Blind Tiger

by Rachel Vincent

  Brandt took up his position behind one of the empty chairs, leaving only Titus’s seat at the head the table, and mine to his right. Titus pulled out my chair for me, and only once I was seated did the others join me.

  I’d never felt more conspicuous in my life. Or more…esteemed.

  If this is what chivalry looks like in the twenty-first century, sign me up.

  “Since we have no service staff, this will only be a semi-formal dinner,” Titus announced as he took his seat. “Please forgive any breaches of etiquette caused by the lack.”

  “I wouldn’t know the difference,” I mumbled as I stared down the length of the polished, leaf-shaped table. The most formal meal I’d ever attended was my high school’s annual honor’s banquet. Which was a buffet.

  “Knox, what are we starting with?” the Alpha asked.

  “Our first course is curried pumpkin soup.”

  “The soup spoon is the one on the far right,” Brandt stage whispered from across the table as he lifted his. I couldn’t resist a laugh as I dipped my own spoon into the gold-rimmed bowl atop my nested place setting.

  I moaned around the first bite, then glanced around the table in embarrassment. Which turned out to be unnecessary. Most of the guys had their eyes closed, their expressions frozen in near orgasmic pleasure.

  “Holy shit, man, that’s really good!” Brandt said.

  Naveen laughed from his left, and Titus shot the kid a censuring glance. “While the phrasing is coarse, even for a semi-formal meal, I do agree with the sentiment!” our host declared.

  Knox shrugged off the compliment, but I could see that he was pleased.

  “So, if you can eat like this, why bother with the paper plates?” I asked as I lifted another steaming bite toward my mouth.

  Drew huffed. “You’ll understand when you see the pile of dishes waiting in the kitchen.”

  “My mother’s china is hand wash only,” Titus added. The table groaned unanimously.

  Spencer pointed his spoon at his Alpha. “I know I’m only a guest here, but it seems to me that he who requested the formal dinner—and didn’t help cook—should do the dishes.”

  A chorus of cheers went up around the table.

  “Insurrection already? The Pride hasn’t even been formally recognized!” Titus laughed. “Fine. I’ll do the dishes. You can all relax and eat.”

  When we’d finished our soup, Brandt and Drew cleared our bowls while Naveen and Lachlan brought the next course in shallowly curved plates from the kitchen. “This is a kale salad with candied pecans and pomegranates, served in a cucumber ‘bowl’.” Knox informed us.

  The dish was so beautiful I wasn’t sure how to eat it without tearing it apart, until I watched Titus cut his “bowl” open with his fork.

  “Do you think Corey will be able to eat with us tomorrow night?” I asked as I carefully speared a chunk of candied pecan. “Or will he already be gone by then? How long do new strays have to stay here?”

  “I think you mean, how long do they get to stay here,” Brandt said around a mouthful of kale. “And the answer, in my case, is ‘indefinitely.’”

  Naveen rolled his eyes at the kid. “Most of them are ready to go home by the time they’re able, so we keep pretty close tabs on them for a while afterward, to make sure they know they’re not alone. Morris might be ready to join us tomorrow. He’s already shifted, right?”

  Titus nodded. “A few hours ago.”

  “So soon we’ll be able to smell his infector’s scent. How does that work?” I asked.

  Drew set his fork on the edge of his plate so he could gesture with his hands. “Picture a scent as a woman’s hair braid. Or Lochlan’s.”

  Loch flipped Drew off while everyone else chuckled.

  “Anyway, a braid is made up of multiple strands, right?”

  “Yes.” My sister and I had grown up braiding each other’s hair, and the memory made me miss her. “Three of them, in a standard braid.”

  “Okay, but each of those strands is made up of hundreds of individual hairs, right? In this analogy, each of those individual hairs is an element of the scent. The infector’s scent is like a ribbon woven into the braid. Something thin. Like, a strand of yarn. It’s thicker than the individual hairs, but a very small part of the overall bouquet. It’s difficult to detect at all, if you aren’t already familiar with the infector’s scent.”

