Frayed

by Blakely Chorpenning

  Linay gained her freedom and reverted to the twenty-four-year-old, bitchy, mousy blonde that blessed the world with bitterness. I kept a strict eye on her as the air quivered from the tremendous shifter energy.

  Men and women started appearing out of the haze of beasts. After a cool minute, I was the last to change back. Unwilling to believe the truce was that simple, Nash stood at my back, ready. That, alone, was almost more shocking than the lions’ attack.

  The homes behind us were predominately brick ranches and modest Cape Cods, an example of any middle class American neighborhood. The blood-spattered nudists standing at the mouth of the suburban cul-de-sac… Anything but ordinary.

  Under the cloaked moon, I heard Linay yell, "You can take a ‘lepe’ right up my ass, cunt!"

  Enlivened, I answered, "Which was it, Linay? You’ll have to be more specific, although it doesn’t really matter. I’d have to wait in line either way."

  "You should talk, bitch!"

  We began closing the gap, but Jared stepped between us, leaving him an arms-length away. Linay immediately stopped. I planted my feet with the hope that I wouldn’t have to hurdle him to kill her.

  "Things should not have gotten this out of hand."

  "But they did, Tomas. I thought you had a firm rein on this kitty show."

  He straightened. "Don’t insinuate I can’t lead my people."

  "Your sister’s people? I implied no such thing."

  Nash cleared his throat. Apparently, that was his polite way of gaining our attention. It worked. We turned to listen.

  "I understand there’s a history that complicates matters between you, but we are not here to exacerbate it or make amends."

  Nodding my head, I said, "You’re right." I gave Linay one last smirk before readdressing her brother. "We are here in regards to a danger facing shifters in our area."

  Alert and dutiful, he said, "We’ll talk by your car," before ordering most of his people indoors to clean themselves up and give us privacy. Even Linay went without an ignorant remark. Maybe she was maturing…

  Nah.

  Walking to the car, Nash asked, "Do you need my shirt?"

  I tried not to act stunned, but I’m sure he saw it.

  "No. I always carry spares in the trunk."

  Popping the trunk to my car still ‘parked’ on the sidewalk, I pulled out a towel and wiped as much blood off as possible. Some of my wounds, however, were deep enough to seep steadily. The blush T-shirt dress I was about to put on would need to be seriously scrubbed later.

  It’s funny how shifting to our second nature heals us, but when we’re injured in that skin, we remain impaired once we revert to human form. Darien thinks it serves as a reminder that, even in our animal forms, we’re still accountable for our actions.

  Tomas walked up as the thin material slid down to just below the swell of my thighs. He looked at the lacerations across my right upper arm. Claw marks.

  "That should heal soon. Our bites always look nastier than they are."

  "I’ve had much worse." It wasn’t meant as an insult. "Whoever took a bite out of my thigh, though, ranks in the low end of my top ten." I pushed my left hip out baring skin that resembled poorly mauled beef jerky. It would heal in a few days.

  "I’ll tell Drey." A leader always knows the bite pattern of his people like a fingerprint. "He will be honored to be in your top ten, no matter the rank. You’ve fought enough shifters to judge fairly." He looked at Nash and back, prompting the question, "What business do we have?" His tone turned stressed, taut with suspicion.

  "The business of baby snatching," I said, resting against my car.

  Chapter Five

  Tomas was livid that his personal informants had overlooked our missing children and the possibility that others were in danger.

  "Have any more gone missing, other than the boy?" Nash asked.

  "No," he said, scratching his head. "What the fuck is going on?" In a sudden surge of anger, he slammed his fist down, buckling my trunk.

  "Awe, come on!"

  "Sorry."

  "You’re going to pay for every damn repair." I fiddled with the trunk gingerly to see if it would open to no avail. Forcing it would only cause further damage. That lesson was learned the embarrassing way in high school when I tried to help a friend open her jammed car door and accidentally ripped it off completely. Turns out, they don’t need to make a card for that because the government prints millions of little green "forgive me’s" every year. And Jared Tomas was going to give me a bunch of them.

