by RJ Blain
“Runs Against Wind, as this is from your tribe, I ask you to be the custodian of it until we can return the blade to its proper owners.” My aunt slid the stiletto across the table to me. “Try not to lose it.”
“The President of the United States hands me a Cheyenne artifact, and she tells me, ‘Try not to lose it.’ Can you believe this?” I wrapped my finger around the stiletto’s hilt and lifted it, taking the opportunity to get a good look at the dark gray-blue shard of stone protruding from the metal pommel. It was less than an inch long, and one side of the facets bore evidence of damage in the form of many scratches.
The color matched the Hope Diamond but lacked the Starfall stone’s shine. I set the stiletto down in front of me, wondering if anything would happen if I touched the shard.
“She has a sense of humor,” the First Gentleman informed me. “It’s often twisted.”
For so long, the President and her husband had existed in my head as a pair of terrifying, cold rulers. One dedicated her life to guiding the United States. The other worked on the behalf of shifters across the nation and abroad. To discover they were normal people I wouldn’t have looked at twice on the street went counter to everything I’d believed.
I really needed a few minutes alone to come to terms with the fact my expectations didn’t align with reality.
“Nonsense. It’s you who is twisted. You’re a rabbit who enjoys bullying predators.”
“It’s why you married me.”
“Actually, I married you so you wouldn’t cry. I can’t stand when rabbits I can’t eat cry. I couldn’t handle the thought of being embarrassed in front of my entire family because I reduced a rabbit to helpless tears.”
I looked at Gentry. “Please tell me they don’t have children.”
“Two. They’re even worse than their parents,” he replied, grinning at me. “They’re in college and were very relieved when they were old enough to escape their parents’ clutches. Don’t you pay attention to national news? What sort of courier are you?”
“The kind who has a job to do, which doesn’t involve muling news for profit. I deliver things, and newspapers are not one of the things I deliver.”
“Runs Against Wind dislikes news mules,” Todd stated in a tone so neutral I had to clear my throat to stop myself from smiling.
Dinner arrived, brought in by three men and a woman with pristine aprons worn over jeans and long-sleeve shirts. Their attire relieved me; after spending time in the company of Secret Service agents, I found the staff’s casual clothing comforting.
While everyone else was given a salad, the woman placed a bowl of steaming, creamy soup with a faint pink hue in front of me. “Lobster bisque, ma’am.”
“Thank you,” I murmured, swallowing so I wouldn’t drool. I’d seen lobster in pictures, and I had heard stories of those who ventured into the ocean to get it.
The First Gentleman nudged me in the ribs. “Don’t stare at it, eat it.”
Blushing, I grabbed my spoon and discovered the soup had more substance to it than I thought; chunks of white and red meat hung in the thick liquid.
After my first cautious sip, I understood why people would challenge the unforgiving ocean for a chance to catch a lobster. The murmur of conversation surrounded me, but I ignored it, savoring every swallow. The soup’s warmth soothed my throat, and the rich cream flavor and chunks of meat roused my hunger.
I resisted the urge to sigh when I reached the bottom.
The woman returned, her smile touching her brown eyes. “Would you like more, ma’am?”
I sucked in a breath and glanced at Henry, who chuckled and said, “She does, even if she’s too embarrassed to admit it.”
Her smile brightened, and she took my empty bowl. “I’ll be right back.”
Aware of everyone staring at me, I considered sliding off my chair and hiding beneath the table.
Something of my discomfort must have shown on my face, because the First Gentleman laughed and said, “Don’t be shy. They’re used to predatory appetites around here. They were disconcerted to discover I eat like my wife, but they got used to it.”
My aunt, the President of the United States, giggled, something that seemed so unnatural to me, I leaned back and gaped at her.
She grinned and said, “You only had to bite one chef before they realized you were a carnivore with the misfortune of being born in a rabbit’s body. Don’t come between a cute little bunny and his next meal.”
