Blood of the Pride (7 page)

The mouth opened, the canines dripping with hot saliva. His tongue flicked out once to wet his lips then retreated as he pinned me effortlessly to the ground. He arched his back and screamed at the sky above us and then glared down at me, daring me to try and escape.

I had nothing. Not even a whisper of extra strength, my weak human body nothing more than a shadow of what it could be. But I still had my senses and I wasn’t going to give up until the very end of this dream.

I lunged forward and smashed my forehead into the feline face. His nose, more delicate than a human’s, could be a liability in close fighting.

It worked. He released my arms and brought up both hands to cradle the injured and hopefully broken nose, roaring his muffled disapproval and pain.

I woke up.

He was still there.

I bucked my hips up and rolled to one side, falling onto the floor as the attacker pulled his hands away from his face, still feline, still Family.

Still trying to kill me.

I crouched into an attack posture, a mixture of what I had been taught as a kit and the result of a few self-defense courses. The television’s dim light illuminated my assailant as he knelt on the bed for a second before scrambling to his feet to continue the attack. Jazz was somewhere in the room, hissing her defiance at this invasion but smart enough not to get in the way. My shoulder ached but wasn’t dislocated. Obviously my dream state had magnified the situation.

I didn’t recognize him, but that wasn’t surprising. The teenager had a white streak running down one side of his nose, just enough to give him an eerie look in the dim light. His scent was the same as on the photograph, identifying him as the photo taker and Janey’s killer.

He jumped off the bed and came at me, both paws in the air with claws extended. This wasn’t going to be some play fight at the farm where we both rolled around like kits until one got tired and called it quits.

I grabbed the arm closest to me, the right, and yanked it past me, wincing as his left hand gouged my sweatshirt to ribbons on the way past. He slammed into the wall face-first, collapsing on the hardwood floor but only for a minute. He scrabbled back to his feet with another yell.

“What’s going on?” Bran yelled from downstairs. Great. As if things weren’t complicated enough. I stepped forward toward the attacker and shot my fist out toward his throat with all my strength. The Felis moved to one side at the last minute, spinning around to face me. The blood was still gushing from his nose down his black shirt and jeans, strangling his breathing and making it sound even more fearsome.

“Leave me alone,” he rumbled. “Just leave me alone.”

“I’m calling 911!” The panicked voice matched the pounding footsteps coming up the stairs. My attacker spat out a mouthful of blood before reaching out and grabbing me, pushing me toward the steps even as his claws dug into my skin through the material.

I began to topple, my bare feet unable to keep hold of the slick varnish. Suddenly my own claws appeared, long enough and sharp enough to embed themselves into his forearms and pull him down with me. I glared at him, a smug smile on my face.

“Let’s do this,” I said as we spun toward the stairs together. “Let’s do this right now!” His shocked eyes met mine. He hadn’t anticipated that I’d fight back with Felis claws.

This made two of us.

We rolled down the stairs like a pair of stunt dummies, bouncing every which way. I hit my head at least five times, if not more, landing on a pretty soft cushion that was both comforting and lumpy even if it was cursing and swearing.

My vision cleared long enough to see the front door open, letting in the cool night air as a shadow raced through into the darkness. Beneath me, Bran let out a cough.

“My God, are you okay?” He looked up the stairs and back down again to where we lay in a tangled heap on the landing. “Am I okay?”

I lost valuable minutes untangling myself. It took a few more seconds to stumble over to the open door and look out onto the empty street.

“What the hell was that?” Bran got to his feet and then bent over, wheezing. I tucked my hands into my armpits and pushed the door shut with a hip check, gasping for my own bit of air. Instead of dealing with Bran I leaned against the wall, hoping my claws were retracting as quickly as they had escaped my knuckles. The throbbing told me that they were, but not easily.

People forget cats aren’t exactly like the comic interpretations, especially when it comes to claws and how they actually function. Instead of having our nails shoot out like some sort of wacky manicurist’s nightmare, we have a more painful experience ending with an inch, maybe two if we’re lucky, of claw to attack with. We retract them just a bit to release our prey. I hadn’t been good at that, ever, so I had stayed attached to my attacker longer than I should have and suffered for it.

Mine were thankfully rolling back inside my hands, leaving only a trio of little bloody slits to indicate anything had happened. I kept my hands tucked away from Bran’s prying eyes as we both slumped on the floor, breathless.