  "Send me the bill. I have a lot of those lately." He motioned to the downed light poles. Nash ventured to ask. "Dominance fight. Two pride were showing off for my sister. Turned out she wasn’t interested in either one, just bored." Tomas sounded dangerously weary of his sister’s antics. "To make peace, I promised to pay for their damage."

  "Boredom ain’t cheap," I mused.

  Tomas nodded, but quickly returned to the problem at hand. "Have other groups reported the same incidents?"

  I shook my head. "No, but we have no way of knowing other than what we’re doing now, by finding leads and asking."

  "My wife’s sister is married to a pack member two hours west of here. She can ask if they’ve noticed anything strange."

  Shocked at the casualness at which he spoke of a family member being in an inter-species marriage, it took me an extra second to spit out, "Thank you, and I’ll let you know if we find anything new."

  I stood straighter. Channeling my brother’s diplomacy, I added, "We wish for nothing but the safe return of our children, and I’m sure you feel the same." He agreed silently and walked away.

  Out of earshot, I turned to Nash. "You have been very quiet. For a moment I thought you’d really dropped dead."

  "You can only wish on one star a night, Sweetheart."

  Together, we pushed my poor car onto the street. I hopped in through the window. Nash was still able to use the passenger door.

  "Where do you want me to drop you off?"

  "Are we done? It’s still very early."

  The radio clock read twelve forty-one. Peering through the dull glow of the dashboard lights, I realized his injuries had healed. Where a lion sunk his razor teeth around Nash’s jaw, nothing lingered but smooth, porcelain skin. And the claw marks down his forearms were barely memorable.

  Coasting through the night, I said, "Look, I don’t keep your hours. I’ve got a day job, and now a lepe job, as well as babysitting duties." After glaring at him from the corner of my eyes, I concluded, "And I’m missing a few chunks of skin that I really wanted to keep. I need to relax, think about our information, and eat. I’m starving."

  If my appetite astounded Nash, he didn’t venture to comment. Instead, I dropped him off on the corner of a well-populated street downtown. Turns out, his appetite ain’t so meek, either.

  Feeling lighter for having gotten rid of my stale baggage, I swung by Mirth to pick up Brice and hit a drive through on the way home. The shadow of two was upon us as we found ourselves discarding empty fast food bags on the floor and kissing in my foyer with ravenous abandon. Brice’s hands caressed every bit of exposed flesh, making me detest the material concealing the rest. My skin tingled, and the pain of my injuries vanished. Brice had that temporary hold over me and I loved it.

  Scooping me up in powerful arms, he intended on taking me upstairs. Instead, his greedy hands searched my bare hot flesh, forcing him to drop me on top of the side table next to the household keys and personal belongings. My legs constricted around his waist with enough force to kill a human man. Brice, however, quivered with anticipation. Winding the collar of his T-shirt in my hands, I ripped the material straight down the middle until it was so many ribbons on the floor. And as I playfully bit at his lower lip, a small noise drew our attention to my right…to the living room.

  Where the entire household was watching us.

  I looked away quickly, annoyed.

  Acknowledging the unfriendly eyes,
Brice said, "I’ll catch a cab," and nipped my lips one last time before smiling and sprinting out the door.

  "Coward!" Picking up the bags we had carelessly thrown, I caught my breath and noted out loud, "Lasso your ego, Darien. You’re not that scary."

  "But I am."

  Shit!

  Before storming into the living room, I recognized that urbane voice all too well. Frustration turned on my brother like a snake on a mouse.

  I hissed, "Why is everyone awake, standing in the middle of the living room on a Friday night? And why the fuck is Blaire here?"

  I lived with my brother and four of his closest friends, all lepe. Granted, with that many people, the house had a tendency to feel like Grand Central Station at times, but never this intrusive. It was a spacious, faded white, five-bedroom farmhouse.

  Darien slept in the master off from the kitchen on the main floor. Warren and Lydia were in the room at the top of the stairs. Warren was thin yet toned and had multiple facial piercings and body tattoos, some bordering the light auburn hairline at the back of his neck. Lydia was bouncy, enjoyed anything analytical, and loved to twist and pin her black hair in fascinating and complex ways. They were the perfect couple. That couple that did everything together and happily drowned in it. To the right of them was Joshua’s room.

