The Sound and the Furry

by Karen Ranney

  Doreen’s voice had been rising over the past few minutes which was a tactical error. My father didn’t like being screamed at. As the head of the Council he could summon the Sergeant at Arms and have Doreen carried from the room if that’s what it took. Or he could do it himself.

  I was almost wishing he would.

  Instead, he said in a voice that was kinder than she deserved, “State your case, Doreen.”

  She caught herself mid-complaint and looked at him in surprise.

  “You must have your reasons for not wanting this divorce. State them.”

  I wanted to warn her that when my father commanded you in that voice he wasn’t messing around. I knew because I’d probably pushed his buttons more than any other living creature. As I’d grown older, however, I’d developed good survival instincts and knew when to avoid certain situations. And when to shut up.

  I wouldn’t have been in Doreen’s shoes for anything.

  “He’s my husband,” she said, her voice halting. She wrapped her arms around her waist, staring up at him in defiance. Or what would have been defiance if she hadn’t started to cry.

  The desk where the Council members sat was on a dais which meant that we were seated above her, making her look even smaller in comparison. Doreen may have annoyed me, but I couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. I wanted to go to her and give her a hug, gently escort her from the room, hand her a tissue or ten, and get her a big cup of tea.

  Instead, I was forced to sit and watch the woman try to frame the words to save her marriage.

  “He’s my husband,” she repeated, her voice tremulous. “We’ve been married twenty-five years. He has no right to give that up and begin another life.”

  “He has every right,” my father said. “Especially given your behavior of late.”

  Doreen looked up at him, eyes widening.

  “Is it true that you’ve refused your husband your bed?” he asked.

  “He snores.”

  My father didn’t comment.

  “Did you refuse to run with him in the Hunt?”

  She looked away. He didn’t say a word, waiting for her answer.

  “Yes,” she finally said. “He gets too uncontrollable afterward.”

  Since I’d had that problem with a male companion at times, I understood exactly what she was saying. However, she was married to the man and while marriage conveyed protection in the Were community it also required some degree of participation.

  Doreen wasn’t doing herself any favors right now. But at least she was being honest. Lying to my father was never a good idea.

  “Did you open a separate checking and savings account? And make your son co-signer?”

  Setting up a son over his father was a definite no no and the reason I thought the divorce would be approved. A male offspring could challenge his father for dominance. The woman fomenting that sort of behavior was wolfie non grata in the Were community.

  “I don’t see why that makes any difference,” she said. “He’s still my husband. He can’t just start setting up house with a woman only a few years older than Ronald.”

  There was that, too. The least Michael could have done was select a woman who wasn’t quite as attractive or nubile. I doubted, however, that my opinion was shared by the other members of the Council.

  The sound of thunder was eerily appropriate as Doreen stood there staring at my father. I couldn’t help but wonder if he had a sound making machine in the back. He had a talent for dramatic moments. He often came into a gathering last and stood in the doorway until everyone realized he was there. Conversation would fade as they turned to watch him. Only then would he make his entrance. His experience as an attorney, especially one who appeared before a jury quite often, had made him an eloquent speaker as well.

  He was pausing for dramatic effect right at the moment.

  I started doodling on my itinerary. The way this was going we wouldn’t get out of here until midnight. I looked forward to going home and greeting the Brood. The aspirin I’d taken during the day had helped with the soreness in my back, but I still wanted a hot bath and to collapse in my comfy bed.

  We should be almost finished with the next item on the itinerary — Visitor Approval — but Doreen had messed up the schedule.

  I fervently hoped that we wouldn’t have a parade of people through here tonight.

  When a member of one of the other five clans moved into our area, they were required to come before the Council and apply for what amounted to a visa. We wanted to know who was in our territory.

  Strangers were given a specific time to either assimilate and ask for membership in the clan or remain aloof, becoming peregrinus, which meant stranger from afar. I only knew two families, both from the Russian clan, who had chosen to remain peregrinus.

  My father leaned back in the oversized leather chair. It wouldn’t dare squeak. He folded his arms, looked down at Doreen, and made a pronouncement in a stentorian voice.

  “Marriage is a sacred institution in our culture, Doreen. You have not treated it so. A wife is to cleave unto her husband. A husband is to offer his wife respect and honor.”

  I was concentrating on my doodle, a selection of circles within circles. If I looked up, I was afraid I might give away my thoughts. My father had two concubines and he was lecturing Doreen on the sanctity of marriage? Excuse me?

  “We will take your words under consideration, just as we have taken your husband’s. When we have made our decision, you will be informed.”

  I, for one, hoped it was soon. Otherwise, Doreen would continue to be a PITA.

  Sylvia Elizabeth Hawthorne, who’d blessedly retreated to the background in the past few minutes, came forward and accompanied Doreen to the door, an action that was done with a minimum of fuss and a surprising absence of hysteria.

  I was beginning to feel a little draggy. I might be a special Furry and all that, but I still got tired.

  The door opened and he walked in, the last person I expected to see. Mark Avery. Someone I once thought could be the yin to my yang, the salt to my pepper and all that.

  I was suddenly not tired anymore. I was feeling very alert and very Pranic, which wasn’t necessarily a good thing for Mark.

