Sheryl Nantus - Battle Scars

He grinned.

My reverse psychology was not reversing.

“Ooh.” His tongue flicked out, wetting his lips. “Maybe I’d get a better chance at the hot stories if I did take you along.” His brown eyes sparkled with glee and more than a little wanton lust. He patted the mattress beside him. “Wanna audition for the job?”

“Jess is going to call back. Within the hour.” I let out an exaggerated sigh. Over the last few weeks this had become a welcome work interruption but I never gave in easily. “Not enough time.”

Bran put his hands behind his head and looked at the ceiling, making a smacking noise with his lips. “Two, three—”

He leaped off the bed and grabbed me around the waist. “I love a challenge.”

I let out an unladylike squeak as his fingers began to pull up my shirt. “Jess—”

“Within the hour. I got it.” He nipped my earlobe, the spike of pain disappearing under the burning need, rekindled with his touch. “Just lie back and think of England. Or whatever else you’d like.”

“Whatever?” I gasped, the familiar haze clouding my thoughts.

“Well, as long as it’s about me.” His expert fingers popped the buttons on my blouse with unerring accuracy before moving to the front of my jeans.

I ran my hands along his waistband, tugging at the boxers.

“I think I’m ready for my audition.”

Exactly thirty-five minutes later I rolled onto my back, wheezing for air. The cool sheets felt good on my bare skin even with a few wayward crumbs poking at me.

“Dang.” My pulse pounded in my ears. “That’s never getting old, is it?”

“You’re welcome.” Bran rolled onto his side with a smug smile. “Never say I don’t keep to my schedule.” He looked at the digital clock on the night table. “Still some time left. Want to try for a quickie?” He waggled his eyebrows.

As if on cue my cell phone rang.

“Put it on hold, Romeo.” I tugged on my blouse, struggling to get my hands through the sleeves. “Unless you want to tell Jess to call back.”

It took a concentrated effort to get the buttons lined up. There was no way I was going to talk to Jess naked, even if Bran didn’t seem to mind.

He scowled and reached for a half-full bottle of water perched on the side table. The man was daring but not suicidal.

I plucked the cell phone out of my jeans on the floor and propped myself up against the headboard, enjoying his pouty look.

“You’ve caught this one by the tail, kit.” The disapproving tone killed any post-coital mellowness.

Being in my mid-thirties and still being called a kit by someone with twenty-plus years on me wasn’t a good way to start the conversation.

“Hi, Jess.”

I waited.

The Board member would tell me what I needed to know in her own good time and not a second sooner. I’d learned over the past few months staying quiet often got more answers than opening my yap.

“I’m assuming your newest client is Jake Middleston. Lisa’s father,” she continued talking without pausing for my input. “I’ve just had a weepy session with Mary Chandler, Evan Chandler’s mother. Seems the two kids were dating and have decided to do that running-away-together thing.” She let out a snort. “This is not good.”

“Kids run off all the time.” Bran pushed himself up beside me. He’d wrestled his shorts back on, giving me a less distracting view. He tilted his head toward the phone, resting his chin on my shoulder. “Trust me, I’ve seen it. A few weeks digging in Dumpsters for food and they’ll come back home.”

“Or be eighteen and out from under their parents’ tails.” I added. “Let me make this clear—I’m going to look for Lisa no matter what you tell me. I took the job from Middleston and told him I’d find her and at least tell her that her father wants to talk to her. What happens after that is their business, not mine. Or it would have been until now.”

I paused, picking my words carefully. Jess was notorious for leaving out details. “But what’s the real story here?” I pushed on. “What’s so important about these two that one father’s calling me in for a private hunt and the mother of the other one’s asking you for help? I’m getting some weird vibes on this and it’s more than Middleston being pissed off at some young man for chasing his daughter.”

“Blood feud,” she replied.

I blinked. “What?”

“I should have known there was a problem when Middleston asked about you.” Jess said more to herself than to us. “Damned blind fool could have seen that. Should have seen that and told him to stand aside, let the Board deal with this.”

I interrupted her pity party without remorse. “The feud. We have those?”

“Yes we have ‘those,’” Jess snapped. “Why wouldn’t we? Every family has brawls and people who don’t like each other. Why should we be any different?”

“I guess I missed the memo,” I shot back. “Being outcast and all.”

Jess sucked in her breath through clenched teeth. The topic of my exile from the Pride for most of my adult life was still a painful topic between us despite six months of working for the family on various jobs.

Bran’s hand snaked under my shirt and stroked the scar tissue crisscrossing my back. Most conversations with Jess ended with high blood pressure and a headache.

“We’re assuming the kids ran off together. The Middlestons are treating it like just the girl left on her own and the same with the Chandlers, neither one telling me there was more about this. Middleston figured you wouldn’t contact me and I’d never figure it out.” I could hear the annoyance in her voice. “As if I was born yesterday and couldn’t put two and two together. Boy meets girl, boy falls in love with girl. More likely when you’re told it’s forbidden fruit.”

“How could they be dating with their families fighting?” I asked.

“Internet,” Jess replied. “Sexting, I believe it’s called. Either way they think they’re in love and run off to seek their fortune, blah blah blah.”

“This feud,” Bran said, “how bad is it? We talking a push and shove at the local bar or are we going to start pulling bodies out of Lake Ontario with their throats slashed open?”

We waited for almost a minute in silence. I wasn’t sure if Jess was gauging how much to tell Bran, a human, versus what I needed to know if I had a hope in hell of finding the kids.

“Feuds start over anything in the family, just like in human society. It’s usually business-related. Stealing each other clients, undercutting costs on competing bids, that sort of thing. But it’s come to brawling a few times when challenges are issued. Broken noses, hurt feelings, lots of cursing and shaking of fists.”

I winced, thinking of two Felis facing off against each other over some real or imagined slight. When Changed we manifested claws and fangs along with fur obscuring our features, but a lot of damage could be done with “just” claws and fangs.

Jess had lost an eye over it.

“What started this one?” Bran asked.

“None of your business.” The underlying steel in her voice reminded us both that Bran was on the edges of Felis society, as I was—tolerated when necessary. She liked him but he still had a long way to go before being accepted by the family.

As if either of us gave a crap.

“If I find one I’m going to probably find the other.” I pushed the conversation back to business. “What are the Chandlers doing to find the boy? Am I going to butt heads with the competition? Are they sending out their own hunter?”

Jess chuckled. “The ironic part is that I was about to refer them to you. Mary Chandler is a widow with one grown adult son and she’s not about to send him down to Toronto to start sniffing around for his brother. She’s got friends who are eager to help but I convinced her to keep this as low-key as possible and offered you as an alternative to getting more people involved. The less, the better for all of us.”