  Joshua was very subdued most of the time and had honey-colored hair that stuck up naturally in every direction for about a mile. He enjoyed reading, had a healthy respect for silence, and always complained that Warren and Lydia’s sexual antics kept him awake most nights. I never heard them, but I was lucky to have the only room across the hall by the bathroom. Joshua once shared his theory that I couldn’t hear them because I was too busy indulging in my own escapades. He was quiet, but not without a sense of humor.

  As for Gage, he stayed out of the whole mess by sleeping in what used to be the garage. Transformed into the perfect heavy metal lover’s haven, Gage was able to play the drums with his imaginary band and listen to raging music without bothering us thanks to the proper wall insulation. He offered, on numerous occasions, to let me use his weight bench, but my sanity proved more precious. Gage had muscles ‘til May Day, but couldn’t find a woman willing to accept the whole package for more than a month. I always kept my fingers crossed for him, though.

  And then there was Blaire. Calum Abram Blaire, who had the worst name of anyone I knew, and absolutely no right to be in my house. Not anymore. When he was granted space in my heart, I called him Cale. When we were estranged, accounting for most of the time, I called him Blaire, like the rest of the world. We fell into the dating trap for roughly two years, our relationship on idle more than rev. I grew tired of the divide and ended it definitively a few months ago. Loathingly, that didn’t stop me from ogling him.

  Blaire’s mother was from India, which left him with wonderfully rich, silky raven hair and a bronze glow. If gold could manifest into flesh, Calum Blaire would be worth millions. And he was just the right height to hug if I wanted to press my head into the warm nook of someone’s collarbone. He gained his height from his father’s people, who migrated from Germany generations ago. And every bit of lean muscle was sculpted, creating flattering indentations and perfect lines. Blaire was a beautiful paradigm of a man, if only his temperance could be disciplined.

  My brother sighed, as was his custom when dealing with me. "Fray, there are things of greater importance than your personal life. If you were capable of focusing past your libido you would understand our angst over the current situation."

  Everyone tried to look busy studying their shoes or picking their fingernails or reading the cover of the TV Guide while Darien reprimanded my haughty liaison. Except Blaire, of course, who delighted in seeing my night trashed. It was apparent by his cocky grin, which ignited a dose of pent-up resentment.

  "Darien, do not make the mistake of talking down to me tonight." I brushed past him to address Blaire. "And wipe that fucking grin off your face." Next, I turned on the others. "And stop pretending to do shit." I smacked the TV Guide out of Gage’s hand. "You don’t even watch TV, let alone read anything that isn’t written on a T-shirt or a CD jacket."

  "Hey!" Gage wasn’t really bothered by my aggression. It just wasn’t in his nature to let an affront to his manhood go without a word. He had just said his peace.

  After all eyes were back on me, Darien crossed his arms and asked, "Feel better?"

  "No. Where were you tonight? Because I was out with that walking bag of bones looking for clues and getting mauled by the local pride." I took a minute to make eye contact with Blaire. "Am I the only one doing your job?"

  "I thought I smelled more blood than that," Darien nodded towards my tattered arm. "Where?" he asked, concern replacing annoyance.

  I lifted the worse-for-wear end of my dress to expose the gore beneath.

  "You were going to have sex with an injury that bad?" Joshua asked, amazed.

  When Gage snickered, "That’s hardcore," Darien dismissed everyone from the room other than himself, Blaire, and me. My brother wasn’t officially in charge of anyone, but since he owned the house—and could bench press his own truck with his pinky—people had a tendency to give him due respect.

  Blaire’s nostrils flared as he took a closer look at my injuries. "Fucking lions!"

  "Is this all?" Darien asked.

  "No." I exhaled deeply, trying not to let the edges of my mouth droop like a dejected child. Heat welled behind my eyes.

  "What?" He readied himself for anything, eyes wide. Blaire did the same, though less noticeable.

