The Eyes of Bast

By Lisabet Sarai

Trust your heart. Follow your dreams.

When instinct tells Shaina to visit the feral cat trap she’s set in Central Park, she listens to that inner voice. She discovers she’s caged a magnificent black tom, but the cat inexplicably vanishes after she tends to his wounds. Seeking the missing feline, Shaina encounters instead a handsome stranger whose slightest touch sets her body on fire. As the day dawns after a night of ferocious passion, her mysterious lover is forced back into his true shape—the tomcat she rescued.

Born a cat, Tom was transformed into an unwilling shape shifter by a sorceress who craved a human plaything to satisfy her perverse lusts. Centuries old and irresistibly powerful, Delphine Montserrat will stop at nothing to find her runaway familiar. Shaina vows to do whatever is necessary to defeat the vicious but seductive witch and save the man she believes is her soul mate—even though it might mean losing him forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lisabet Sarai
• Release date: May 15, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215395882

Lisabet Sarai

I became addicted to words at an early age. I began reading when I was four. I wrote my first story at five years old and my first poem at seven. Since then, I have written plays, tutorials, scholarly articles, marketing brochures, software specifications, self-help books, press releases, a five-hundred page dissertation, and lots of erotica and erotic romance – more than fifty single author titles including eight full length novels, plus dozens of short stories in various collections. My credits include contributions to the Lambda winner Where the Girls Are and the IPPIE Best Erotic Book of 2011, Carnal Machines. My gay scifi erotic romance Quarantine won a Rainbow Awards 2012 Honorable Mention. I have also edited a number of acclaimed erotica anthologies. Currently I am responsible for the charity erotica imprint Coming Together Presents, which as of December 2014 has published six volumes by top erotic authors, supporting causes such as Amnesty International, Planned Parenthood, and the Multiple Sclerosis Association of America.I have more degrees than anyone would ever need, from prestigious educational institutions who would no doubt be deeply embarrassed by my chosen genre. Aside from writing, travel is one of my most fervent passions. I’ve visited every continent except Australia, though I still have a long bucket list of places I haven’t been. Currently I live in Southeast Asia with my indulgent husband and two exceptional felines, where I pursues an alternative career that is completely unrelated to my creative writing.For more information about me and my writing, visit my website (http://www.lisabetsarai.com) or my blog Beyond Romance (http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com). Join my VIP email list here: https://btn.ymlp.com/xgjjhmhugmgh I also hang out at Goodreads, (http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/83387.Lisabet_Sarai) because I love the idea of a social network focusing on the love of reading. I’m not on Facebook, because I don’t trust it.

Book preview

The Eyes of Bast

Lisabet Sarai

Third edition © copyright 2023 Lisabet Sarai

All rights reserved. No part of this text may be reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the author. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author and not encouraging piracy of copyrighted materials. For permission to use portions of this text, other than for review purposes, please contact Lisabet at [e-mail].

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 please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy.

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental. All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.

This book is intended for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It contains sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

No generative AI training use. For avoidance of doubt, the author reserves the rights, and no other person or agency has rights to, reproduce and/or otherwise use this Work in any manner for purposes of training artificial intelligence technologies to generate text, including without limitation, technologies that are capable of generating works in the same style or genre as the Work, unless they obtain the author’s specific and express permission to do so. Nor does any person or agency have the right to sublicense others to reproduce and/or otherwise use the Work in any manner for purposes of training artificial intelligence technologies to generate text without the author’s specific and express permission.

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

About the Author

Blurb: Hot Spell

Excerpt: Hot Spell

A Final Message from Lisabet

To the dedicated readers on my VIP list,

who kept asking for more

~ and ~

For my father,

who taught me about the price of power

Chapter One

Something made me check my traps that night. Usually I’ll swing by in the morning, at the end of my regular early morning walk. That way I can drop off any new ferals at the Centre Street shelter on the way downtown to work. It means taking a cab, but I figure I can afford that much of a contribution.

