Claws Bared

by Sheryl Nantus

  “Where were you the night he died?” It was a classic question.

  “I was home after spending a few hours at the club. And yes, I was alone.” She smiled. “Midnight movie marathon on one of the oldie channels. Musicals ’til I fell ’sleep.” She tossed a non-existent mane of hair back. “Gotta love those moves.” She put her hands in the air and gave a shimmy of her hips, rocking the plastic chair from side to side.

  “Totally.” I didn’t see any obvious signs she was lying. “Any idea who’d want to kill him?” I nodded toward a nearby group of women, chattering away as they watched me. They glared back as one, daring me to play on their turf.

  “Not really.” She gave a wave to a guy walking in from the parking lot. “Like I said, he didn’t have any favorites. Nice guy, easy on the eyes, but not Felis.” Her attention returned to me. “Just eye candy.”

  “Thanks.” I scribbled meaningless words on the notepad for the sake of looking professional. “I’ll call you back if I can think of anything else.”

  She got to her feet and strutted off to rejoin the pack. Another woman walked toward me, teetering on three-inch stilettos.

  The next hour ranked high among my “most useless time spent” list. All of the women had either been with mates who would vouch for their presence when Mike was killed or alone with their television/computer/sex toy. None of them knew anyone who would want Mike Hansa dead and no idea who would want to kill such a cool, sexy guy.

  A solid wall of Felis fur, fangs and claws blocking my way.

  “Good luck.” The last woman stood up and strode away, hooking up with a tall man under the pavilion who gave her a hug while tossing me a glare that would have disemboweled lesser Felis.

  I looked at my notes. Names, impressions and how many of them told the same story. Saw Mike or didn’t see Mike, didn’t date humans and had no idea who would want him dead. The family had closed ranks and I was just there for show.

  Carson approached me, his hands jammed into his back jean pockets. “There’s one more woman on the list but she’s not here yet. Got word she’s running late getting out of work.”

  I studied his face. He had Changed back but still looked annoyed at me. Having the police chief pissed at me wasn’t the way to work this case.

  I took a deep breath, swallowed my pride and went back to my roots. Jess had been a hard taskmaster but she’d taught me something about when to back down.

  “I apologize about going out and talking to April.” I looked at the ground and slumped my shoulders, assuming a submissive position. “I shouldn’t have done that. I overstepped my boundaries and I was wrong.”

  He scuffed the dirt with the toe of his boot. “Thank you.”

  There wasn’t a return apology. I didn’t expect one.

  “They’re gearing up for the run.” The chief motioned toward a large group hanging off to one side. A few women stayed by the buffet table, cleaning up the remains. “You should go along. De-stress and all that.”

  I wasn’t sure if he was talking about me or about himself.

  I shook my head. “I can’t Change. I can’t run.”

  “Sure you can.” Trace came up beside me. He’d lost the T-shirt, his well-defined chest and abs showing the result of years of hard work. The bronzed skin shone in the dying sunlight. He stuck out his hand. “Lose the coat and come on. I’d be a bad host if I let you stay back here while the rest of us were having fun.”

  “I need to wait for someone.” It was a valid reason but the words sounded so lame. “There’s another woman I need to interview.”

  “She’ll be here after the run, then.” His fingers wriggled. “Come on, I promise I won’t bite.”

  His scent washed over me. Friendly, warm...and that was all. No arousal, no hot and horny male musk. Whatever his motives might be, Trace wasn’t out to seduce me.

  At least not right now.

  The little angel on my shoulder tapped me on the ear and reminded me of Bran. The little devil waved her tail with a flourish and noted this was only a run, a fun run, a nice job in the woods with a fellow Felis.

  My nose twitched as I caught the smell of the forest. Damp, fresh and wild.

  I needed this. I might regret it later but I needed this.

  I shucked the coat and moved around the table to take his hand.

  “When was the last time you had a good run?” he murmured.

  I laughed; I couldn’t help myself. “That’s got to be the worst pick-up line ever.”

  Trace chuckled as his hand went around mine, warm fingers banishing the nervous chill I felt. “You’ve got a dirty mind.”

