by Nalini Singh
“Bryan,” she began, intending, once again, to try to get to the bottom of this.
He shook his head, stuck out his chin. “I’m not talking to anyone but Uncle Zach.”
Annie glanced at her watch. She’d called Bryan’s uncle twenty minutes ago, not long after last bell. “I left a message. But he might not check it straightaway.”
“Then we wait.”
She almost smiled at the stubbornness of him, but knew that that would only make matters worse. “Are you sure you don’t want to tell me why you hit Morgan?”
“No.”
Annie tucked back a strand of hair that had escaped the bun she’d anchored with a pair of lacquered chopsticks in a vain attempt at style. “Perhaps we could talk to your mom together—would you feel more comfortable discussing things with her?”
She’d already called Mrs. Nicholson to tell her that Bryan would be late getting home. The woman had taken it in her stride—she had three boys. “And one of them’s always in detention,” she’d said with a laugh, love in every syllable. “Since you’re waiting on Zach, he can drive this misbehaving baby home.”
“Bryan?” she prompted, when her little mischief-maker remained silent.
“No. You promised I could wait for Uncle Zach.” He scowled. “Promises are for keeping, that’s what Uncle Zach always says.”
“That’s true.” Giving in, she smiled. “Let’s hope your uncle makes it here soon.”
“Hot date?” The voice was rich, dark, and completely out of place in her classroom.
Startled, she stood to face the man leaning in the doorway. “Uncle Zach?”
A smile that cut her off at the knees. “Just Zach’s fine.” Vivid aqua-colored eyes, straight black hair cut in a careless way, copper-gold skin and bones that spoke of an ancestor from one of the native tribes. “You called.”
And he’d come.
She felt her cheeks blaze as the thought passed through her head. “I’m Annie Kildaire, Bryan’s teacher.”
When Zach accepted the hand she’d extended in a gesture of automatic politeness, the heat of him seared through her skin to burn her on the inside. She felt her breath catch and knew she was going even redder. Dear God, she was useless around beautiful men. And “Uncle” Zach was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen.
He was also staring at her. Probably at her always messy knot of hair, her bright red cheeks, her mortified brown eyes. Tugging at her hand, she tried to extract it. He held on as he glanced at Bryan. His nephew continued to sit there with a mutinous expression on his face. Seeing their clasped hands, he favored his uncle with a look that shouted “traitor.”
Zach returned his attention to Annie. “Tell me what happened.”
“Could you—” She tugged at her hand again.
He looked down, seemed to consider it, then finally let go. Fingers tingling in sensory memory, she quickly moved to busy herself tidying the stack of book reports on her desk. “If you’d like to take a seat?” He towered over her. That wasn’t particularly difficult, but he was big in a very intimidating way. Solid shoulders, pure hard muscle, and lean strength. A soldier, she thought, aware of some of the ranks within the DarkRiver pack, Zach had to carry the rank of soldier.
“I’d rather stand.”
“All right.” She didn’t sit either. It didn’t give her much of an advantage—or any advantage if she was being honest—but if she sat down with him looming all big and intense over her, she’d probably lose the power of speech. “Bryan punched a classmate during last period. He refuses to tell me what caused the incident.”
“I see.” Zach frowned. “Why isn’t the other boy here?”
She wondered if he thought she was playing favorites. “Morgan is in the sick bay. He’s rather…delicate.”
Zach raised an eyebrow. “Delicate?”
She wanted to glare at him herself. He knew perfectly well what she was talking about. “Morgan gets sick very easily.” And had a mother who treated him as if he was made of spun glass. Given that the same thing had driven Annie insane as a child, she might’ve tried to talk to Mrs. Ainslow about it, except that it was obvious Morgan liked the fussing. “He was too upset to stay near Bryan, though I would’ve preferred to talk to them together.”
“Human?” Zach asked.
“No,” she said, trying not to feel too satisfied by his look of surprise. “Swan.”
“Swans aren’t predators”—which, Annie knew, was why Morgan’s family had been allowed to stay in DarkRiver territory—“but they’re not exactly weak.”
“While all humans are?” she was irritated enough to say.
