by Marata Eros
“Yes, and that hormonal bullshit is behind me. Thank fuck.” She frowns. “Where are the babinos?”
“I think the males were trying to give you some rest.”
Narah grabs her breasts. “I can't get any rest. My milk's already coming in and I feel like I have bricks for tits. Fetch them on your way out, Murph.”
I blink. “Perhaps too much reality, Narah.”
She gives an exasperated sigh. “Buck up, stud. I'm on this mother thing and you're taking over my cases.” She studies me. “You got a new case, don't ya?”
I nod.
She tilts her head back, giving me a hooded look. “Don't seem thrilled. Tell me.”
I tug the back of my hair, tightened in a knot at my nape. “Fucking colony shooting their fluids at a new hybrid.”
“Shit,” Narah hisses, hiking herself up and fluffing pillows behind her, wincing at the movement.
“Bum hurt?” I ask with prefect compassion.
“What do you think, blow hard?” she seethes.
I retreat a step. Possibly not all the hormones have evacuated the building.
Her eyes narrow to mercury razors. “Spill.”
I talk. Ten minutes later Narah is thoughtful. “Killian's dead, so the Hunter community is out of commission for the moment.” She bites her thumbnail, brows knit.
“Yes, one less group to fuck us up.”
The corner's of Narah's lips lift and her hand drops onto her lap. “Yup. So Aeslin can help if the female is vamp, get her in touch with a Turner—Noble sanctioned of course.”
I nod. “Of course, but if she's not?” I ask in a lilt.
Narah says nothing for a full minute. “We'll have to break silence. Get ahold of Doric.”
I feel my brows meet. “I thought he wanted to stay out of human affairs. Something about keeping his wee oasis secret from other shifters.”
“Prehistorics are funny that way. But being isolationist can't be a permanent solution. Merck can't keep hiding that he mated a change, that he's got a menage mating with a female that is both Lycan and prehistoric. The prehistorics need to establish their position as top dog. The time might be now.”
My mouth quirks. “Brilliant turn of phrase.”
Narah shrugs. “When I spoke with Talyn last, she conveyed the leader of the Prehistorics thoughts perfectly. Doric doesn't want to come out of the shifter closet. Not yet.”
Her reflective eyes meet mine, our blood connection clicking into place.
“But if this hybrid is one of them?”
Narah gives a soft shake of her head. “There's a very slim chance. Most likely, she's a plain old run-of-the-mill shifter or vamp. Period. But reach out to Talyn, maybe put them on stand by.”
“Stand by, love?”
“Whatever, Murphy. Just do the prelim and—hell you've been at FE for over a year now. You know the drill.”
We sit silently, my hand reaches out and lightly holds hers. Her eyes fill with our connection, the touch making it more.
Narah rubs the middle of her chest. “What's really bugging you?”
I hide my face by looking at our linked hands. Just touching Narah causes my emotions to smooth. “Don't want to be responsible for some woman's transition,” I finally admit.
“Why?” she asks softly.
I promised I'd never talk about it.
Narah's fingers grip mine. “Talk, Murph.”
The seconds slide into a minute before I say a word. Can't keep my past a secret forever. My exhale is raw nerves on air. “Before I left the UK, I thought to rescue a girl. Trapped in a nasty domestic.”
My eyes rise.
Knowledge rides in hers.
“Three time offender. Our version of Final Enforcement had been dragging just behind this prick. Driving hard. We had him cornered.”
“Had family?”
Our gazes lock for a heartbeat. “Yeah,” I whisper. Sweat beads pop on my upper lip. “Used the family as a meat shield. “Boy, about five or so—wife. I can't,” I dump my head and Narah remains silent, “I can't erase their faces from my mind.”
“Maybe you're not meant to, Murph,” Narah says softly.
I nod, not really believing her words. “I checked my fire, but my men,” I glance at her face, “and one woman, who were under me, solid mates—did not. The boy was killed outright but the woman... she lingered.”
I blow out a frustrated, mournful lungful. “She had no will to live, Narah.” My voice is a thread.