  He Changed quickly, his blond hair shifting into shades of tawny running over his face and arms. Dark black streaks started at his nose and ran up over his head. His hand went tight around mine.

  “Ready?” Trace grinned, showing off an impressive set of fangs.

  I rolled my shoulders back. “Let’s go.”

  We started off at a light jog, my leg muscles loosening up as we headed for the edge of the meadow. A small group jumped past us, a bunch of youngsters in their twenties laughing and calling to each other. Most of them were bare-chested and in full Change, some even barefoot. No nudity, at least not yet.

  Trace laughed as we leapt over a fallen log, seeming to read my mind. “I’m not that crazy. Last thing I need is to have to take time off work because I got a stick rammed through the bottom of my foot. Or any place else.” He kept just ahead of me—I could tell he was holding back.

  I increased my pace, pushing myself. I might not be able to Change but I wasn’t going to be embarrassed in front of another Pride.

  A cool sheen of sweat covered me as we veered down one trail, away from the pack of kits. The woods were thick and lush, the greenery exploding around us as I opened up all of my senses to the wilderness, let the Felis run free.

  Trace grabbed a low-hanging branch from a tree and held it back for me.

  I snatched the chance and let go with a burst of speed, shooting ahead of him and bounding over another fat fallen log.

  His laugh followed me as I kept to the well-traveled path, my feet landing where dozens, maybe hundreds of Felis had run before me.

  I drew in the fresh forest air, smelled the wildlife scattering ahead of us. Rabbits, deer, groundhogs and even a bear or two, none of which wanted to get caught by a group of Felis on the hunt. It was a thick, heady rush of power I’d forgotten about for years, the mastery over the environment. We were kings in our own little part of the world, rulers without question.

  I felt a wee bit faint.

  “Come on.” Trace grabbed my hand. “Don’t let the kids show us up.”

  He pulled me down the trail with a roar. I laughed and matched it as we sprinted by a couple more intent on finding a secluded place to make out than run.

  I glanced back at the pair as they vanished into a field of tall, overgrown grass. A surge of heat ran up my spine, heightened by the Felis all around me. I might not be able to Change but I was pure Felis where it counted.

  My free hand came up and unbuttoned the front of my blouse, letting the heat escape. I reached up and pulled the hair band out to let my blond hair fly free over my shoulders. My heartbeat spun up and settled into a rapid pace as my breathing became measured pants.

  A narrow creek offered little resistance and we leapt over it together with a shared laugh. A group of kits, the oldest maybe eight years old, scrambled past us with giggles and growls, a young girl leading her pack of future suitors.

  We’d gone in a long, looping circle, the thick brush and undergrowth giving way again to the trimmed-back edges of the farmland. I spotted the pavilion in the distance, people crowding around the coolers to rehydrate.

  “Almost there,” Trace yelled when we jumped over a small ditch.

  My running shoes slipped on the well-trod mud. His grip on my hand intensified as he pulled me up out of an almost-fall and we sprinted for the tent.

  My pulse hammer
ed in my ears. I hadn’t felt so alive in years. I’d gone jogging once or twice in the city in a vain attempt to recapture this freedom, this wilderness inside myself but it hadn’t worked. The wilderness was where I felt the most at home, where I could be myself.

  We were Felis. We were hunters and, by God, I was hungry for the kill.

  Trace kicked it up until we ran full-out, my lungs sore and close to bursting as I matched him, step by step.

  He glistened with sweat, his furred chest rising and falling with each deep breath. The stripes across his face became more vivid and he whistled through clenched teeth.

  We skidded to a stop at the edge of the tent beside an older couple who leaned on each other, gasping and wheezing even as they kissed. The woman giggled, grey and silver streaks in her fur. Her husband put his hands on his knees and wheezed.

  Her mate stood up and grabbed her in a tight embrace, kissing with a hunger I hoped I’d have at that age.

  “Not too shabby,” Trace said, still holding my hand.

  I chuckled. “For an old broad, you mean.”

