Sheryl Nantus - Battle Scars

I didn’t have a response to that.

“Might as well go inside and rest.” Jess unlocked the car doors with a flick of her finger. “You’ve had a long day.”

“That makes two of us.” I stifled a yawn, watching her do the same. “Would you like to come in for a drink?”

I might be exhausted but I was still my mother’s daughter, polite to the end.

I was also Canadian.

She shook her head. “I’ve got a stack of paperwork and plenty of calls to make. The Board’s got to be updated and the Grand Council as well. If I’m lucky I’ll finish up by morning.” She paused and I saw an uncharacteristic look, curiosity mixed with something else. “And I want to find out a bit more about this Red.”

I resisted the urge to smile. “Thank you for the help.”

She looked at the dark house and then at me. “Don’t underestimate Bran or his love for you, kit.” One finger tapped the scar on her cheek. “I know how far a man will go for a woman. He’s gone as far and farther, in my book.”

The car drove off with a roar and skidded around the corner before disappearing. I winced, smelling the burned rubber.

I walked up the short path to the front door, fumbling with my house keys. My left arm ached and my head was on the verge of exploding. The coffee and donut holes had helped but I was exhausted and just plain worn out.

Jazz wove between my legs before I had a chance to hit the main lights, merping her annoyance with my prolonged absence. I made my way to the kitchen and replenished her food bowl.

I didn’t feel like food but I needed something more in my belly than fried bits of dough if I wanted to take some pain relievers.

The toaster hummed as it moved toward burning the toast. I poured a glass of milk, not daring to add tea atop the coffee. My stomach was already twitching, between my nerves and the coffee.

I forced down the milk and toast before staggering upstairs to the bathroom and various over-the-counter drugs. The extra-strength pain meds caught in my throat on the way down just long enough to send me into a coughing fit, making the headache worse.

All I needed now was for Jazz to throw up on the bedspread.

I checked, just in case.

The salsa-stained bedspread was still on the floor in a pile, a fat lump at the foot of the bed. I should have tossed it to the corner stack of dirty laundry but I was too tired to do anything.

The sheets were cool as I stripped down to just my panties and a ragged old T-shirt and climbed in, not caring much right now what happened or was going to happen. I was dog-tired and sore and more than a little heartsick.

Jazz leaped up beside me with a grunt. She headbutted my hip as I lay on my back and stared at the ceiling. Upset and ignored, she settled down beside me and purred.

Waiting for the drugs to kick in I took inventory of the past few days.

I’d gotten two young people off the streets and back into their homes, safe and sound. I’d helped end a family feud and I’d helped a lost Felis find a new family.

Not a bad day’s work. And I’d even gotten some money out of it.

I still felt like shit. My stomach rolled, tossing around the toast and meds.

I closed my eyes and tried to relax, the white furry bundle at my side providing both heat and purr therapy.

The forest was dark and deep, a warped version of the one I’d run through in my youth up on the farm. Black gnarled roots jabbed out of the ground at odd angles, ready to trip me as I ran through the shadows.

The trail wasn’t wide but it was well worn, the tracks of hundreds, maybe thousands of Felis before me clawing a way through the wilderness. I was barefoot, wearing a shirt and shorts as I sprang over a fallen tree trunk blocking the trail. A mossy rock threatened to send me flying but I regained my balance and kept going, relishing the challenge.

There was a full moon providing enough light to run by and I could scent the other animals around me—predators and prey keeping their distance from me, from the other Felis who surrounded me. We were masters and mistresses of the world and we were on the hunt.

Problem was I didn’t know what I was hunting for.

Other Felis around me growled and hissed as they found their mates. I imagined them falling to the ground and wrestling in fiery foreplay, each trying to top the other in a never-ending battle of dominance.

Felis may not have invented BDSM but we sure could embrace it wholeheartedly.

A wind whipped around me, bringing me familiar scents. Trace, Jess, Evan and Lisa—I caught a whiff of Red that flashed through, his laughter a sparkling flash in my mind’s eye.

A new scent crashed into my nostrils, wiping everything else away.

Bran.

I stopped still, trying to figure out where he was. The distinctive odor was everywhere I turned as I spun frantically, toes digging into the dirt.

I couldn’t find him. It was like trying to pick out a single raindrop in a storm, the overwhelming strength of his scent flooding my senses to the point of overload. Goosebumps scrambled over my bare arms and legs as I kept turning, trying to see something, anything in the moonlight.

A haunting roar went up from nearby, a Felis declaring his love for his mate.

Bran.

It was echoed almost immediately by other Felis; males joining in to add their voices to the group song.

I turned again as his distinct voice emerged from the chorus, growing in intensity and volume.

The howling stopped.

Bran came crashing out of the shadows and knocked me to the ground.

I rolled onto my back in time for him to straddle me, both of us panting.

His hands grabbed my wrists and locked them over my head, the weight of his body pinning me to the ground.

I thrust upwards with my hips to dislodge him but he wasn’t having any of that. He snarled and pressed down, rocking against me as he let out another possessive growl. One hand reached down to rip my shirt open at the shoulder, exposing my collarbone and neck.

His eyes locked with mine, freezing me in place.

Wild, feral.

Felis.

“Only you,” he whispered as he moved in on my exposed skin, showing his teeth. “Only you.”

“Only you.”

I snapped awake to feel Bran’s weight on my hips, his face just above mine. My hands were free and I grabbed at his arms, anchoring myself on his bare skin as I tried to center myself.

He stared at me, not flinching as my nails dug into his forearms. He was wearing what I’d seen him in last when he’d walked out of the barn with Angie, and while it stunk of the farm it didn’t smell like sex.

I relaxed, willing myself to take deep slow breaths and come out of my half-sleep.

Bran’s shoes thumped on the floor at the bottom of the bed as he toed them off, not moving from his dominant position.

“Are you okay?” he said. “You were thrashing around when I came upstairs. I thought you were having some sort of a seizure, a nightmare—” He gasped and I saw the sweat on his face, heard his heart pounding frantically against his chest. “I didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t want you to fall out of bed or hurt yourself.”

I glanced at my hands, grateful my claws hadn’t come out. The damage was done, though, blood already welling up in the small crescent-shaped cuts on his skin.

“Are you okay?” he repeated. His hands went to my face, cradling it. “Rebecca? Do you want to go back to the hospital? Are you sick? Is it your head, the concussion?” He studied my eyes. “Do you know who I am?”

“You’re that punk ass reporter I’m madly in love with.”

Bran shook his head. “Brain damage. Horrible stuff.”