He raised an eyebrow. “Did I say that, sweetheart?”
Her face heated from the inside out. “I am Bryan’s teacher.”
“Not mine.” A grin. “You could be though. Wanna play classroom, Teach?”
She dealt with DarkRiver cats throughout the year, but for the most part, they were mated pairs or couples in long-term relationships. She had no clue how to handle a teasing male who was clearly not only aware of the effect he had on her but confident enough to take advantage. Focus on the facts, she told herself, just focus. “Bryan is normally very good.” He was, in truth, one of her best students. “He’s kind, intelligent, and before today, he’s never once hurt a classmate.”
Zach’s expression turned serious. “Strength is for protecting, not hurting. Bryan knows that as well as anybody in the pack.”
Annie’s heart clutched at the absolute way he said that, as if it was simply a fact of life. That core of unflinching honor was one of the things she most admired about the DarkRiver males she’d met. The other was the way they didn’t make even the slightest attempt to hide the adoration they felt for their mates. It was…nice.
It was also yet another point of contention between her and her mother. Professor Kimberly Kildaire had very determined views on what men should be like. The word “civilized” appeared often in the description, along with generous helpings of “rational”—a man who teased with sensual ease was far too wild to ever make the professor’s cut.
However, Annie knew her own mind, and her reaction to Zach was anything but rational. “That’s why,” she said, forcing herself to think past the nerves that threatened to turn her mute, “I was so surprised by what he did. Frankly, I have no idea what could’ve caused it. Morgan and Bryan don’t even tend to play together.”
“Give me a couple of minutes with him.” With a nod, he walked to his nephew. “Come on, Jumping Bean, let’s talk.”
“Over there.” Bryan got up and led his uncle to the back of the classroom. Annie looked away out of politeness, knowing she wouldn’t have been able to hear the conversation even if they hadn’t moved—changeling hearing was generally far more acute than a human’s. But, and though she tried to keep her eyes on the book reports, her curiosity got the better of her.
She looked up to see Zach crouched in front of Bryan, his arms braced loosely on his knees. The position had raised the sleeve of his T-shirt to expose part of a tattoo on his right biceps. She squinted. It was something exotic and curved, something that beckoned her to stroke. Thankfully, before she could surrender to the urge to get closer, Bryan began to gesture so earnestly, she wondered what on earth he was saying.
• • •
“I didn’t even hit him that hard, Uncle Zach.” Bryan blew out a breath that made his dark brown bangs dance. “He’s a sissy.”
“Bryan.”
“I mean he’s ‘delicate,’” Bryan said, proving he had very big ears. “He’s always crying, even when nobody does anything on purpose. He cried yesterday when Holly elbowed him by accident.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah—Holly’s a girl. And she’s human.”
Zach knew exactly what Bryan meant. No matter their animal, changelings were physically tougher than humans. Their bones were stronger, their bodies healed faster, and in the case of predatory changelings, they could do a hell of a lot more d
amage. “Which doesn’t explain why you hit him.” He knew and liked his nephew. The boy had been born with a solid code of honor, a code that had been strengthened by the rules DarkRiver men lived by. “You know we don’t bully weaker people.”
A shamefaced expression. “I know.”
“Did the cat get angry?” The leopard was part of who they were. But for the younger ones, the wilder side of their nature was sometimes difficult to control.
Right then, Bryan’s curvy temptation of a teacher shifted up front. Her delectable scent whispered over on disturbed air currents, ruffling the leopard’s fur in the most enticing way. He barely bit back a responsive groan. Sometimes, adults had trouble with the cat, too. “Come on, JB. You know I’m not going to get mad at you if you lost control.”
“Yeah, I guess I kinda got mad.” Bryan shuffled his feet. “I wanted to growl and bite, but I hit him instead.”
“That’s good.” A leopard’s jaws could do a lot of damage.
“And it wasn’t just the cat,” his nephew elaborated. “It was all of me.”
Zach understood. They weren’t human, and they weren’t animal. They were both. “What made you angry?”
“Morgan said something mean.”