  “So, what happens if you are?” I asked as Drew rose to clear my empty salad plate. “You go round him up?”

  “Yes.” Lochlan came in from the kitchen carrying two plates. He slid one onto the service plate in front of me and the other in front of Spencer, on my right. “For questioning, at the very least.”

  “Knox, this looks amazing!” Titus said, and I had to fight not to pick up my fork and knife until everyone had been served.

  “Thank you. Tomorrow night we’re ordering pizza.” Knox cleared his throat as Lochlan and Naveen sat in front of their own entrees. “Tonight’s main course is an Indian-style leg of lamb with Dijon-glazed carrots and roasted baby leeks with bacon. Bon appetite.”

  I cut into my lamb to find it perfectly cooked and tender. “So, when you go after infectors, are they usually just waiting for you? I mean, don’t they know infection is a crime?”

  Drew groaned with pleasure as he cut into his meat. “The ones whose scents we recognize know that infection is a crime, because we taught them that. If we hadn’t already had contact with them, we wouldn’t recognize their scents.”

  “Sometimes they’re already on the run before we get there,” Lochlan added with a speared hunk of carrot halfway to his mouth. “Sometimes they have no idea we’re coming.”

  “From what I understand, if the infection was an accident, you try to rehabilitate the infector, for lack of a better word. Right?” I asked.

  Drew nodded while he chewed.

  “It’s more like behavioral counseling,” Naveen elaborated, and Knox snorted.

  I cut another tender hunk from my lamb. “What if the infection wasn’t an accident?”

  Utensils went still all around the table. Men stopped chewing. Everyone looked my way. Then their gazes slid toward Titus.

  “Unfortunately, sometimes by the time we get there, circumstances have created an unwell state of mind beyond anything we’re equipped to deal with. Delusions. Uncontrollable rage. An inability to cope with the sudden onslaught of feline instincts and territorial impulses. And every now and then, a stray turns out to be a bad apple for no reason involving his infection. When that happens, we have to execute.”

  “You put him to death?”

  “In as humane a manner possible,” Drew said. “For the greater good. To protect us all.”

  “Who—” I cleared my throat. Lamb that had been delicious seconds before had suddenly lost all taste. Would I have been executed for my crimes if I’d committed them in the free zone? And if I’d been a man? “Who does it?”

  “It’s always either Drew or me,” Titus said. “Or sometimes Jace. We can’t ask the other men to do a job we’re not willing to take on ourselves, as leaders, and the emotional burden of carrying out an execution… Well, it’s not something to be taken lightly.”

  “And on that note…” Knox stood with his plate. “It’s time for dessert.”

  Again, Drew and Brandt cleared the dishes—including the service plate—while Loch and Naveen helped Knox bring out our final course. Titus poured sherry as the dessert wine, but Spencer and I—both guests—were not allowed to help with anything.

  Dessert turned out to be crème brûlée, in the very dishes I’d seen Knox toasting earlier.

  “There’s a plate for Morris on the kitchen island,” he said as he set the final dish in front of Titus. “When we’re done, Spencer, you’re welcome to take it out to him.”

  “Not on my mother’s china,” Titus insisted.

  Knox rolled his eyes. “It’s on a paper plate.”

  I’d never had crème brûlée before, and I
had to watch the others break the sugary crust on top to be sure that’s what I was supposed to do. When the first bite nearly melted on my tongue, I realized that my own culinary skills weren’t up to the challenge and I wondered if I could achieve the same effect by taking a lit match to the top of a vanilla pudding cup.

  After dinner, I brushed off a chorus of objections as I helped carry the dishes to the kitchen, where I found Titus at the sink with his sleeves rolled up, elbows deep in steaming sudsy water.

  I laughed as I set a stack of small, shallow dishes on the counter to the left of the sink.

  “What’s so funny?” he demanded, as he ran a soapy cloth around the inside of a soup bowl.

  “I didn’t expect to find dishwashing in your skill set.”