  "My car looks like shit." Misery soaked my voice. I came close to waterworks when I realized out loud, "They totally screwed it up and I doubt I’ll be able to find replacements for everything. It's vintage."

  Their eyes met before laughter filled the previously silent void.

  "It’s not funny. And it’s going to be extremely arduous to find someone capable of restoring it." I turned from one to the other, the anger boiling over. "You would be acting very different if it had been something priceless one of you cherishes."

  "Oh, my sweet sister," Darien said, grabbing me into a loose hug. "That’s exactly why we’re relieved."

  Ruining the family moment, Blaire militantly vowed, "Tomas will pay you back for your property and your spilled blood."

  It was my turn to sigh as I pushed Darien’s big mitts away. "We already worked it out, Blaire. Don’t make a thing out of it."

  A growl matriculated into the conversation. Clearing his throat, he rumbled, "Every lepe in the state is pressing me, waiting for me to tell them what in hell is happening to our children, and what actions need to be taken." He stalked up to me, glaring down from a mere inch away. "And here you stand, mutilated. Something I actually have the power to fix, yet you tell me not to make a "thing" out of it?"

  Looking up into those Caribbean blue orbs electrified by his blue knit shirt, I could see the hurricane of emotions building into a rage-filled pyre. It seemed Darien wasn’t the only one feeling the pressure to find the missing before there was little left to bring home. Unwilling to be the gasoline on the spark, I sucked up my pride.

  "If he refutes his word, you’ll be the first to know, I swear it… And I do need your help finding someone to repair my car."

  Blaire had actually gifted me the car when I still inspired sentiments of love to the nth degree. Thankfully, he’s never been the type of man to request returns. Maybe having to ask for something back was beneath him. Maybe he just didn’t give a shit because he had enough in the bank to buy a hundred more. Maybe I should send his father a thank you note.

  I waited for Blaire’s quiet nod of approval before updating him and Darien on Tomas’ missing cub and gross sister-in-law pack connection.

  "Good job, Madison." Darien was extremely satisfied.

  "Please, sound a little more shocked that I did the job you asked of me."

  "I’m just surprised you found that much out in a few hours. With a vampir
e partner, I envisioned your prejudice would muddle the fuck out of everything."

  "Then why pair us together?"

  "Because every situation has a lesson to be learned." He hugged me. "I’m going to bed."

  Darien walked through the kitchen to his bedroom, leaving me uncomfortably close and alone with Blaire.

  "You have a relationship with Brice now?" He had this way of hanging his head down, forlorn, but tilted enough to maintain eye contact. It was manufactured to look sincere. Both enticing and loaded. He was luring me into a precarious situation.

  "I have an agreement with Brice."

  "Do you have that same agreement with many of our young cats?"

  "Are you still seeing Vicky? And Rochelle? And Ivy? And Leah? And Vanessa, right? Oh, and it would be rude to forget Holly."

  "I’m touched you’ve paid such close attention." The thought that I was jealous and pining for him pleased Blaire to no end.

  "I can’t help what people tell me, Blaire."

  In a heartbeat, he stepped closer and nuzzled his right cheek against the side of mine before I could object. Incidentally, that left my face cradled in the hot bend of his neck. God, he always smelled amazing. There was no discernable scent, more like millions collaborating to thrust my adrenaline into hyperdrive. It felt damn right uncontrollable. And it was that loss of control that made me push away… Again.

  "No, Blaire."

  Calling it off between us was the hardest decision I’ve ever made because I wanted him, and time hadn’t changed that. On so many levels, I yearn for Blaire. But, as a couple, we did little right. Our relationship was tempestuous at best. We perfected destruction until there was very little recognizable between us. If I could change those parts in both of us, I would fill them with silk and wine rather than splinters and briers. But fate has proven to be a callous bitch.

  "Am I making you uncomfortable, Madison?" Blaire was still hurtfully close.

  I shook my head. "Worse. Wishful."

  After a moment, he started breathing again. Then he closed his eyes as his cheek slid down my face, my neck, until he reached my damaged arm. He swept the dried blood with his tongue, creating a tingle through my body. In a barely-there whisper, he found my ear and said, "You taste like Brice."