Zach knew that sometimes it was those who appeared weakest who bore the nastiest of streaks. At least Ms. Kildaire seemed well aware of that—he hadn’t missed the fact that she hadn’t automatically blamed Bryan. “Tell me what it was.”
Bryan darted a glance toward his teacher, then leaned closer. “I didn’t want to say anything to Miss Kildaire, ’cause she’s nice, and I like her.”
“I like her, too.” A truer statement had never been said. There was something about the little teacher with her jet-black hair and dark brown eyes that had the cat purring in interest. He wondered if she realized she had one hell of a sexy mouth, then wondered if she’d let him do all sorts of wicked things to that mouth. Later, he promised himself. Right now, Bryan needed him. “What does this have to do with Ms. Kildaire?”
“Morgan said that his mother said that Miss Kildaire is sitting on a shelf.”
Zach had to think about that one for a few seconds. “He said she’s on the shelf?”
“Uh-huh.” An emphatic nod. “I don’t know why Miss Kildaire would sit on a shelf, but that’s what Morgan said.”
“I’m guessing there’s more.”
“And then Morgan said that his mother said that Miss Kildaire was too fat to get a man.”
What a load of horseshit, Zach thought. Morgan’s mother was probably some shriveled-up jealous twit. “I see.”
“And then Morgan said she was a cripple.”
Zach had a sudden urge to punch out the little rat himself. “Go on.”
“I told him to take it back. Miss Kildaire is the nicest teacher at the school, and she’s not a cripple just ’cause she has a sore leg sometimes and has to use a cane.” Temper flared in Bryan’s eyes, the irises shifting to the jagged green of the leopard.
“Hold the cat, Bryan,” Zach said, forcing a choke hold on his own anger. Cubs had to be taught control. Once, a long time ago, the animal fury of changelings had run unchecked, and it had led to the carnage of the Territorial Wars.
The other races might’ve forgotten those tormented years, but changelings never would. And they’d never allow it to happen again. “Hold it.” He put his hand on Bryan’s arm and allowed a low growl to rise from his throat. It was a gesture of dominance, and it worked to bring Bryan’s leopard back under control.
“Sorry.”
Zach felt his own cat pacing inside him before it became distracted by the exquisite scent of the luscious Ms. Kildaire. “It’s okay. We all had to learn.”
“Yeah.” Bryan blew out a breath. “Anyway, Morgan kept saying she was a cripple, and I got mad and hit him.”
Zach found himself in a quandary. He really couldn’t disagree with his nephew’s actions, but punching out another kid was against the rules. He looked into Bryan’s intelligent face and made the only decision he could. “JB, you know we don’t condone this kind of violence.”
Bryan nodded.
“But I understand the provocation.” Lying wasn’t how the pack worked. And Bryan was old enough to know that understanding didn’t mean approval.
His nephew’s face melted into a smile. “I knew you would.” He threw his arms around Zach’s neck.
Zach hugged that small, sturdy body and waited until Bryan drew back before asking, “Why didn’t you call your dad? He would’ve understood, too.” Joe ran a bar that was a favorite gathering place for the pack, but he was also a fellow soldier.
“He’s watching Liam’s soccer game today. I didn’t want to mess that up—Liam’s been practicing his kicks for like a month.”
Zach ruffled his nephew’s hair. “You’re a good kid, JB.” Standing, he nodded at the cubbyholes that lined the back of the classroom. “Grab your stuff while I go sort this out with Ms. Kildaire.”
Bryan grabbed his hand. “You won’t—”
“I won’t say anything. Promise.”
Relaxing, Bryan went to a cubby to their right and began to gather his things.
Zach watched Annie rise from her chair as he walked over and had to fight the urge to growl that she sit back down. He’d noticed her shakiness earlier—her left leg was bothering her. But if he said what he wanted to, he’d be as bad as that runt, Morgan. Annie Kildaire had to be perfectly capable if she was running a classroom of seven-year-olds.
“Did he tell you?” she asked in that husky voice that brushed like black velvet over his skin. The cat stretched out, asking for more. Being stroked by Ms. Kildaire, he thought, both sides of him in agreement, might just be the best Christmas present ever.
“Yes, he gave up the goods.”
She waited. “And?”