  “You’re not that old,” Trance answered. “And I bet you still have it when and where it counts.”

  His predatory look captured me, froze me in place like a deer in headlights. He didn’t move toward me, didn’t do anything but stare at me.

  It was enough to begin shredding my defenses in a slow, determined attack.

  The wind shifted, pulling in the scents and smells from the opposite direction.

  My eyes widened as a familiar odor crashed into my lungs, tugging at my heart. It grabbed Trace’s spell and strangled it, killed it and made it roadkill.

  I spun around to see Bran staring at me.

  He stood at the edge of the parking lot, his long leather duster flying open in the breeze. The light blue dress shirt was tucked into his jeans, the top two buttons undone and the thin black tie hanging down loose over his chest.

  His deep brown eyes were wide and wild, raking over me with a fierceness I’d never seen before. Hunger mixed with anger mixed with a whole lot of testosterone.

  I knew how I looked. Blouse half-open, sweaty and flushed, holding hands with a stranger.

  This was not good.

  Bran strode up to Trace, the toes of his running shoes brushing against Trace’s work boots.

  The elderly man slipped an arm around his wife’s waist and pulled her close, shielding her from the crashing egos. She curled her head into his neck and watched me, her eyes wide and curious at seeing a human act so bold and daring.

  The group of young kits who’d passed us earlier vanished into the forest, away from trouble.

  The other Felis faded back, out of my eyesight.

  Trace didn’t Change back. He stared at Bran. His hand stayed tight around my fingers.

  I couldn’t breathe.

  I couldn’t move.

  It was like someone had jammed an iron spike down from the top of my head through my spine and into the ground, pinning me there.

  “I believe you’re holding something that belongs to me,” Bran growled, his voice low and menacing.

  “Really,” Trace replied, his voice level and calm. “Didn’t know she was taken.”

  “You knew.” It wasn’t a question. “You smelled me on her jacket, on her clothing. You’re not dumb.”

  Others moved in, forming a small circle around us. Changed and unChanged Felis watching with a mixture of curiosity and anger a human coming into their sanctuary and challenging one of their own.

  “You want to fight for what’s yours?” Trace tilted his head to one side, showing teeth. His tongue ran over sharp incisors, usually used for tearing meat apart.

  I pulled my hand free, my mind racing as I broke away from my panicked haze. There was no way Bran could hold his own against a Changed Felis, not on his best day. I was already there investigating one murder; I didn’t need to be dealing with another.

  “Yeah.” Bran shrugged his duster off his shoulders and threw it to the ground. He started to unbutton his shirt without breaking eye contact with Trace. “I do.”

  “No. Stop.” I stepped between the two men, my hands raised.

  I spotted Carson and McCallum on the edge of the growing crowd. Neither seemed in a rush to defuse the situation.

  Bran’s shirt fell open. I sucked in my breath, seeing the well-defined muscles. It was like seeing him for the first time again.

  Or the last.

  Trace licked his lips. “You got plenty of balls for a human.”

  Bran motioned downward at said parts. “Bigger than yours, kit.”

  Trace’s eyes went wide at the slur. His claws slid out from between his knuckles, long and sharp.

  The two men were looking through me as if I were a ghost. This wasn’t about me now; it was about two male egos.

  Bran lifted his fists in a classic boxer stance. His right foot slid back, digging into the ground as he relaxed his knees and braced himself.

  Trace took a step forward. His right hand rose over his head, claws poised to strike.

  “Stop.” I grabbed Bran’s fist with one hand and Trace’s claws with the other, slipping my fingers between the razor-sharp edges. “I don’t belong to either of you and don’t want to.”

  The words burned my throat. I wasn’t sure what I wanted right now but it wasn’t to be a mere possession, a trophy won by brute strength.

  I’d choose who I was with. At my own speed and in my own time.

  Now wasn’t the time or place. Not with two angry men ready to rip each other to pieces.

  The cloud lifted from Bran’s eyes first as he stared at me, shaking off the battle lust. He didn’t drop his attack stance. He just waited.

  His hand stayed closed, frozen in place with my grip.

