vet called, trying to keep her voice calm but instead hearing the words emerge as a shriek. She wasn't sure what kind of creature the huge black cat would turn out to be, yet she was pretty sure the feline could eat her charge for dinner.

  But Mr. Fuzzy was too intent on the hunt to listen to his temporary mistress, and the feline appeared to be growing annoyed at the spaniel's persistent barking. So Ixchel stood frozen in place and watched as the cat stalked down one of the spreading limbs. It was now nearly at the trunk and only ten feet above the smaller animal's head.

  This can't be happening!

  Ixchel told her feet that the smart thing to do would be to run away, with or without the cuddly-but-not-overly-bright spaniel. Mr. Fuzzy was only a dog, after all. And if the vet walked any closer, she would likely be mauled by the sharp claws that she knew to be embedded in the feline's dinner-plate paws.

  But Mr. Fuzzy was the closest thing Ixchel had to a friend at the moment. And how sad is that? Plus, she really didn't want to imagine the bad PR resulting from a dog she was boarding being eaten by a cat. So, instead of following her own advice, the vet instead found herself striding directly toward the spaniel and lunging vainly for his collar.

  At the same moment, the cat jumped down and landed lightly on his feet mere inches from Ixchel and her borrowed pet. The beast's eyes were a yellow more intense than Ixchel had ever seen on a living creature, and they seemed to bore through her skin and into her soul.

  Focus. What did they say to do if you meet a mountain lion in the wild? Stand tall and raise your arms so you looked bigger than you really were, maybe. Or was that the recommended procedure for scaring off a bear?

  Neither option seemed like a possibility when Mr. Fuzzy continued to think he was a rottweiler trapped inside a lap dog's body. The canine lunged forward, the feline hissed, and Ixchel found her disobedient feet following directly after those of her charge.

  Her heart was beating so fast the vet thought she might pass out, but she was somehow able to latch one hand into the spaniel's collar before he could sink his teeth into the massive cat. Ixchel yanked Mr. Fuzzy up into her arms, ignoring his yelp of annoyance at being manhandled, then she forced herself to stand upright rather than turning and running away.

  The vet fully expected to feel claws or teeth sinking into her skin at any moment. But, instead, the tremendous feline merely stood his ground and gazed directly into her face.

  That makes no sense, the vet thought inanely. Feral cats never look you in the eye.

  But the cat was looking. And he was so close that if Ixchel dropped the struggling Mr. Fuzzy, she could have reached out and stroked the feline's fur.

  Yep, I'm definitely going into shock now.

  "I'm sorry we bothered you," Ixchel said in her best soothe-the-terrifying-animal voice. "That was very rude of Mr. Fuzzy, and I'm going to take him right home and put him on bread and water. No doggie treats for him! In fact, you won't have to worry about either of us bothering you ever again."

  As she spoke, the vet slowly backed away, her gaze still trained on the wild animal that could so easily bite off her hand. And why should he stop at a hand? The words ran through her mind like a hamster on a wheel. The cat's jaws are so huge he could probably consume my entire arm in one gulp and have room for a hot-dog chaser.

  Then, so quickly that Ixchel almost didn't see him move, the cat turned and loped off into the shadows beneath the tr
ees. Immediately, Mr. Fuzzy changed his tune from barking to face-licking, marring the vet's view of the long black tail disappearing from view. And Ixchel remembered how to breathe at last.

  Could it really be that simple? Could the feline actually be gone?

  Lifting the hand that she'd been using to pat the brave little spaniel in an attempt to calm him, Ixchel fingered the cat charm strung around her neck. Yes, birthdays weren't to be trusted. It was time to head back to her practice and hope that nothing else terrible happened on this third day of May.

  ***

  After its rocky start, May 3 turned out to be par for the course. Ixchel passed Mr. Fuzzy back to his owner (slightly tearfully), immunized a few kittens (with much better cheer), and handled the usual array of major and minor catastrophes that sent pet owners scurrying to her practice for professional assistance every day. Now, after shuffling the receptionist and her last customers out the door, Ixchel only had to finish a quick sweep and mop-down in the exam rooms before she could retreat to her apartment above the practice for a well-deserved rest.

