Sheryl Nantus: Battle Scars

“I wasn’t,” Bran said. “Just don’t like it being my fault.”

“It’s not your fault,” Jess replied. “It was his for being a fool. Killing you and Reb would start a shitstorm and he was okay taking that road. His choice, his results.” She turned back to me. “I can take the two of you home if you’d like. Save the cost of a cab.”

I rubbed my eyes. “I’m not sure what I’d like right now.”

Bran took charge. “That’d be nice, thanks.” He tilted his chin toward Jess with the right amount of submission.

She eyed him. “You’re getting quite the rep, kit. Taking out Carson and now McCallister.” There was a twinkle in her eye. “You sure there isn’t any Felis blood in your family line?”

Bran grinned. “Nope. Just good old red-blooded human male. You’d be surprised at how much we can do once we put our mind to it.”

She arched one eyebrow, raking him with her gaze. “I’ll make a note.”

I took Bran’s arm. “Enough. Let’s go home.”

Jazz was lying on the passenger seat as I opened the door. She merped as I got into the front seat and climbed into my lap with a slow weariness I could sympathize with. Bran sat in the back and said nothing.

The sun was breaking over the horizon, dodging between the houses as we drove. Jess said nothing until she stopped behind the police car sitting in front of my house.

I waved at the uniform, who seemed grateful to be released from guard duty. He pulled away from the curb at a fast clip, leaving Jess’s car alone on the street.

Bran inspected the broken lock.

“Idiot didn’t even try to pick it.” He ran his finger over the shattered wood. “Dug in with something and pulled it out.”

“His claws,” Jess offered. “Had the gall to stand out here and dig the lock out with his claws.” She sighed. “If he weren’t hurt enough already I’d challenge him. This is beyond stupid.”

I walked in, carrying Jazz in my arms. “Do you want to stay for tea and toast? I don’t think I’ll be able to call the locksmith before eight and—”

Jess put up her hand. “I’ve got work to do, least of which is making sure Mary Chandler and Nathan McCallister are held responsible for their actions.”

I put Jazz down and watched her limp toward her food dish in the kitchen.

“What can you do?” Bran followed her, kneeling down and adding a handful of soft cat treats to Jazz’s bowl. “Carson got away with killing Hancock and you did nothing. What can you do to them for trying to kill us?”

Jess’s lips pressed together into a tight line and I knew Bran was walking the tightrope.

I didn’t care.

I lowered myself onto the couch with a grunt, feeling my muscles ache with the effort. The last few days had pushed me to my limits mentally and physically.

“When family is the most important thing in your life it’s also your biggest vulnerability.” Jess crossed her arms, waiting for Bran’s response. “You should know that.”

His eyebrow rose but he stayed silent.

“They’ll be dealt with,” Jess said. “That’s all you need for now.”

Bran nodded. It wasn’t a promise but it’d have to do.

I sighed, glad he’d chosen not to pursue the argument. I wasn’t in any shape to deal with it and I suspected he was just as tired.

Time to shift things elsewhere.

“Thanks for the referrals but I think I’ll try to stick to non-Felis clients in the future.” I blinked, trying to clear the cobwebs from my mind. “There’s got to be other family members who can handle these things. Lawyers, cops, other investigators looking for work.”

Jess walked to the door and paused.

“There are.”

“Then why me?”

She glanced at Bran, a knowing smile on her lips. “Because you’ve got a strong family here. And I wouldn’t put my faith in anyone else to get the job done and done right with honesty and pride.”

Then she was gone, sweeping out into the early morning light before I could respond.

Bran sat down beside me, rubbing his head in a mixture of exhaustion and confusion. “I’m too worn out to think that one over. Can we just barricade the door and snuggle here on the couch until things get real again?”

I yawned and tugged on a yellow and brown afghan lying on the back of the couch. “Definitely.”

Bran pushed a table in front of the smashed door and returned to the sofa. He pulled me into his arms and I laid back, thoughts flitting through my mind like hummingbirds.

Jazz padded over to sit in front of us. She tilted her head to one side and let out a pathetic meow.

Bran scooped her up with one hand and laid her on my front where she spread out like a long white furry blanket, her rumbling purr vibrating through me and by default, through him.

“Damn we’re a strange bunch,” I murmured, feeling myself slipping into sleep.

“Yeah.” Bran’s arms tightened around me as Jazz purred even louder. “But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

* * * * *

Sheryl Nantus was born in Montreal, Canada, and grew up in Toronto, Canada. A rabid reader almost from birth, she attended Sheridan College in Oakville, graduating in 1984 with a diploma in media arts writing. She met Martin Nantus in 1993 through the online fanfiction community and moved to the United States in 2000 in order to marry.

She loves to play board games and write haiku, although not usually at the same time. She also spent more than fifteen years in private security, working at hospitals and high-security sites.

A firm believer in the healing properties of peppermint and chai, she continues to search for the perfect cuppa.

In 2011 she won two second-place Prism Awards from the Fantasy, Futuristic and Paranormal Chapter of RWA.