  Trace didn’t move. He remained fixated on Bran, not giving an inch.

  My hand began to shake, holding Trace at bay. I was exhausted from the run, from the confrontation, and if he wanted to toss me to one side and gut Bran it’d be easy.

  I still couldn’t breathe.

  Chapter Seven

  A woman broke through the line and strode up to Trace. She was older than I was with long dark hair pulled into a braid, the light brown jacket hanging off her petite frame. Her dark eyes blazed as she pushed me to one side and slapped Trace across the face, hard.

  I stumbled and spun, breaking away from Bran. I ended up standing beside him, facing Trace and the mysterious woman.

  He turned and started to snarl at her, the threatening tone vanishing as shock turned to recognition.

  “You know better than this,” she whispered in a low commanding tone. “These are visitors. Is this how you welcome a member of another Pride, by mocking and attacking her friends?”

  I took a step closer to Bran, who had dropped his hands by his sides. He didn’t look at me, his attention still on Trace.

  Trace stared at the ground as he Changed back. “Sorry, Lisa.”

  The tone was low and submissive, a kit to an elder. This woman might not be on the Board but she carried more weight inside the Pride than Trace did and wasn’t afraid to use it.

  “Sorry, indeed.” She spun on her heel and faced me. “Lisa Darning. I met your man at the diner, asking if anyone knew where you were staying.” One edge of her mouth twitched. “Knew he wasn’t family but he said he was with you.”

  “I told her to call Jess if she didn’t believe me,” Bran mumbled under his breath.

  “Which is what I did. She confirmed he was legit and able to be trusted. Figured I’d bring him up here to meet you.” She glared at Trace over one shoulder. “Thought I’d show him some hospitality.”

  “I was just taking her on a run,” he replied, a bit of a whine in his voice.

  “Understood. But challenging her mate isn’t acceptable.” She turned back to Bran and me. “Please accept my apologies.”

  “Sure.” I buttoned my blouse to the top button, feeling the blush on my cheeks. “Just a misunde
rstanding all ’round. Men.”

  She nodded with an understanding smile. “Men.” Lisa looked over our heads at the bystanders. “Show’s over folks. Get back to doing what you were doing.”

  The crowd wandered off at a rapid pace, the younger kids gathering to wrestle and tussle in a sand pit not far from us while the majority returned to the buffet table and beverage coolers.

  Trace walked off without saying anything, kicking up grass with each heavy-booted step.

  Lisa ran a hand through her loose brown strands of hair. “Damned hubris. It’ll be the death of all of us.” She looked at me. “I guess we need to go somewhere and talk.”

  “What?”

  She rubbed her hands on the front of her jeans. “I’m one of the women who saw Mike Hansa before he was killed.”

  “I’m going to go get a beer. See you later.” Bran snatched up his coat and walked away. I felt a headache start behind one eye, undoing all the good from the run. My stomach rolled.

  Lisa led me back to the interview table I’d been using. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here earlier. I’m on the town council and we had a meeting run late, then I had to go out to my business—I run a printing company. Then I went to the diner to drop off a box of menu specials and—” she settled in the chair opposite me, “—and that all don’t mean shit ’cause you’re here to do your job.”

  “Thanks for stepping in.” The lack of trembling in my voice surprised me. “Been a long time since I caused a brawl.”

  “Men’ll fight over a bar stool, Felis or human.” She laughed. “No offense meant.”

  “None taken.” I looked down at my notes, forcing my pulse down to a reasonable rate. “So—” I cleared my throat, “—tell me about Mike Hansa.”

  “Cute, hot, human.” She drummed well-manicured nails on the plastic white tabletop. “I’m single and not ashamed to say that I found him quite sexy.”

  “Ever jump him?” I cut to the chase.

  Lisa sat back in the plastic chair and giggled. It sounded odd coming from a woman Jess’s age. “I might have enjoyed seeing him shake his tight little buns up on stage but I knew I didn’t have a chance in hell of taking him home. I figured he wasn’t into that much...intensity.” A predatory look came into her eyes. “You know we tend to be a bit rough on our men.”