Panther Curse Read online

  Panther Curse

  Panther Man Book 1

  WILLIAM MASSA

  Critical Mass Publishing

  Copyright © 2019 by WILLIAM MASSA

  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 written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover Design: Jun Ares/Christian Bentulan/KimballStock

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  Contents

  Also by WILLIAM MASSA

  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

  Also by WILLIAM MASSA

  About the Author

  Also by WILLIAM MASSA

  THE NIGHT SLAYER SERIES

  Midnight War

  Monster Quest

  Shadow Plague

  Dark Masters (coming soon)

  THE SHADOW DETECTIVE SERIES

  Cursed City

  Soul Catcher

  Blood Rain

  Demon Dawn

  Skull Master

  Ghoul Night

  Witch Wars

  Crimson Circle

  Hell Breaker

  Dragon Curse

  Shadow Lord (coming soon)

  THE OCCULT ASSASSIN SERIES

  Damnation Code

  Apocalypse Soldier

  Ice Shadows

  Spirit Breaker

  Soul Jacker

  Doomsday Disciples (coming soon)

  THE PARANORMALIST

  coming soon

  THE GARGOYLE KNIGHT SERIES

  Gargoyle Knight

  Gargoyle Quest

  STAND ALONES

  Fear the Light

  1

  Michael Lamont stole a glance at the angel reclined in the passenger seat of his Porsche 911 Carrera rental and forgot about the devils who stalked this world.

  He basked in the woman’s natural, open smile and inhaled her sweet perfume, a mix of vanilla and lavender.

  Her name was Sheryl, she was twenty-three years old, and she spent most of her time teaching Zumba. What a life. Her body was toned and tanned, and her tight red dress left little to the imagination. She had caught his eye at the hip Hollywood watering hole before he even drained his first martini.

  Her incredible figure had sparked his initial interest, but her fun, playful personality had held it. Michael operated in a universe where smiles were rare and people kept their guard up. He envied Sheryl’s blissful ignorance of the terrible dangers that threatened mankind. Peering into those big eyes and losing himself in her enthusiastic laughter allowed him to forget about the horrors, at least for a short period.

  He was no fool. He knew all too well that spending a few hours with Sheryl represented but a brief escape from the war being waged in the shadows. The darkness would soon catch up with him, as it always did. But for a little while, he could pretend that everything was all right with the world.

  He pulled up to the luxury apartment building on Wilshire where he was staying during this visit to Los Angeles. The twenty-story building’s windows glittered in the dark night.

  The organization he worked for—and to which he’d devoted his life—owned many properties in the city, including three units in this building. They functioned as safe houses for traveling hunters.

  Michael was in LA on business, but who could blame him for trying to squeeze in some R&R? His superiors would have frowned on the behavior, but he was no monk even though he worked for a secret society closely associated with the Vatican.

  Picking up some willing beauty had not been his original intention, at least not consciously. He’d told himself he was hitting up the town for a nightcap, nothing more. Bumping into Sheryl was a coincidence—but a welcome one.

  “Nice place you got,” the young woman said. “You know how many times I’ve driven past one of these apartments and wondered what it must be like inside?”

  There was no trace of cynicism as she beamed at him with a sense of childlike wonder. Michael knew it hadn’t been his charm or looks that had attracted the young blonde. There were many men she could have picked at the bar, but she had been drawn to him. His darkness, perhaps? The aura of danger? He had told her he worked in finance. Not as exciting as the truth, not by a long stretch. How would she have reacted if she knew he hunted monsters for an ancient organization dedicated to protecting humanity?

  What a strange pair we make, Michael thought with a smile.

  Michael pulled into the apartment building’s driveway and held up his access pass at the uniformed guard fronting the garage. A beat later, a steel fence rolled open, and Michael steered the gray Porsche into an underground parking structure.

  Stale air and thick cement greeted them, along with an impressive collection of upscale cars. Paupers didn’t call this place home.

  Not every safe house was this nice. Michael had spent many a mission cooped up in some rundown shack or fleabag motel. This time he’d gotten lucky and was hunting monsters in style.

  Michael pulled into his designated parking slot and killed the engine. For a moment they sat in excited silence. He leaned over, caressed Sheryl's cheek, and then lightly brushed his lips over hers. His kisses were soft and teasing at first, probing and exploratory. It had been a few months since he’d shared his bed with someone, and as his hand explored Sheryl’s bare leg, he felt his body responding, his passion building.

  He lost all sense of time as they made out, his senses entirely focused on the woman next to him. Almost entirely. He wanted to lose himself in those luscious lips and ample curves, but a part of him couldn’t relax, couldn’t take off his armor. Out here in the car, they remained exposed and vulnerable. He needed another drink and the safety of the four walls of the apartment .

