Blood of the Pride

by Sheryl Nantus

  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 doo
r 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.

  “Just wanted to check on you.” He shook the body-length wrap. “And I see you’re looking quite well.”

  I turned off the water and slowly stepped out of the bathtub, letting him get a full, uninterrupted view of my body. “If your definition of ‘well’ includes being covered with more scrapes and bruises than I have skin for, then I guess I’m just fine.” His eyes widened as I took the towel from him and wrapped it around me. “See something you like?”

  He let out something between a whimper and a sigh as his eyes roamed over me. I allowed myself a smug inner grin. Been a while since I’d had an admirer and I was going to make the most of it.

  “And before you ask, I like to play in the dark.” My eyes went below his belt.

  He didn’t flinch, instead allowing me to pick up the clean clothing and saunter past him into the bedroom.

  The bastard had not only gone and found the best towel in the house but he had made up the bed with a new set of white sheets retrieved from my linen closet. The old ones, neatly folded, lay in the corner. Great. He was housebroken.

  I dropped the damp towel on the floor, reveling somewhat in my domination of the situation. It wasn’t too often I had the chance to render a loudmouth schnook speechless.

  “Your back.” The words weren’t whispered in awe of my superior form. Closing my eyes, I winced. I had forgotten. Been a long time since I’d been naked in front of anyone other than Jazz.

  His eyes had to be locked on the crisscrossing scarlet scars on my back, where it looked as if I had been attacked by a tiger. The scars hadn’t faded much thanks to my skin being so fair and I knew he saw them almost as fresh as the day I had received them.

  I reached down and grabbed my sweatshirt. It took a second to yank it over my head, my damp ponytail getting in the way.

  “Sorry,” I mumbled. The sweatpants were next, with me hopping from one foot to the other as I made my way toward the stairs.

  “Accident?”

  “Of a sort.” I walked down the steps, putting one hand out to balance myself. The bloody smears on both sides of the staircase laid out the trail of our battle to the final crashing halt on the landing. I paused there for a minute, letting the new wave of smells drift across my tongue. “What’s that?”

  “Tea, toast and I managed to find some jam in the back of the refrigerator that wasn’t moldy.” The soft laugh reached my ears while he walked down to stand behind me. “Grape, I do believe. And you really need to stock more stuff in there.”

  “I usually eat out.” I made my way to the kitchen and spotted the fat Brown Betty teapot sitting on the table with two cups daintily set out, milk already in the bottom of the mugs. Two slices of toast, neatly buttered and sliced in half, made up the rest of the menu with the aforementioned bottle of jam sitting by my plate with a spoon waiting to do service.

  I sat down and picked up the big brown teapot, wincing at the ache in my arm. “Shall I pour?”

  “Sure.” Bran watched while I filled both mugs and returned the teapot to the tabletop with a resounding thud. “Sore, eh?”

  “You think?” I picked up one piece of toast and smeared enough jam onto the bread to make it bend under the weight. “You roll down the stairs and see how you feel.”

  “Been there, done that.” He slid another pair of white pills across the table. “Figured you’d want another set of these since the last ones didn’t survive.”

  “Thanks.” I washed them down with a mouthful of hot tea and looked at him over the brim of the mug.

  Bran picked up his own mug and cupped it with both hands. “So, want to tell me about this guy? And why we’re not having this conversation with some detective down at the police station?”

  I chewed the toast slowly, drawing out the experience as long as possible. “There’s a lot here I can’t tell you about, a lot that the cops don’t need to know and can’t know.”

  “I figured that out.” Rocking back on the wooden chair, he smiled. “However, if you get killed, it will really, really impact my story in a negative way.” A sly wink shot my way. “Aside from making me pretty upset.”

  The ceramic mug had grown hot to the touch, almost burning my fingers. “I have to call my client first.” I took another bite of toast and shrugged, feeling the pull on my shoulders. “You know how this game goes.”

  “That I do.” He got up and disappeared into the other room for a second, returning with my portable phone. “I’ll give you a bit of privacy.” Another disarming grin. “Let’s see how many channels you actually get in this place. I’ll be upstairs.”

  I waited until I heard the reassuring creak of the steps before dialing Jess’s number. It rang thirteen times before the line clicked over to live.

  “Hello?” Jess’s voice struggled through the air. “What?”

  “Who in the Pride has a white stripe running down one side of his nose? Male, tall over six feet or so?” My words were clipped. “Bastard just tried to kill me here in my own home and you have no idea of how pissed I am right now.”

  “What?” Jess’s response shot to full awareness. “What the hell…”

  “Thanks for your concern,” I snapped back, growling into the receiver. “Now tell me who’s got that marking.”

  “What, you think we remember everything about everyone?” Jess snarled, now fully awake, “You know the rules. No computer files, nothing out of the Library unless the Board approves it.”

 
“You know who’s got those markings, which family line. If not, find out. I’ll be up there by dawn.” My eyes moved to the doorway leading to the office. “And I won’t be alone.” I hit the disconnect button before she could start complaining, then move to whining and then threatening. I wasn’t in the mood for it. Jazz wandered in from the other room and wrapped herself around my feet with a comforting purr. She knew exactly what I was going to be dealing with. Another visit to the farm.

  Except I wasn’t going to the farm alone. I was bringing a stranger into the heart of Pride territory and rubbing it in their faces that I wasn’t a part of their world anymore. It would be dangerous for Bran and me but I had to try to get the upper hand in this game before someone got killed.

  Like me.

  Chapter 9

  The Brown Betty had one last cup in it and I drained every drop I could from the battered old ceramic teapot before putting it in the sink. The toast had settled in my stomach nicely with the painkillers, which were probably holding back the headache I should have from calling Jess.

  Bran was sitting on the bed, the remote in one hand and in his other a clump of brownish-black fur. My stomach did a flip-flop. He must have collected it from the bedroom while he cleaned up and I was in the shower.

  He looked up as I sat on the bed beside him. “CNN’s got a good documentary going on the Middle East. That is, unless you really want to watch music videos. About the best thing on at…” He checked his watch. “Four o’clock in the morning.”

  “What’s that?” I rolled the words lightly off my tongue, nodding toward his other hand. “Dog fur?”

  “I thought you’d be able to tell me.” He dropped the remote on the bed and rolled the fur between both his hands into a small ball. “See, I found this all over your bed. And all the way down the stairs. I’m not seeing a dog around here and your cat’s very, very white. So I have to ask myself,” his eyes met mine, “what sort of creature attacked you and why aren’t you even a little bit surprised?”