  He blew a damp lock of dark hair off his forehead. “I’ll admit, it’s a relatively recent acquisition.”

  “So I see. You should rinse in hot water, not cold. It dries faster and leaves fewer streaks.” I flipped the faucet lever to the left and reached into the soapy water for the bowl he’d just washed, and my fingers bumped his. I went still, reluctant to end the accidental touch.

  His gray-eyed gaze found mine. He took my hand beneath the bubbles, and for one brief moment that neither of us knew how to acknowledge, we were not Alpha and tabby, embroiled in a political shitstorm. We were not lawbreakers, or revolutionaries, or rebels. We were only a man and a woman, holding hands. Wishing for a little more.

  “Hey, Robyn, I set this phone up for you,” Naveen said as he stepped into the kitchen. “I’ve programmed all of our numbers into it, and you should have plenty of data to get you through the next two weeks.”

  Titus let go of my hand as Naveen set the new cell phone on the counter next to the large wire dish drainer.

  “Thanks.” I dragged my gaze from Titus to find the enforcer watching us with a quiet, knowing smile.

  “No problem. Enjoy,” he added on his way out of the room, and I wasn’t entirely sure he was talking about the new phone.

  Titus held the bowl under the hot rinse water and cleared his throat. “You know how to dry them even faster?” he asked as he reached past me to set the bowl in the drainer.

  “How?”

  “With this.” He pulled out a drawer next to the sink and plucked a dishtowel from inside, then tossed it over my face.

  I laughed as I removed the towel with my wet hand and ran my dry one through my messy hair. “Does the guest of honor traditionally help with the dishes after a formal dinner?”

  “No. But neither does the host. As with everything else in the former free zone, we’re forging new territory here.” His gaze caught on mine again, and we suddenly seemed to be talking about something else.

  I stared up into his gray eyes, lingering in another small moment. “How could I possibly argue with that?”

  Titus washed, and I dried, then stacked the clean dishes carefully on the white granite countertop. “You’re pretty good at that,” he observed after a moment of quiet so profound I realized the other guys must have retired to the guest house to avoid being recruited.

  I rolled my eyes at him. “This is not a recently acquired skill for me. Nor is it complicated.” Yet I was never called upon to help at the Di Carlos’. Donna seemed to think that would have been taking advantage of my non-voluntary resident status.

  “So your childhood was full of dirty dishes?” Titus asked.

  I lifted one eyebrow at him as I slid my new phone into my pocket. “Was yours full of silver spoons?”

  “I—”

  The kitchen door suddenly flew open and smacked into the wall. Spencer appeared in the doorway, carrying the sturdy paper platter still full of Corey Morris’s dinner.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, clutching a wet plate to be sure I wouldn’t drop it.

  Spencer set the platter on the nearest counter top. “The basement is empty. The stray is gone.”

  TEN

  Titus

  “Okay, Lochlan, you and Naveen start at the property boundary and head west into the woods, one on two legs, one on four. Drew, you and Knox go east. Same instructions. If you haven’t found any trace within a mile of the property, call in for new directions. He’s hardly over scratch fever and he doesn’t yet know how to control his urge to shift. That means he should be easy to find, but his behavior will be unpredictable and possibly irrational.” And dangerous, of course.

  “What about me?” Brandt shifted his weight from one foot to the other on the wood floor of the office, visibly eager to help. Or rather, to be included.

  “I appreciate all your help around here,” I told him. “But you know I can’t send you into the field. You’re too young and too new. You’re not an enforcer.”

  “So I’m good enough to set the table, but not good enough to help where it really matters?”

  “Of course you’re good enough. You’re just not experienced enough.” But my explanation only seemed to frustrate him further.

  “I’m not trained as an enforcer either,” Spencer said from his seat on the edge of the leather couch. “But I’d like to help. Why don’t Brandt and I team up and take a look around the grounds. It’s possible that Morris hasn’t made it off the property yet.”

  I hesitated, trying to phrase a careful explanation. “He’s obviously confused and possibly scared,” I said. “And he might still have a low fever. He could lash out without even realizing what he’s doing.”