  Rrrriiiing!

  The vet laughed at herself as she jumped a foot in the air at the sound of her own telephone. She operated a business, for crying out loud. The phone often rang.

  And maybe it's someone calling to wish me cumpleaños feliz.

  Unfortunately, that speculation fell firmly into the category of wishful thinking. Because who did Ixchel have left in her life to remember the relevance of the current date? No one except the brothers she had worked so hard to escape...and she certainly hoped they didn't know her number.

  That thought made her consider not even picking up the phone. But what if someone was calling after hours because of a severely ill pet? Despite this potential scenario, Ixchel's "hello" was much more hesitant and unprofessional than usual, and she waited to hear the caller's voice before continuing to sweep up stray pet hairs in preparation for the next day's deluge of sniffling puppies and erratic felines.

  "Hi, my name is Sophie and I'm calling you today from Salt Lake City on behalf of Failsafe Insurance," the telemarketer began. Then the other woman launched into her spiel without giving Ixchel a chance to get off the line.

  Someone had once told Ixchel that the compassionate response to unwanted solicitations was to end the call as quickly as possible so the telemarketer could move on to the possibility of a commission someplace else. But the vet couldn't quite muster up sufficient rudeness to cut into this woman's speech. Not when the caller's accent reminded her so strongly of the homeland she'd never seen. Ixchel would bet dollars to donuts that so-called Sophie was actually Sofia and lived in a village in Mexico rather than in Utah as she'd claimed.

  Not that Ixchel blamed the other woman for the subterfuge. It was hard to be a brown-skinned woman in white-bread West Virginia, and Ixchel's own accent was intentionally subtle enough that it wouldn't give her away. After all, the vet had worked hard to lose that Latina lilt.

  So instead of trying to tell Sophie/Sofia that she wasn't interested, Ixchel allowed herself to drift back into memories of the last birthday that she'd spent surrounded by family...and by that catchy accent. There had been a cake, of course. Until the confection was greedily consumed by Ixchel's five older brothers, all but one of whom still lived at home despite their relatively advanced years.

  And there'd been the mandatory presents, which those same older brothers tried to lay claim to as soon as the gifts came out of their wrapping paper. Then José had turned up the music far too loud and Papá had swept Ixchel into his arms in order to tango her around their tiny living room. The space wasn't really that minuscule, but ten young male feet got in the way of everything. Or so the vet recalled.

  Mamá had been subdued, though. The older woman's grave face looked the same way it had when Ixchel carried in blood-stained panties five years earlier, at which time the tween had gone away with a lecture on the facts of life...along with a box of tampons. So Ixchel wasn't entirely surprised on this birthday when the clan's matriarch drew her sole daughter into the elder Morenos' bedroom for privacy. Clearly, her mother had something serious on her mind that couldn't be shared with five unruly brothers bouncing around and tripping the two of them up.

  "You are my oldest daughter," Mamá began once the door was solidly closed behind them, and Ixchel barely refrained from rolling her eyes. I'm your favorite—and only—daughter too, the teenager wanted to add. But Mamá was clearly not in the mood for joking around, so the girl simply nodded.

  "So this gift should be more special," Mamá continued, pulling out a little black jewelry box. "But your grandmother died in Mexico without being able to pass her own charm down to you. Here in los Estados Unidos, jaguars aren't so common, and this was the best I could find to replace your abuela's lost charm."

  Ixchel wasn't sure what to expect when she opened the box, not after such a subdued introduction. But, inside, the girl simply found a little metal cat figurine attached to a silver chain. Nothing special, but the teenager hadn't been raised with a silver spoon in her mouth and she was grateful for any gift, no matter how small. "It's very pretty, Mamá. Thank you."

  "It's not the looks that count," her mother said mysteriously. "Now lift up your hair."

  When Ixchel dutifully obeyed, Mamá clasped the necklace around her throat and then stood back to survey her daughter. "You're all grown up now," the older woman said, her eyes a little teary, and that made Ixchel feel good. She was sick of being the baby in her massive, sprawling family. Having Mamá recognize that Ixchel was a woman at eighteen seemed long overdue, but the affirmation was satisfying nonetheless.