The woman returned with another bowl, setting it in front of me. If I ignored the insanity around me, would it go away? I focused all my attention on my soup in the hopes it would. The conversation shifted to people I didn’t know, and I appreciated being able to disappear in plain sight. After the salad came a spicy-smelling soup Henry wouldn’t let me try despite it making my mouth water.
The mystic relented on the main course, and I got a plate loaded with a thick steak seared and bloody in the middle served on a bed of mashed potatoes with a dark mushroom sauce so full of flavor I stopped after every bite to appreciate its richness. It hurt to swallow, but I didn’t care. Some things were worth a little bit of pain, and good food counted.
If I had a cold beer, everything would be perfect.
Instead of beer, I got chocolate ice cream and a cup of coffee. It’d been so long since I’d had either I had to blink away tears. I got the sense chocolate and coffee weren’t common in the palace, either, as everyone ate in silence, their concentration fully on dessert.
The President finished last, giving a satisfied lick of her lips. “I think all that’s left is the late-night entertainment, and I’ve heard some interesting rumors about a tiger needing to be put back in his lowly place where he belongs.”
I stared at Anatoly, aware I’d be making a huge mess of everything in the next few days at my aunt’s request. Once I accepted the Presidential contract, I’d have a difficult time dealing with what I’d have to become again, and I had no delusions. No one in the room would approve of my choice.
For one night, however, I could pretend a bright future waited for me.
Baring my teeth, I hissed.
“I have no objections, but I recommend against roaring,” Henry stated. “Cleo?”
“Tigers aren’t happy unless they’re beating each other. If it’s not him, I’m sure someone would end up victimized. Felines,” the donkey muttered.
The President rose from her seat and clapped her hands together. “To the gym, then.”
It took almost ten minutes to hike across the palace and up several floors to a wing I’d never been to. I wasn’t even sure it had been built the last time I’d been in Charlotte. The President’s Seal marked the entry, and the Secret Service agents relaxed the instant they crossed the threshold. I found it interesting how they constantly reported the President’s location and informed others sharing their communication channels who was near her. They had odd names for everyone, too. ‘The Stallion’ went to Todd. They referred to Anatoly as ‘Head Tiger.’ They called the First Gentleman ‘Chieftain’ while Gentry was called ‘Smoker.’
They referred to me by several different names, including ‘Courier,’ ‘Running Horse,’ and ‘Tiger Stalker.’ I found them all to be ridiculous. When we headed into the gym, again marked with the President’s Seal, I heard one of the agents mention me, the Courier, was about to kick Head Tiger’s ass, and to disregard any unusual sounds, screams of pain, or roars for the next few minutes.
Turning to him, I growled, “I ride a horse named Devil Spawn. If you’re saddling me with some stupid nickname, it better be a good one.”
The Secret Service agent lowered his hand from his earpiece. “Such as?”
“Surprise me.”
“Stiletto,” the President suggested, pointing at the weapon, which I carried tucked under my arm for lack of anywhere else to put it.
I retrieved the weapon, wrinkling my nose at it. “It’s a metal toothpick.” I reversed the weapon to display the pommel, a
nd the dark shard of stone reflected the mystic lights floating near the ceiling.
“It’s a tribe artifact. Give her the identifier of Stiletto.”
“Yes, Madam President,” the man replied, stepping back and lifting his hand to his earpiece to relay the order.
At least Stiletto beat the other names by a substantial margin.
The gym’s multiple rooms offered weights, treadmills, and stationary bicycles, as well as gymnastic equipment and one room completely covered in mats. The President kicked off her shoes and hopped in. “Would you prefer to change into something more appropriate, Runs Against Wind?”
I stared down at the skirt, snorted, and allowed myself a smile. “I’m fine, thank you.”
“You’re wearing a floor length skirt.”
“And?”
“You’ll just give him the advantage. He’s a tiger. He is not going to pull his punches because you’re wearing a dress.”
“Watch and learn, Madam President. Watch and learn.” I offered the stiletto to her pommel first. “Hold this for me, please.”