I glance up and silent tears waterfall from her blazing steel eyes. And I know in that moment, she's absorbing my emotions. Essentially, she's crying for my bruised soul.
“That debauched man robbed his family of their will to live, then in the final step, stole their lives by proxy.”
Narah releases my hand and wipes her cheeks.
“You need blood,” I say with quiet certainty and she nods. “The men will sense it and be back.” She gives a watery smile.
“And how were you responsible?” she asks.
“Because that man? He was a shifter. I know that now. We didn't kill him, we killed his family by accident and he took off like smoke. So having the final call where women and children are concerned?” I fling my hands out, “not, as you Americans say, feeling it.”
“You're afraid of failing this unknown woman?”
I jerk my head in her direction. Hit the question head on. “Hell yes.”
“Is that why you screw everything with a vagina and never...”
“Settle down?” I ask with defensive scorn.
Narah stares at me and finally, she gives a curt nod. “Yeah, ya foul fucker.”
“Apologies,” I say. “I don't want to rile the new mother.” I squeeze her hand then let it fall.
“Listen to me.”
I stare at my sire, so hungry for blood her lips have thinned, edged vaguely blue in color. I hear a distant wail and know the babies will be back—the vampire husbands.
“Let your life lead you. Have some fucking faith. Look at how great my mess turned out.”
Her smile twists on her pale face.
It turned out well indeed.
I stand and bending over her, kiss Narah on her forehead as the males come in with her children.
I walk away to do my job. And hope I can save who I couldn't save before.
Chapter 6
Grace
My knuckles ache from the grip I have of Sondra's dark green car door. A breeze has picked up, whipping strands of my mid-back length light brown hair around my face. Tendrils try to tuck themselves against my neck, as though seeking warmth from the early fall blustering.
Stomach in knots, I shut the door and slowly trudge up the cracked sidewalk. Weeds struggle successfully between the cracks, appearing like loose, insistent islands of washed out green within the chalky-gray cement. I climb the narrow crumbling pathway and traverse the sagging front steps to a door that's solid oak. The only thing of beauty from the faded glory days when the house was built at the turn-of-the-last century.
Leaves skate and hide in the corners of the filthy, paint-peeled porch. As I raise my hand to knock, a dingy curtain parts and a small face peeks out.
A face I love.
Toby smiles for a heartbreaking moment and is yanked back by a man's hand.
My knuckles rap on all that thick wood, heart scraping into my throat.
The door is sucked inward and Toby stands there, Fred's paw clamped on his small shoulder.
“Hey Grace,” he says, licking his thick lips.
I haven't met this latest guy, just saw him briefly when he picked up Toby. But I could almost replace a face from dude to dude. They don't look the same, but they're identical inside.
Rotten.
He smiles, thinking he's charming. The same bully from the schoolyard grins as I note one of his canine teeth are missing. Probably all that uncapping of Bud Light.
“Here to pick up the kid?”
Gee yes, that's why I'm sta
nding here sweating bullets. Aloud I say, “Yes. Talbot said I could have him today.” I couldn't have him the weekend before and now I'm desperate. Desperate for him not to have more weekend time with Fred.
I don't refer to Talbot as “mom.” That's a name she hasn't earned.
His eyes lower to half-mast and the hand that doesn't grip Toby lifts, taking a long pull from the beer I'd just imagined. His dull eyes meet mine over the threaded beer bottle rim, half the label peeled off.
It's ten in the morning on a Sunday. But drunks don't care.
“She did?” he asks, assuming an expression of confusion. Didn't he just ask me if I were here to pick up Toby?
But his eyes are those of a sharp drunk. This type of drunk isn't common, but in my experience, they crop up once in awhile. As if they need a little booze to elevate an already pathetic IQ.
I shift my gaze to Toby and his eyes plead with mine.
“Hey babe!” Sondra shouts from the street and Fred's bloodshot eyes narrow to beady slits on my friend.
Please don't interfere, Sondra, I rapidly pray.
“Who's that black twat?” Fred asks.
I briefly close my eyes, body tensing. Jesus.