“Are you okay?” He crawled to me, his eyes wide. “Tell me that’s not all your blood.”

I looked down. My sweatshirt had been shredded in a few places, but the skin had only been scratched here and there. The huge wet scarlet stain on my front startled me.

“I head-butted the asshole.” I turned my head to one side and spat out a mouthful of saliva, a light reddish tint to it. It landed in a weak splat on the varnished floor, just shy of the doormat. “And I cut my lip doing it.” My eyes went wide. “Did you say you were calling 911?”

“I tried.” Bran sheepishly held up a crushed cell phone, the faceplate shattered and cracked. “I don’t think it went through. Want me to dial now?”

“No.” I got to my feet and winced as the pain started, shooting down my spine and across my shoulder in waves. Damn it, I was too old to be rolling down stairs. “No, don’t call anyone.”

I limped into the office area, bypassing the sofa and headed for my desk. The top left-hand drawer held an extra-huge container of painkillers. I dry-swallowed a pair of pills and hoped it would be enough to fight off the migraine that was sure to return.

“Are you nuts?” Brandon brushed dirt from his pants. He looked none the worse for wear. His hair was disheveled, giving him a boyish look. “You were just tossed down the stairs and almost killed by some nutcase and you don’t want to call the cops?”

I sat down and leaned back, listening to the creaky cries of the old wooden office chair. I had rescued it from one of those second-hand furniture outfits, having no patience with the über-cushioned monstrosities salesmen kept trying to push on me. I didn’t want to be comfortable at my desk. I wanted to be uncomfortable because I would do my work and then leave. What’s so difficult to understand about that?

The pain started, right between my eyes. Wonderful.

“Are you sure?” Bran sat opposite me, where the philandering husband had been less than twenty-four hours ago. He pulled out the tail of his T-shirt, previously tucked into the top of his jeans, and wiped his face. “I mean. That guy could have killed you.”

Dang, nice abs. I closed my eyes and tried to will the pain away. “You think?” The words came out a bit harsher than I had planned.

He shuffled his chair back an inch before continuing. “Sorry, I just didn’t expect you to be so blasé about the entire thing.” His eyes went to the office phone. “Are you going to call?”

“No.” Pushing both hands against my face for a second helped dull the throbbing behind my eyes. “This was the same guy who killed Janey.”

“You know that?”

I resisted the urge to tell him I knew that because his scent was the same as the one I had picked up at the scene and off of the envelope.

“It’s a good bet, that’s all I’m saying.” Pressing against my eyelids with my palms felt good, except for the fear of pushing them so far back into my skull they’d pop out my ears. “This is the only thing I’m working on right now. Who else could it be?” It was a warning to back off, delivered in person by Janey’s killer. But he’d only been a kid and I’d scared him when my claws came out. He should have scented me as a fellow Felis the second he came in the room.

He should have known we were family. The fact that he didn’t both startled and saddened me.

The pounding stabbed at my logic, shredding it before I could get any further.

“And we’re not telling the police because…” He motioned with his fingers, urging me on.

“Because it’s none of their business!” I screamed, slamming my palms on the desk. Jagged bolts of pain bounced around the inside of my skull, erupting out through my eyes and mouth.

I jumped out of the chair and charged for the kitchen, making it to the sink just in time to return not only the beer and coffee I had enjoyed earlier that evening, but also the remains of the delicious Asian dumplings. Bracing myself with my arms on each side of the sink, I gasped and gagged, only making the pain worse.

“Damn it.” I spotted the remains of the painkillers floating in the detritus. The faint smell of peppermint drifted up to my overcharged senses, setting off another round of retching.

“I’m calling an ambulance. You need to go to the hospital now.” He put one hand on my back, rubbing in circles. If I had been strong enough to enjoy it, I would have.

I turned around and braced myself with both hands on the counter. “Look, I wasn’t knocked out. That’s not a concussion. What I do need is a hot bath and for you to make me up some tea and toast.” The throbbing was beginning to abate just a fraction behind my eyes. “Just let me get cleaned up and then we’ll talk about the entire affair, okay?” My head was spinning with the combination of smells filling the air around and between us. “Just let me get out of these clothes and cleaned up.”

He peered at me, a suspicious look on his face. “You’re not going to jump out the window or anything, right?”