It was past seven on a Friday evening and the subway car was so packed I could hardly breathe. My high heels tortured my feet. My head ached from a long day of Mr. Alpert’s demanding whine. I clung to the strap, eyes closed, imagining the bliss of sinking into a hot bath with a glass of Chardonnay. Still, the thought nagged me.

I’d visited that morning and found the cage empty, the bait untouched. Tomorrow would be soon enough, I told myself, but my sense of unease did not go away. Always trust your intuitions, my gramma used to say. So I switched from the Q train to the B at Herald Square and got off at West 86th.

Night was settling on the city. I dug my penlight and my mace out of my purse. One in each hand, I made my way along the familiar path, the blisters on my little toes complaining with every step.

As I approached the hundred-year-old elm where I usually set the trap, a low growl reached my ears. I’d been right to listen to my inner voice. Clearly, I’d caught something, though the shadows made it difficult to see what. I shone my light into the cage. A pair of brilliant green-gold eyes glared back at me.

Hey there, kitty. I crouched down on the grass beside the steel-mesh cage, my straight skirt riding up my thighs. Are you all right?

The massive black tom in the cage bared his teeth and hissed. I felt his rage and frustration. I wanted to reach into the trap, scratch behind those huge ears and comfort him, but I knew better.

Shh! I won’t hurt you, kitty. It’s going to be okay. Tomorrow I’ll take you to a nice, warm place where you can have plenty of food. I played my light over his body, which was lean but not emaciated. Although his fur bristled, overall he looked clean and healthy. Then I noticed a wound on his left flank. It gleamed, wet and oozing, in the beam from my torch.

Oh, dear! What happened to you? That’s a nasty gash. I stuck the light into my jacket pocket. I only had two hands, and the mace was more critical. The cat’s menacing growl turned into a whimper as I picked up the trap, jostling him against the mesh. Sorry, kitty. We have to get you home and dress that. That will make you feel better.

The combination of the cage and my quarry must have weighed at least twenty pounds. You’re a big guy, I commented as I picked my way along the tree-hung path back to the street. Once my eyes adjusted to the dark, it wasn’t too difficult. I glanced into the cage a few times. The tom’s eyes glowed as though lit from within.

Getting him up five flights of stairs was another story. I paused to catch my breath on the fourth story landing, resolving yet again to find a better paying job.

Finally, I wrestled the cage into my studio apartment and set it on the floor near the window. My feline guest huddled in a corner of the trap, watching me with wary eyes as I stripped off my work clothes, donned an old sweatsuit, and went to fetch antiseptic, antibiotic ointment, cotton balls, gauze, tape and a towel from the bathroom. I sat cross-legged on the worn carpet next to the cage. Now came the hard part.

Pussycat, I need to take you out now. I know you’re scared and upset, but please, don’t fight me. This is for your own good.

The cat’s solemn expression suggested that he understood me. Slowly, trying not to alarm him, I unlatched the door of the trap. I wrapped the towel around both my hands and reached in to grab him. I expected him to yowl, hiss or scratch. However, he didn’t resist at all. I pulled him out, cradling him in my lap. Normally, I’d swathe a feral’s body in the towel to immobilize him. This guy seemed so calm and quiet, though, I wasn’t sure it was necessary.

I soaked some cotton in betadine. Sorry, but this is going to hurt, I told him, holding his forelegs in my left hand while dabbing at his lacerated hip with my right. He winced but didn’t try to escape. In fact, he lay completely still in the hollow of my folded legs while I doctored him. In no time, I’d bandaged the injury, wrapping the gauze around his upper leg and securing it with surgical tape. The snow-white stripe across his haunches was a stark contrast to his jet-black fur.

He gazed up at me, his eyes glittering like paired jewels. I ventured a scratch behind his ears and was rewarded by a low purr. You’re going to be fine, puss. But now I have to put you back into the cage.

Rowrr! His sudden growl startled me. I managed to capture him in the towel before he could run. Pfftt! Rrr-owl…! He raised his voice in obvious protest as I tried to bundle him back into the trap.

Hush, puss! Shh! Do you want to get me evicted? My lease said no pets. I reasoned that the ferals I occasionally kept here overnight didn’t qualify as pets, but