  “Want to continue this somewhere more comfortable?”

  “I thought you’d never ask,” Sheryl replied with an eager grin.

  Michael stepped out of the car and opened the door for his new friend. She leaned into him, and they sauntered, arm in arm, toward the waiting elevators.

  As they made their way through the garage, he wondered what Natalia Creed would think of him bringing a woman back to the safe house. He could easily picture her sharp disapproval. His partner was the consummate professional, the kind of hunter the League of Light wished they had more of. Natalia never let her guard down, displayed no weakness. How did she live her life without ever compromising her standards? She was a born and bred monster hunter—and barely seemed human at times.

  And yet, despite all of that, he looked forward to seeing her tomorrow when her plane arrived in Los Angeles. She didn’t need to know about—

  A loud thumping sound thrust Michael out of his thoughts, and
his guard went up immediately. His hand reached for the Glock in his shoulder holster as he spun around, eyes combing the yawning darkness of the parking structure.

  Sheryl’s eyes widened the moment she spotted the concealed firearm.

  “What…?” The words died on her lips. She had identified the source of the strange sound at the same moment as Michael.

  About twenty feet away, a four-legged beast crouched atop the roof of a BMW. A sleek torso swayed between heavily muscled limbs, preparing to pounce, two hundred pounds of coiled intensity eager to wreak destruction.

  The black panther icily regarded them, eyes glowing green in the dim light of the parking structure, powerful muscles bunched.

  Strangely enough, Michael experienced no fear. Only anger at himself for having dragged this poor girl into his crazy world.

  The panther snarled as Michael leveled his Glock at the creature. The beast studied him with unnerving intelligence. This was no ordinary jungle cat, nor had the creature randomly targeted him.

  The beast was a Follower of Bastet.

  It knew who he was, knew Michael was trained to hunt its kind. Therefore, it also knew his Glock didn’t fire regular bullets. So why announce its presence when it could have silently crept up on them?

  There was only one answer that made sense to Michael. The beast wasn’t alone.

  “Oh my G-God,” Sheryl stammered.

  “Stay calm,” Michael whispered as he tightened his grip on her. The beast remained an unmoving statue, biding its time.

  Michael didn’t dare take his eyes off the panther, knowing all too well how fast these creatures could move. A second of distraction could result in those teeth clamping down on his throat before he knew what hit him.

  Michael shepherded the shaking woman behind him and backed up toward the elevators. The poor girl gripped his hand with all her strength, and he made out her shallowed, panicked breaths. Sheryl was terrified. He’d almost forgotten what it was like when a civilian encountered the dark reality which defined most of his days, how happiness was shattered by the proximity of death.

  Michael was still inching toward the elevators when he caught a flicker of movement between a row of luxury automobiles. A shadowy shape darted between a Maserati and a tricked-out Hummer, confirming his worst fears. There were more of the beasts in the parking garage.

  Fuck.

  Another heavy thump emanated from his left as a second panther leaped from the shadows and landed on the hood of a blue Mercedes. It unleashed a spitting rasp followed by a ferocious snarl, the low rumbling sound echoing in the garage.

  The arrival of the new creature pushed Sheryl over the edge. Gripped by a wave of terror, she pulled away from him and ran toward the elevators in a wild panic.

  Fear raced up Michael’s spine, and he cursed under his breath as he diverted his attention from the two massive predators perched on the cars. The monster hunter watched in growing horror as Sheryl sprinted toward the bank of elevators, unaware of the third creature hiding in the darkness.

  The panther shot toward her, eyes flashing green, lips curled back, exposing jagged teeth. A heartbeat later, the fast-moving black mass leaped on top of Sheryl, burying her hundred-pound frame under its bone-crushing weight as it slashed at her with one clawed paw.

  The hapless girl let out a strangled scream that was swiftly cut off by the monster’s bellowing roar.

  Michael hesitated a split second to pull the trigger, worried the bullet might hit Sheryl. By the time the first silver projectile erupted from the Glock, the beast’s front claws had already shredded Sheryl’s face, leaving a dark trail of blood on the concrete floor.

  With uncanny speed, the panther’s head snapped toward Michael, teeth and snout dripping crimson. And that’s when the monster hunter sensed movement behind him.

  Two more panthers were joining the fun.

  Micheal pivoted and fired at the first of the incoming beasts. The bullet founds its target, and the devastating impact stopped the monster dead in its tracks.

  The creature wailed with agony, a thick trail of smoke emanating from the wound as the bullet flung it backward.

  These weren’t animals but supernatural beings. Weres who’d shifted into their full animal form. And his bullets weren’t ordinary ammo.