  “We’ll stay in human form,” Brandt said, hope riding high in his voice. “And we won’t approach him if we find him. We’ll call it in. Come on, Titus. Let us help.”

  “Fine,” I said at last. “But you stay together, and keep your phones handy. Call me if you find any sign of him.”

  “We will!” Brandt took off toward the foyer, his jacket in hand. Spencer signaled his thanks to me as he followed the kid toward the front door.

  As soon as they were gone, I sank onto my desk chair with a sigh. Then I moved the mouse around to wake up my computer monitor and began pulling up aerial shots of the property, so I could start marking up a search grid.

  When Robyn sank onto the couch in front of my desk, I glanced up, startled. “Now who’s stealthy?” I asked, trying to force a smile when I saw how worried she looked.

  “I want to help.”

  “I appreciate that, but there isn’t much you can do. You don’t know the property.”

  “But I know Corey Morris. As much as any of you do, at least. And I may know his thought process even better, being a recently infected stray myself.”

  I nodded. “Valid point. But I can’t send you out there on your own.”

  “Then come with me.” She stood, and the determination drawn in the line of her jaw told me she would not be refused.

  “I need to stay here, to coordinate communication and draw up a search grid.”

  “That’s an old Alpha’s answer.” She waved off my objection. “The grids can wait, and thanks to the miracle of cell phones, you can coordinate on your feet. Don’t you think we’d both be more useful out there looking for him?”

  Without a doubt. But new strays act unpredictably, and if Robyn got hurt on my watch, the council would never forgive me.

  If she got hurt, I’d never forgive myself.

  “You’re staying here to babysit me, aren’t you?” She sounded almost as insulted as she looked. “I can handle myself. In fact, according to the council, I can handle myself a little too well.”

  “Against humans,” I agreed. “But you’ve never fought a fellow shifter, outside of sparring, have you?”

  She blinked and suddenly looked more irritated than insulted. “No, and I don’t plan to fight Corey Morris. I’m going to look for him. If you want to ‘protect’ me, you’ll have to come with me.” With that, she marched out of the office and down the hall, toward the kitchen.

  “Wait!” My chair rolled toward the shelves behind me as I stood and jogged after her. “I don’t suppose it’d do me any good to
order you to stay here.”

  She turned to walk backward, one eyebrow arched at me. “Are you still planning to send me to Atlanta?”

  An ache spread through my chest. “You know I have to.”

  “Then you’re not my Alpha.” She shrugged and headed down the hall. “Order away. But tie your boot while you talk.”

  I looked down to find that my right boot was indeed untied. By the time I caught up to her, shoelaces trailing behind me, she had one hand on the kitchen door. “Wait a minute, Robyn!” I dropped into a squat to tie my boot, and she let go of the doorknob. “Did you follow orders this well in Atlanta?”

  “Nowhere near this well,” she said with a grin.

  “Then I’m almost surprised they want you back.”

  She shrugged as I stood. “Me too. Let’s go.”

  I followed her out the door onto the patio, where she stopped to look over the pool and hot tub—both covered for the winter—and the tree-lined path leading to the tennis court. “So, what’s the plan?” I asked.

  “Well, cats don’t track by scent, like a dog would. Man, was I disappointed to realize that.”

  “You’re not the only one.”

  “But a while back, I had some pretty good luck tracking people using my other senses—eyes, ears, and common.”

  I couldn’t resist a smile, despite the circumstances. “Okay, then, work your magic. Where do we start?”

  “At the last known location.” Robyn headed around the pool at a jog, and I followed her through the front door of the guesthouse and down the stairs. In the basement, she stopped and looked around again, and I was starting to wonder if she was part bloodhound.

  Or a police detective.

  She marched into the empty cell and picked up a sweat-stained shirt from the pile of clothing discarded on the concrete floor. “Okay, his clothes are here, so he’s probably in cat form.”

  “Or naked,” I offered.

  “That’s possible, I guess, but not likely.”