Sheryl Nantus: Family Pride

She shook her head like a petulant child. “I’m not going to let this family be destroyed because you can’t keep your dick in your pants. You started all this with letting her become pregnant. Don’t you dare think you can start calling the shots now.”

I couldn’t help grinning at the last few words despite my pain.

“All this,” Bran snarled, “all this death and destruction because Dad screwed up?” He took a step closer. “You’re both so fucking messed up.” He lifted his fists, visibly shaking with anger. “So fucking messed up.”

“Do not use that language with me. All families have secrets, Brandon. Some have small white lies that choke the life out of people, some have larger ones that suck you dry over time. But the good ones know the net worth of keeping them.” Bernadette giggled, an almost maniacal sound. “I’m sure Rebecca knows that.”

I froze.

“What are you talking about?” I forced the words out.

“I saw the investigator’s report on your parents. Dead in a car accident.” She chuckled. “How wonderful you had family to take you in and raise you. Family like Jess Hammersmythe.” Bernadette gave me a beatific smile. “What secrets does Jess have, hmm? How about her family and friends? We could dig so much deeper if we tried. What do you have in your past that you want to keep hidden?” She laughed. “You’ll toe the line and like it or we’ll set the dogs on all of them. How would you like that, hmm?”

My breath caught in my throat. The woman was signing her own death warrant and she didn’t know it.

“Bernie, give me the gun,” Michael repeated. He advanced on her.

I saw the wildness in her eyes, the fear of being proven wrong mixed with a mad sense of destiny. Logic had no place in her universe—it was all about appearances and devotion to family, no matter what the cost.

“Bernie.” Michael’s voice dropped to a low, authoritative tone. “Give me the gun.”

“Not a chance,” Bernadette snapped. “I’m getting the baby and raising it with or without you.”

“No,” Bran shouted.

Michael kept walking toward her, hands outstretched.

Bernadette let out a whimper, taking a step back to avoid her husband.

Bran leaped toward her, pushing his father aside as he reached out for the weapon.

Her hand jerked—whether out of fear or self-preservation I couldn’t tell. The pistol flew upward even as it fired again, a wild shot toward the two men.

Bernadette stood and gaped at them, the pistol dangling from her fingers.

The two men crashed to the floor, skidding across the varnished wood in silence. Neither of them moved.

I smelled Bran’s blood.

I went mad.

The world narrowed for me into a crimson tunnel with Bernadette right at the center of it.

I attacked, hissing like a wildcat. I didn’t care if I Changed or not, didn’t care if she knew I wasn’t human, didn’t care if I killed her with or without claws.

Her bright blue eyes widened as I rammed into her, sending us both down. The pistol bounced out of her hands and clattered away, out of sight.

I rolled away before pouncing again, landing on her chest and pinning her to the floor. Her arms were splayed out to each side, fingers fluttering.

My left hand went around her throat to hold her in place. The pain blossomed again from the gunshot wound, spiraling down my arm and up into my jaw. I felt the skin leap under my touch, her pulse hammering against my fingers.

I jammed my right fist under Bernadette’s jaw and pressed hard on the delicate ivory skin.

She gasped for air. Her hands flew up, clutching at my arms. The delicately manicured fingers clawed at my shirt.

Out of the corner of my eye I spotted Bran trying to sit up. Blood gushed from his nose, smearing across his face and hands. He burbled and spit onto the floor with an incoherent curse.

Michael rolled onto his back, breathing heavily as he watched his son. I couldn’t smell his blood, only fear.

She’d missed.

The bullet had gone wide, embedding itself somewhere in my ceiling.

I didn’t care.

Bernadette let out a whimper. I increased the pressure, cutting off most of her air. Her eyes bulged out and she drew short, wheezy hiccups.

I held my breath and reached for what I’d lost, stretching out to grab any trace of the Change left.

I didn’t need much.

Just my claws.

“Reb.” The familiar female voice came out of nowhere, a sharp whisper.

It sounded like my mother.

I shook my head, clearing the cobwebs.

A hand landed on the back of my neck.

“Rebecca,” Jess murmured.

I didn’t turn to look, focused on the woman under my hands.

“Reb.” It was Bran this time. “I’m okay.” I heard him gurgle for a moment before spitting. “Rebecca, I’m going to be fine.” He coughed. “Maybe a broken nose.”

“I don’t care. I’m done with this, all of this.” I felt my claws edge forward, slipping toward the open air.

Jess’s grip intensified, tugging on a sensitive spot Bran’s latest love bite had created. “Don’t do it.”

“She killed Molly. She wanted to kill us,” I hissed. “She’s a threat to our family.”

“Yes, she is,” Jess said. “But she’s the mother of your mate. You can’t kill her.”

The first jagged edge burst through the bloody slits between my knuckles, the second breakthrough more painful than the first.

“She shot me.” The throbbing in my arm intensified. “The stupid bitch shot me.”

“I know. It’ll heal, though—the wounds always heal,” Jess whispered. Her mouth was near my ear as her grip intensified on the back of my neck, now a painful pinch. “Don’t do something you’ll regret.”

Bernadette’s eyes went wide as she felt the pointed nails press against her delicate pale skin. Another few millimeters and her blood would gush out, splashing against my shirt. She’d bleed out in minutes, her lifeblood pooling around us as she shuddered and shook, her body shutting down within minutes.

“Don’t.” It was a request, not an order.

“She wants me to keep her secrets. My secrets, her secrets,” I whimpered, feeling the claws shift. “I can’t keep so many secrets.”

“You don’t have to,” Jess said softly, so low I could barely hear her. “You’ve kept enough. We’ve kept enough. Let her go.”

I drew a shallow breath, reaching out to tweak the mental string again.

The invisible thread in my mind twitched once, twice—then went slack.

I felt the claws slip back under my skin. The coolness on my flesh went to hot burning as the minute openings were exposed to the open air. They’d heal in time but it’d hurt like a bitch for now.

“Reb.” Bran appeared at Jess’s side. “It’s okay. We’re going to be okay.”

“I don’t think any of us ever will be.” I released my grip on Bernadette’s throat and got to my feet.

She rolled to one side, gasping for air. Her palms slapped the floor. Drool spilled from her lips onto the hardwood. Tears rolled down her face, leaving dark smudges under her eyes and streak marks on her cheeks.

Bran grabbed my arms and helped me up. I sagged into his arms, my knees weak. I felt a thousand years old and almost too tired to breathe. Between being shot, Changing, Changing back and trying to Change one more time, I had all the strength of a weak waterlogged kitten.

My vision cleared enough to take in the terrified woman at my feet, Michael off to my left, still on his back, and Jess on my right.

“You got her?” Jess asked.

Bran nodded. He gave me a weak smile, blood dribbling out of his nose.

“Good. Don’t move, you two.” She glared at Bran. “Don’t. Move.”