She took the weapon, gathered her hair into a bun, and used the stiletto to secure it. If the blade had been sharpened properly, she wouldn’t have had any hair left, but I assumed she could order a mystic to grow more for her if she lost it all to a pointy hair stick.
Anatoly stripped off his jacket. Smirking, he rolled up his cuffs. “I’ll keep my pants on. Only fair, if she’s keeping her dress.”
Stepping to the middle of the room, I stretched, paying attention to how my body ached so I’d be prepared for any limited mobility. A full body shake later, I gathered my skirt above my knees.
Everyone stared at me.
“What, exactly, are you doing?” Anatoly stammered.
“Girding my loins.”
His mouth dropped open, and he blinked. “You’re what?”
I sighed, stared at the ceiling, and prayed for patience. Gathering the skirt in front of me, I tugged until it hugged the back of my legs. I spread my feet apart enough so I could gather and sweep the fabric between my thighs and behind me. The difficult part was bunching the material into two halves so I could wrap them around the outside of my legs and tie them together in front of me, transforming my skirt into a makeshift pair of shorts. “There. My loins are now properly girded.”
Anatoly closed his mouth, opened it to say something, and thought better of it. Instead of speaking, he turned to Gentry, pointing at me.
“I believe she has finished girding her loins, and is now ready to wage war. I very clearly heard her. Her loins are now properly girded.”
The President chuckled and took a seat near the door. “Well. I learned something new. That trick didn’t take very long at all. Where did you learn that from?”
“The Romans,” I answered, slapping my hands together. “Not only does girding allow me a better range of movement, it protects me from lechers like Anatoly.”
“Lecher?” the tiger growled.
“You looked up my skirt,” I snarled back.
“You kicked me in the face. When you had me down, you stepped on my face. Where else was I supposed to look?”
I spun and snapped a kick at his ribs, connecting with a solid thump. With a grunt and a wheezed inhale, he hopped back. Golden light washed over his dark eyes, and he hissed at me.
Some pieces of advice were meant to ignored, and I didn’t care how much it would hurt. I set my stance, inhaled, and roared at him.
He dove at me, swiping at me as though he had paws instead of hands. I batted him aside with my fists, stepping out of his reach. I kicked him behind the knee, driving him forward farther than he meant. If I had a sword, I would have been far better equipped to deal with him. I knew two types of kicks, both of which I only used when necessary. My third unarmed skill involved my knee and my assailant’s groin, a tactic I didn’t want to use on him, no matter how much he annoyed me. My only other trick was the hip toss, something I’d learned when I found out just how many men in the world thought it was their right to touch strangers.
At least I didn’t need a manual to figure out how to punch someone, although I usually avoided it. I needed my hands intact to use a sword. I waited for him to lunge for me, dodged to the side, and hammered him with my knuckles. My aim left a lot to be desired. Instead of the satisfaction of cleaning his clock, I smacked into his biceps.
“Was that supposed to hurt?”
“Be glad I don’t have a sword. You wouldn’t be laughing then.”
“You want to play with a sword?”
Having heard the innuendo before, I snarled my frustration, jumped for him, and slapped the smug look off his face so hard his head snapped around. He recovered fast, grabbing my wrist.
Moments later, he slammed me to the mat, driving the breath out of my lungs.
Anatoly pinned me beneath him, hovering over me. “You didn’t even manage to kick me in the face this time. I’m so disappointed.”
There was only one thing left for me to do. I slammed my forehead into his as hard as I could.
Chapter Forty
I had a head full of rocks, as I managed to knock Anatoly out cold. The tiger weighed a lot, limp on top of me. Grunting, I struggled to shove him off. When he didn’t respond, I resorted to biting. Yanking his ear lobe did nothing, and snarling, I went for his throat.
Before I could sink my teeth into the tiger, Todd clapped his hand over my mouth and, with his other hand, rolled Anatoly off me. “It’s considered rude to rip out someone’s jugular when they can’t fight back. It seems you’re even more hardheaded than I thought.”