“That's my friend who works with me.” Less information for Fred is better.
“Grace?” Toby asks in a small voice.
“Shud'up,” Fred barks and I badly hide my wince. His circumspect gaze is still over my shoulder. “Nice body,” he adds.
Oh no.
I turn. Sondra's making her way up the steps. “Hi Fred.”
My lips part. How does Sondra know his name? Maybe I mentioned it once last week? Really—he's only been around a couple...
Fred's eyes shift to Sondra and he takes another pull of beer. “What do ya want?”
“I gave Grace a ride to pick up Toby. Talbot said he could go with Grace all day and spend the night. She'd get him to Little People tomorrow morning.”
He shoves a shoulder up, the tattered black and red checkered flannel long-sleeved shirt pulling taut over his pot belly. He's Santa Clause without the jolly.
I swallow the lump of unease in my throat. I want to get my little brother and get the hell out of here. If I can't get him right now, he'll be stuck with this horrible man. Who's so intent on doing terrible things.
“Talbot's outta it. Taking a breather.” He swings his chin toward the back of the house. His lips fashion into a sneer.
Toby's eyes are bright with tears and I see the hand that's on his shoulder squeeze.
“Let that boy go or I'll put in a word to CPS. They'll be real interested to know that you're sponging off the bio-mom who's using, and beating up on a four-year old.”
He releases Toby and steps through the threshold.
Toby takes advantage of the freedom and shoots out the door, flying toward me, he wraps his arms around my legs.
Circling his small shoulders with my arm, I extract my paid pulse from the front pocket of my denims, thumb hovering over the dock.
Fred looms over Sondra.
She's my friend. My only friend, and Sondra meets his advance. “Go ahead dicklick. Take your best shot. You put a mark on my body and you'll be thrown away into prison. Get your doughboy hole husked.”
I clap my hands over my mouth.
Sondra's smile is sure. Bravery shimmers around her like the legendary angel's halos.
Fred stops. Glares down at her. “You can't tell Fred what to do, ya black bitch.”
Sondra's chin jerks back. “Sticks and stones, tubby. I can't be insulted unless I own it. And I don't own sacks of shit. They stink.”
Oh God. I begin to back down the stairs, towing Toby behind me.
My attention splits between Sondra and her car. I want to protect Toby—I don't want to leave Sondra.
Fred's neck turns an unflattering shade of ruddy brick red.
Sondra's arms fold underneath her breasts. “Go ahead, blow your stack. It's your funeral.”
Fred's big hands clench. Probably was built like a linebacker back in the day. Now he's south of forty and sleeping with a heroine addict so he doesn't need a job and has free sex.
I shudder.
“Go Grace.” Sondra throws over her shoulder.
I shake my head, realize Sondra can't see me and say, “Let's go together. It's my day, Fred knows that.”
His gaze swings to me and he points. “I'm talking about this with Tal.”
I bet. He'll probably not talk about how he hurt Toby just for fun. How he was too drunk to string a coherent sentence together. A belligerent bully. That's how Fred's gotten by in life.
And my worthless mother has the don't ask, don't tell policy in full throttle.
Sondra keeps her eyes on Fred, backing down the stairs with care. She baited him, but she's no dummy.
“Remember what I said, Pillsbury,” she grates.
His expression sours. “I'll remember to get my piece the next time you trot by, whore.”
Sondra smiles. “You don't know what I am, but I know what you are.”
She spins, jogging down the sidewalk and catching up to where Toby and I are.
I pivot and face the car, grabbing the door handle on her pulse-less vehicle and yank up, swinging the door open wide. Toby scrambles in first and Sondra's eyes meet mine for a breathless moment over the roof of the car.
Hers widen. “Grace!”
Something grips me, hauling me backward.
I'm whirled around and hit the side of the car with my back and my breath leaves me in a whoosh.
Fred's stale beer breath wafts into my face and I'd gag if I could breathe. His eyes slim on me with rabid hate.
“Argh,” I choke like a drowning pirate, my breath trying to return in fits and starts.
