Poisonous Desires by Selena Illyria Page A

Now she was tired and grumpy. Nadia was in no mood to put up with bullshit, but she was sure a little coffee would keep her awake. Her plan was to talk to Isy’s contact and then go canvass the feline-shifter families who’d been affected by the introduction of Katnip . She’d heard of one family whose son had fallen into a coma after one hit. She wanted to talk to the victim’s mother. The woman had told the police that her son had spoken to a woman, and she’d given him a brownie. How could a brownie have done something like this to him? Nadia had her suspicions, but she wanted to talk to the woman first.
    Nadia didn’t leave immediately for her meeting, instead doing some research about the area she was about to go into. La Lune Bakery/Cafe was on the border of feline and werewolf territory. It allowed the two species to mix in a peaceful environment. Nadia settled on her bed with her laptop, wearing a T-shirt, jeans, and socks. She sat against a pile of pillows and clicked through several websites. The sites showed how the feline-shifter community was oriented in Draven’s Crossing. The feline-shifters were third in the most prosperous paranormal bracket, werewolves came in second, and the first were vampires. She read the reports and news stories on the Katnip “epidemic,” as one reporter called it. In the previous year, the number of cases of Katnip overdoses had grown from less than one percent up to fifteen percent. Recently, twenty-five percent of the feline population had had to deal with either losing a loved one to the drug or having to deal with someone they loved being in a coma. The DCPD had no clue where the drug was coming from and no leads on who exactly was selling or supplying the victims. Nadia didn’t have much faith that they were working hard on the case.
    After a bit more research she found that with the increase in cases, more Katnip “rehab” facilities had opened up all over Europe and the US. How they made money, she had no clue. Most users died after one hit, no matter how small or large it was, or they fell into a coma. With a sigh, she slammed shut the lid of her laptop and placed it on the nightstand. She was missing something big. The rehab centers couldn’t possibly make money, and yet they were. From what she’d read, parents were enrolling their children and susceptible family members into programs with the purpose of preventing them from falling prey to the drug. How could you prevent something when you didn’t know where the drug was coming from?
    Thoughts bounced around her mind with all sorts of conjecture and theories on why someone would come in and sell Katnip in Draven’s Crossing, especially with the Council visiting and the Summit going on. The police were worn thin and being pulled in all sorts of directions. They couldn’t get a handle on all the issues that would pop up. It was a blessing for her; she could move around without Torger breathing down her neck. But what about Urban?
    Why she’d never done a background check on him was beyond her. She didn’t want to know anything about him, wanted to treat him like a fuck-and-run and get no attachments. But now that she had some ties to him, she didn’t know what to do about it. With a groan, her mind produced images of Urban sometimes dressed, sometimes beautifully nude. Heat flooded her belly and slipped down to fill her pussy. Her breasts grew heavy as she allowed her mind to play over the memories. Urban always looked tanned, even in the dead of winter. Scars webbed his back and crossed his chest, stomach, and arms, thin white stripes that could have come from either animal scratches or human nails. He had bullet wounds in both his shoulders, his chest, and in his right thigh. Instead of detracting from his beauty, it increased it. This was a man who’d faced death and danger and lived.
    His face was a study of angles. His lips wouldn’t be considered sensual or lush by any standards, but they were still