I smiled despite the pain. “Not likely. Help me up the stairs and into the shower. Please.” My eyes caught his. “Look, I’m not eager to get brain damage either. But right now I need to get my head cleared and start thinking clearly.” The attacker’s scent was all over me, which wasn’t helping the nausea. It’s one thing to have that much contact with a friend, a lover—but not a stranger. It’s like being dunked in strange perfume.

“Should call the cops. Get those CSI people over here before you take a shower. But you’re going to be stubborn about this.” Bran grumbled as he tucked his arm around me, hand tight on my waist, maneuvering me toward the staircase. “And if I hear you fall I’m calling 911 first and then coming up to see you.”

“Duly noted.” We staggered up the stairs like a pair of old drunks. It was a miracle we didn’t fall back down again.

I flinched as we stepped back into my bedroom. The window had been carefully pried open, staying that way thanks to the extremely rusted hinges I had been promising to oil. The bed itself was a bloody mess. The attacker’s nose had bled like a fountain, spurting not only over my sweatshirt but across the four pillows, the light sheet and was probably starting to soak through to the mattress below. Wonderful. I hated shopping for stuff.

I released Bran and made my way to the old oaken dresser. A quick search of the bottom drawer found another sweat suit, this one a dark green. It had been a present to myself a few months ago when I had spotted it on sale in one of those fancy shops that I dare not frequent without a clear credit card. My arms ached as I carried the small bundle toward the bathroom, trying to force back another wave of nausea as the smell of the blood threatened my stomach again. Right now the rabbit’s foot in the garbage didn’t seem so annoying.

“Don’t you have anything…more fun?” Bran asked behind me, trying to lighten the mood. “I mean, that’s pretty boring nightwear.”

I slammed the door, ratcheting the pain behind my eyes up a notch. I twisted the hot water faucet wide open and waited a few minutes then added a trickle of cold, letting the steam fill the small room. The sweatshirt went into the corner with the pants. Next stop for both of them would be the garbage pail. There were some things that couldn’t ever be cleaned. I grabbed a washcloth and swiped a swath free on the mirror before turning around to see the full extent of the damage.

The full-length mirror on the back of the door revealed a mottled mess of scrapes stretching up one side of my battered body and down the other. My attacker’s nails had only scraped across my left ribs, leaving thin lines that were already beginning to heal, courtesy of Felis blood. Wounds would heal but scars remained.

I stepped under the hot water, wincing. I couldn’t stop the tears from starting as I ran the sponge over my body, trying to be as gentle as possible but failing miserably. My shoulders were already beginning to stiffen, which meant it was going to be hell to move later on tonight or today, whatever time it was. I added an unholy amount of peppermint-scented body wash to the water pooling around my feet and on the sponge, purging the attacker’s scent from my skin.

I started rolling thoughts around to distract me from the pain. My unknown assailant had followed me home from the alley. He’d been the one I’d smelled, hidden somewhere nearby and watching me and Bran go through our search.

He must have thought I was a cop. His nostrils had been clogged with blood, his and a touch of mine, clouding his senses from the start of our fight. He hadn’t made me as Felis until my claws had come out, surprising both of us.

At least I didn’t have to worry about asking Jess for descriptions of all the tall men in the Pride. I’d seen his face up close and personal. His Felis face, true, but it was as individual as a human’s face when it came to identification.

I sucked up a mouthful of hot water, gargled with it then spat it into the bathtub. The nausea had finally subsided, leaving now only an empty ache in my stomach. I wasn’t sure if it was a reaction to the fight, my attempt to Change or just the whole situation.

A burst of cold air shot up from under the shower curtain. I put the sponge back on the small plastic shelf and sighed before putting one hand on the edge of the curtain.

“Bran, I didn’t hear a thud. I’m fine and I don’t need my back scrubbed.” I took a deep breath and balled my free hand into a fist. It was possible the attacker had returned to finish the job. I stared at my hand, pushing myself to get those claws out again. Nothing. I’d have to do this the old-fashioned way.

I yanked the curtain back, one arm drawn back and ready to strike.

Bran stood there, holding a large white fluffy towel he had obviously retrieved from the hall closet. The goofy grin grew wider as he gazed at my naked body, his fingers caressing the towel.

I bounced between fight and flight. I could scream righteous indignation and toss him out of the house or I could grab the lion by the mane and jump on for a ride.

I chose the second.