“And I can’t tell you.” He watched her brow furrow, her lips purse. He couldn’t decide if he wanted to bite down on that full lower lip or lick the upper one.
“Mr.…Zach.”
“Quinn,” he supplied. “Zach Quinn.”
Her cheeks flared with little red spots of temper. “Mr. Quinn, Bryan is a child. I expect you to act like an adult.”
Oh, he had plenty of plans to act like an adult around Ms. Kildaire. “I promised JB.”
She stared at him, then blew out a breath. “And promises are to be kept.”
“Yes.”
“What do you suggest I do?” She folded her arms. “I have to punish him, and I can’t do that without knowing why he did what he did.”
“I’ll take care of it.” Bryan had hit someone, and his nephew knew he’d be disciplined for it, provocation or not. But some things, Zach knew, were worth fighting over. “I’ll make sure the punishment fits the crime.”
“It’s a school matter.”
“It’s a leopard matter.”
Chapter 2
UNDERSTANDING FILTERED INTO those pretty melted-chocolate eyes. “He’s usually so well controlled, I forget he’s only seven.”
“Boy’ll grow up to be one of the dominants, probably a soldier.” He glanced behind him. “Ready?”
Bryan nodded, backpack slung over his shoulder. “Yep.”
Zach watched as his nephew walked up to the desk and said, “I’m sorry I dis—”—a frown of concentration—“disrupted the classroom. But I’m not sorry I hit Morgan.”
Zach was looking at Annie and saw her struggle to hide a smile. “That’s not a very good attitude, Bryan.”
“I know. And I’m ready for the punishment. But I’m still not sorry.”
Brown eyes flicked to him. “Is stubbornness a family trait?” Her lips curved just a little, just enough to make everything in him sit up in attention.
“Now that, sweetheart,” he said, a stunning realization taking form in his chest, “is something you’ll have to decide for yourself.” Well, hell.
She colored again. “Thank you for coming in, Mr. Quinn. I’ll look forward to seeing Br
yan in class on Monday.”
He didn’t move, tasting the realization that had him by the throat. It was hot, wild, right. Utterly, absolutely right. The knowledge made his smile slow and seductive. “Why don’t you walk out with us?” The corridors had been close to empty when he arrived, and he couldn’t hear any movement now. No way was he leaving sweet Annie Kildaire alone in a building with winter darkness only an hour away at most.
“I’ll be out in a moment.” She began to gather the papers on her desk.
“We’ll wait.” He glanced at Bryan. “Can you wait?”
“Yep.” A sunny smile. “But I’m hungry.”
Reaching into the back pocket of his jeans, he pulled out a muesli bar he’d grabbed on his way here. “I got you this for the ride home.”
Bryan caught it with cat-quick reflexes and happily went off to scramble into a seat, backpack at his feet. Meanwhile, Ms. Kildaire was giving him a guarded kind of look. “Really Mr. Quinn—”
“Zach. You can only call me Mr. Quinn when you’re angry.”
“Mr.—”
“Zach.”
Her hand fisted. “Fine. Zach.”
He smiled, liking that she was already comfortable enough to argue with him. Some women found him a little too dangerous to play with. And he very much wanted to play with Annie. “Yes, Teach?”
He could hear her gritting her teeth. “I’ll be perfectly fine walking out alone. I do it every day of the week.”
He shrugged, enjoying the verbal sparring. “I’m here today.”
“And what you says goes?” Looking down, she shoved her papers into an untidy pile.
“Unless you can talk me out of it.” He saw her jaw set and knew she was gritting those human teeth again. All that beautiful passion, he thought in pleasure, hidden behind the shyness that had first stained her cheeks.
“And why should I be talking you out of anything?” She grabbed what looked like a black leather-synth satchel and put the papers inside. “You’re nobody to me.”
The cat didn’t like that. The man didn’t either. “That wasn’t very nice.”
She turned to shoot him a glare, then recommenced packing her satchel. He could almost see her trying to figure out if he was being serious or if he was teasing her. That it took her that much focus told him she hadn’t been teased much. That was a shame. Because when Annie got mad, she forgot to be shy.