Someone snickered, and wrinkling my nose, I rolled over, got to my knees, and stared at Anatoly. “Did I kill him?”
“He’s breathing. Good enough for me.” The stallion shrugged. “That’ll teach him to wait to be smug until after he’s been declared the winner.”
“I’m a little disappointed, actually. I wanted to watch her flay him before she won.” The First Gentleman scowled and crossed his arms over his chest. “What do I have to do to get a rematch?”
“Practice swords and a conscious partner?” I suggested.
“This place has to have swords or something.” Jumping to his feet, the rabbit shifter left the room.
“That just leaves the conscious partner.”
“Cleo?”
“I’m not wasting my magic on an idiot.”
“Henry?”
“You have no idea how many times I have wished someone would floor him. Drag him to the corner so when he wakes up, he not only realizes she knocked him out but also has to watch her fight with another male.”
“You mystics are merciless.”
Henry snorted. “No, we’re practical. We’ve had a long day, Mr. Jacobson. He got himself into that situation, he should get himself out of it.”
At the thunk of wood on wood, I twisted in the direction of the door. The First Gentleman returned carrying a pair of wooden rods. If I turned my head all the way to the side after guzzling six beers, I might mistake them for swords. “They’re sticks.”
“I have been informed they are—hell, I don’t even know what they are. The babysitters outside said something about not giving children sharp objects and handed me these things.” The First Gentleman tossed one to me, which I caught out of reflex. “On your feet, girded loin lady. I’m going to get fat if I sit around doing nothing.”
My eyes widened, my mouth opened, and a strangled squeak emerged.
Todd reached for my stick.
The First Gentleman growled. “Don’t you—”
I moved, striking Todd’s hand and rising to my feet. “If the bunny keeps his babysitters away, I’ll play with him. Will I get executed if I knock him out, too?”
The President laughed. “If you knock him out, I will make it very worth your while. Don’t interfere with their spar. Mystics, you have the authority to order an end to the match. Try not to kill each other.”
The Secret Serv
ice agents winced, and one lifted his hand to his ear to pass the message. While I waited, I gripped the tape-wrapped hilt of the stick. Its length reminded me of a katana, although it was straighter. It wasn’t a true cylinder; it tapered to a curved end I could accept as a stand in for an edge. I found its weight close to a good sword’s.
“Ready to get flattened by a bunny, tigress?”
“A moment,” Henry ordered, hopping to his feet and heading to Anatoly’s side. He grabbed the man’s wrist and dragged him out of the way. Then, with a smug smile, he rammed his foot into Anatoly’s stomach. The tiger cough, curled, and spluttered. “There. That should wake him up.”
Todd grimaced. “And here I thought Cleo was the most ruthless mystic I knew. I may have been mistaken.”
Gentry crouched beside his sister, shaking his head. “That was cruel, Henry. If she does score the knock out, Anatoly’s going to be riled up.”
I smiled. “But he’ll get fat if he sits around and does nothing.”
“You’re merciless,” Gentry muttered.
“Eyes to me,” the First Gentleman barked. “Unless you want to be scraped off the mat, you better pay attention.”
The authority in his voice reminded me of my life before becoming a woman. I’d been scraped off the ground so many times, fighting spar after spar to satisfy those convinced the only way to learn the sword was to taste blood and experience the pain of an edge slicing through skin.
I remembered even after so many years, and I shifted my body to present the rabbit shifter with as small a target as possible. My bare feet slid on the mat, and I spread my toes, keeping my body loose but ready.
“Well, aren’t you just a cute little warrior princess.” The First Gentleman darted forward, whipping his stick and dipping to slash at my legs.
I sidestepped, lowered the tip of my stick, firmed my grip, and deflected his blow with enough force to keep him from striking me. “Your babysitters need to take you in for an eye examination, sir.”
“So polite. Do you fight like a delicate little flower, too?”