“Don't you come back here cunt, unless you want a piece of the action I'm giving your mama.” His hand moves over the crotch of my denims.
No.
And painfully squeezes my sex.
Oxygen fills my desperate lungs and I scream. At least, I try to scream. Instead, a fizzling thread of sound escapes.
Suddenly the pressure from his hand eases and he falls away like a huge fleshy tree. Seems to take forever for Fred to slump onto the overgrown lawn flanking the sidewalk.
Blood pools underneath his head. His perverted eyes are closed.
Sondra stands over him with a crowbar.
“Oh!” My palms slap the sides of her car.
“Well that settles shit,” Sondra says with a hands dusting off her pants voice.
Sondra gives a dismissive grunt, and rounds the back of her car. Popping the trunk, she tosses the bludgeoning tool inside.
Sondra smirks. “I knew that I didn't need the crowbar for just changing tires. Versatile as shit.”
She winks at me.
Good Lord. “Definitely not.” I lean forward, as though Fred might bounce off the sidewalk like a sprung jack-in-the-box.
Her pert nose wrinkles. “Don't worry about it, sweetie—that fool's down for the count.”
Toby asks, “Can we go, Grace?” Thumb gets popped in mouth, his eyes all for an unmoving Fred.
Good thinking, Fred might spring up like a zombie.
I nod quickly, and hop in the car, Sondra slides into the driver's seat right after.
My heart thumps as I survey the scene of the broken house, absent mother and unconscious Fred. I turn around, facing forward. “You know I can't take Toby back here, right?”
“Yup.”
My face swings in her direction. “Did ya have to hit him over the head?”
She pauses for a heartbeat, turning on the engine and pulling away from the curb.
I glance back at unconscious Fred.
“Yeah, had to. Can't have him grabbing your crotch. No. Can. Do.” Her dark eyebrows jerk high.
Saving my honor. I hold up a stiff palm and Sondra high fives me.
I turn back around and tell Toby to buckle up and hear the click. Sliding down in my seat I prop my fee
t on the dash and release a relieved breath. “Was that bullshit about CPS?”
“Alive and in foster care is better than the alternative, Grace.”
I start crying then.
She hands me a McDonald's napkin and I blot my tears on the cheap, recycled paper. “You're sure a McGyver,” I finally say.
“Yup,” Sondra says for the second time, making her way back to the apartment we're now sharing, “Crowbar as weapon, fast food napkins as a soother—I bet there's a ton of other shit in this crappy car that can serve our needs.”
I laugh then massage my temples, feeling the familiar nausea return like a wave to shore.
“Headache?” Sondra asks.
My eyes flick to her then away. “Yeah—and that stuff with Fred didn't help.”
“I know guys like that. Ya need to stand up to ʻem.” Sondra takes a couple of turns and ends up on Summit and 12th street. Her crappy subsidized apartment building rises like a big square prison in front of us.
She kills the engine and it hiccups to silence, cooling.
“So,” Sondra turns, bending her knee underneath her butt, and propping up her body. “Fred's out for now. If Toby goes back there...” she shakes her head, indicating she's not going to finish her thoughts while Toby's within earshot.
“Grace?” Toby says from the back and I twist in the front seat to face him.
“Can I take off my buckle?”
“You sure can, sweet boy.” He unbuckles and climbs over the back seat to the front, sitting between us.
He grabs Sondra's hand in his smaller one and whispers, “Did you kill Fred?” His large brown eyes are round, filled with pathetic hope.
I sigh. A four year old shouldn't wish for a person's death. Even one who deserves it as much as Fred does.
Sondra ruffles his hair. “I wish, buster.”
I give her a look.
“I mean,” she frowns at me, but when her attention shifts to Toby, she smiles, “Auntie Sondra doesn't want that big dude to hurt our little dude.” She pokes at his ribs with a finger and he giggles.
When Toby finally stops laughing he grows serious. “Will he get up again?”
She gives a solemn nod. “Those type always do. They're like evil Energizer Bunnies.”
My brows come together. “You mean the old-fashioned battery commercial?”