  As the wounded monster continued to snarl in pain, Michael jumped into motion. He ran toward the elevator while squeezing off a few rounds behind him. Hopefully, seeing the dying panther creature would serve as a warning to the others not to fuck with him.

  Michael passed Sheryl and glanced at her lifeless form with a heavy heart. Dead eyes stared emptily at him from the mask of gore, the same eyes which had twinkled with mischief and good humor a few minutes earlier.

  He cursed himself for his selfishness, his weakness. Her death was on him but dwelling on his guilt wouldn’t bring her back. All he could do now was survive so he could avenge her and all the other innocent victims these beasts had claimed over the years. He would make the Followers of Bastet pay for this.

  Michael continued to fire at the two panthers, who maintained their pursuit at a safe distance. They skillfully used the parked cars as a cover, a sharp reminder that these were no ordinary animals.

  Splitting his attention between his four-legged pursuers and the elevator made him vulnerable to another surprise attack, but no other creature emerged from the pools of blackness. Michael held no illusions he'd be okay once he reached the elevator. The werepanthers had identified the safe house. Who knew how deep their infiltration ran? They might be waiting for him outside the apartment even now.

  He would have to alert headquarters as soon as he got a chance.

  If he got the chance.

  He stabbed the up button and seconds later, the elevator doors split open.

  The lift wasn’t empty. A humanoid panther creature glared back at him with slitted, emerald eyes. The body was that of a muscular man covered in thick black fur, the hands and feet replaced with paws which sprouted long, hooked talons, the head that of a ferocious panther.

  Michael fired his Glock, but the beast was already upon him, claws sinking into soft flesh. Blood sprayed the walls, and his gunshots went wild. Metal sparked as the silver projectiles slammed into the roof of the elevator.

  Michael was lifted into the air. He remained airborne for a beat, and then the stone floor of the parking garage came rushing up at him, followed by a bone-rattling impact that drove the wind out of his lungs.

  Michael’s stunned gaze landing once again on Sheryl, a pool of scarlet widening around her ruined features.

  He groggily tried to orient himself. The hunter was losing a lot of blood from the shoulder wound where the panther creature had sunk its claws into him. Plus, he had hit his head hard on the cement floor on the way down.

  What a screw up.

  Footsteps drew his attention.

  He groggily followed the sound, and his gaze landed on a tall, statuesque woman decked out in a leather motorcycle outfit. High cheekbones, catlike features, dark hair, and alabaster skin. She smiled icily at him as she closed in, knee-high boots clacking against the floor. Two panthers trailed her like guard dogs.

  Although Michael had never met her before, he recognized this woman from many intelligence briefings. This was Santara, a high-ranking lieutenant in Bastet’s were-army.

  Michael wondered why he was still alive.

  He received his answer a moment later when Santara removed a black leather glove. She held out her hand at him. Her grin deepened as the long nails grew into claws, dark fur blooming across the perfectly tanned skin. Within seconds, her hand had morphed into a deadly panther paw. It was the only part of Santara’s anatomy that changed; the pride leader was in full command of her beast.

  There was only one reason for the claw that now hovered near his head. The end wouldn’t come fast. She was going to play with him. But why?

  He received his answer a moment later as she went onto her haunches, and her cru
el smile flattened into a severe line.

  “Where is the book?” Santara asked, her eyes turning green as she sank the hooked claws of her transformed panther hand into pliable muscle.

  Michael’s screams echoed in the underground garage, but no one would answer his pleas for a swift end.

  2

  I faced an auditorium filled with over a hundred college freshmen and did my best to explain the concept of carbon dating to these kids without putting them in a coma. If their bored-to-tears expressions were any indicator, I was failing miserably.

  Sorry, guys, I thought, knowing the subject could be a little dry to folks whose idea of archeology was shaped by Indiana Jones marathons.

  I couldn’t really blame these kids. For most of these undergraduates, my “Introduction to Anthropology and Archeology” class was a Humanities & Social Sciences requirement with no connection to the real reasons they were attending UCLA. Reasons like partying, drinking and… partying. I spotted the occasional history geek in the class who followed my words in rapt attention, but those were few and far between.

  As I valiantly rambled on with my lecture, I kept checking the time, eager to wrap things up. If I was honest with myself, I was as bored with the material as the kids yawning in front of me. No wonder my droning voice was putting them to sleep.

  Some people were born to teach. I sure as hell wasn’t one of them.

  Deep down, I would have given anything to trade the classroom for a dusty dig in some war-torn Third World country. As far back as I could remember, the call for adventure had burned bright inside me. My dad had been a renowned archeologist, and I’d grown up with a love for dusty tombs and buried secrets. Some of my first words were in Latin and Aramaic, according to my folks (although I suspected that was a colorful family legend), and even as a kid I’d never doubted that one day I'd follow my father into his profession.