  "There are words to go with the gift...the responsibility," Mamá continued, looking even more glum. "But I've forgotten them, and there's no one left to ask for a reminder." The older woman paused and stroked the thin metal chain that ran around her own neck, giving Ixchel a jolt of curiosity about what hung at the end of the silver loop. Why had she never taken the time to notice her mother's ornamentation before?

  Well, that was obvious—because Mamá and Papá were simply part of the landscape that made up the backdrop of Ixchel's life. It's high time I grow up if I want to be treated like an adult, the young woman decided. She'd ask her mother more about her own childhood in Mexico at a later date, once Mamá had regained her usual smiling face.

  "Never mind the words," Mamá said at last. "It's the intention that counts. Now, promise me you'll never take this necklace off."

  "If that's what you want, Mamá," Ixchel said dutifully. "I'll never take it off."

  And she hadn't. Because that night was the last time the veterinarian-to-be had seen either of her parents alive. The last time she'd laughed with her brothers. The last time she'd felt like part of a family.

  Afterwards, and every day for the next nine years, Ixchel had obeyed her mother's command to wear the cat charm come rain or shine, day at the beach or dinner at a fancy restaurant. Like her once-taken-for-granted mother, the figurine had become part of the scenery and the veterinarian only thought of the ornament on her birthdays.

  But on May 3, the vet's melancholy musings inevitably returned to her mother's admonition. And she wondered what exactly Mamá had meant to accomplish with her uncharacteristic drama.

  Too bad Ixchel would never find out the answer to that question. Not with her mother and father both gone.

  "...would you be willing to sign up for life insurance to protect your loved ones in case disaster strikes?" Sophie/Sofia finished her spiel, coming up for air at last.

  What the heck. It wasn't as if Ixchel had anyone depending on her if she kicked the bucket, but at least the vet could improve the telemarketer's mood on this anniversary of her natal day.

  "Sure," Ixchel answered. "Sign me up."

  But the bliss of helping out someone less fortunate faded fast after Sophie/Sofia finished collecting her billing information. So the vet completed the mopping up quickly and headed out the front door without giving the rooms more
than a lick and a promise. She had a date with a box of brownie mix in her apartment, a thought that raised her spirits a bit while also rushing her steps.

  All Ixchel needed to do was to lock the practice's front door and then head to the stairs around back before she could end this long, exhausting day. But as the veterinarian bent down toward the keyhole, something pricked through her blouse at the small of her back.

  Reaching behind herself to unhook the fabric from what she assumed was a thorn, the vet instead gasped as her hand came in contact with the cold blade of a knife. It looked like Ixchel's past had caught up with her despite every attempt she'd made to throw angry brothers off her trail.

  Yep, this is officially a very bad day.

  Chapter 2

  Mmm, catnip.... The herbal aroma drifted up into the tree where Finn manned the controls for an array of security cameras. And as he inhaled with pleasure, the jaguar-shifter could feel muscles tense from several long days of stealth surveillance slowly begin to relax.

  Too bad that vet isn't here to keep me company. The woman had been so cute, standing up to what she thought was a voracious wild animal, all to protect that shaggy being she called Mr. Fuzzy. Finn had to wonder whether, if he'd really been a hungry jaguar, the woman would have fended him off with a stick.

  Finn liked her spunk, but the vet was only a backup plan that he hoped never to use. His attention should instead be focused on the archaeologists laboring away in the half-buried site that he was monitoring from a distance with the help of a dozen stealthily applied cameras.

  Flipping to another view with the click of a button, Finn quickly cycled through the information being broadcast by lenses arrayed throughout the archaeological dig. The workers had rigged electric lights to make up for the fact that they were now digging deep enough into the mound to create more of a cavernous work environment than the traditional open-air dig. Yes, they'd delved deeper...and closer to the level that held interest to a shifter who liked to believe he couldn't be the only creature of his kind left in the world.