  Chapter Six

  With that everyone - including me - finally breathed

  I won't deny that I approached life somewhat pugnaciously. I can't help it. I was the oldest of three children and the product of an alpha male and a subservient female. However, somewhere along the line, I’d gotten my wires crossed. I’d inherited all of my father's alpha male characteristics and none of my mother's subservient female traits.

  I was, like it or not, a square peg in a round hole. Or a round peg in a square hole. Whichever one you liked.

  If I’d been born a human without a touch of paranormal blood in me, I probably would have rebelled at the same age, painting my nails and my teeth black, acquiring vampire friends, and studying witchcraft. If there had been any way to become paranormal, I probably would've discovered it. I wanted to be “different” so much that I would have done anything.

  Some people would say that’s exactly what I did by becoming Pranic.

  Mark had had the same transfusion as I had, but in addition to strength he’d acquired a few other abilities. I’d seen him levitate my car, then gently lower it to the ground. I knew that he could also hear my thoughts, which was why I always envisioned being in a lead lined container when I was around him. Not that I minded us sharing thoughts, per se, but a girl’s gotta have some secrets.

  Now, however, I took advantage of his ability by sending him an especially profane comment. He didn’t even glance at me.

  I hadn't seen Mark for three months. We'd had what anyone else might call a one night stand. Except with Mark, it had felt like more, which was an indication of what an idiot I was.

  Mark was the only person in the universe like me, a Furry turned Pranic. You’d think that would cement our relationship, right? You’d think
, coupled with the attraction that I’d felt for him — stronger than anything I’d ever felt for anyone — that something might have developed, right?

  Nope.

  He came into my life without fanfare and he left the same way.

  Those few weeks we’d dated had been both wonderful and terrible. I’d felt vulnerable and exposed and stupid and silly and goofy. Yet at the same time every cell had been filled to bursting with joy. Nothing upset me. Everything pleased me. Weird things amused me and I saw Mark as the embodiment of everything good and right and perfect about the world.

  In other words, I’d been an ass.

  We’d only gone to bed with each other — done the nasty, had a sleepover, hooked up, whatever euphemism you choose to use — once. One time. Uno. One solitary night, and it hadn’t even been the whole night. A phone call had spirited Mark away and I hadn't seen him since.

  That last night I’d gone all out. I’d worn a new dress and put on three inch heels and I almost never wear three inch heels. After all, I’m not short. Mark, however, was tall enough that I didn’t tower over him. We’d gone out to dinner and I’d invited him inside for a glass of wine.

  I hadn’t had any wine in the house, but it hadn’t mattered. He’d grabbed me inside the door and the rest was history.

  It had been our ninth date and my libido had been screaming at me to get with the action. I’d wanted to keep it slow only because I didn't want to make a mistake with Mark. I wanted whatever we had to develop organically, if you will. Well, it certainly had that night. At least until he’d left in the middle of the night.

  He hadn’t called the next morning. Or the next day. After about a week I debated calling him, but I was feeling a little hurt about that time and decided that I should just push Mark Avery out of my life completely. His loss, my gain. I wouldn't think about him at all.

  Of course, I thought about him for a very long time. One week, then another, then another, then a month. Three months later he strolled into the Council meeting, acting like we were strangers.

  I was conscious of my father's quick look. He’d seen me with Mark. He’d also seen Mark being very protective of me, behavior that indicated something in the Were culture. I wanted to lean over and tell my father that it was all right. He could banish the interloper to the far corners of anywhere he pleased. I owed Mark nothing and he certainly owed me nothing.

  Wasn't that sad?

  I’ve fallen for the greatest con in civilization: yes I will respect you in the morning. Of course I'll call. No, I value you.

  "You have come to petition the Council for residency. Identify yourself and your clan."

  Mark moved to stand in the circle below us. His gaze was steady on my father. He didn't once glance at me. Fine. I was just peachy with that. He didn't have to look at me. I couldn't help but look at him, however.

  If anything, he’d improved with our separation. He was tall and whip cord lean. I’d never been a derriere aficionado until Mark. Right now he was dressed in a black suit, a white shirt with a subtle blue stripe, and a red tie. Formal attire for calling on the Council. I couldn’t tell if I liked him better in this outfit or the jacket and jeans he often wore. Or maybe even naked.

  He glanced at me. I looked away, my cheeks warming.

  "I'm Mark Allen Avery," he said. “The alpha of Clan Perseus."

  That caused a stir in the meeting. I was willing to bet they’d never had the head of a clan ask for residency. What startled me was that he was the head of the Greek clan. My grandmother’s clan. Why hadn’t he mentioned that before and was there any significance? Good grief, were we related? Was he my long-lost half third cousin or something?

  “We are honored, Mr. Avery," my father said.

  I stole a quick glance at Hamish. His face had relaxed and there was a small smile playing on his mouth. He leaned back a little, his hands on the arms of the chair.

  "Tell me why you have abandoned your clan, Mr. Avery."

  "I have not," Mark said, his voice strong. “I’m a physician. I’m planning to engage in clinical trials at one of your hospitals."

  "Visitors do not normally ask for residency," my father said.

  "The trials are sufficiently long that I might be living here for a few years. I did not wish to disrespect the clan or its leadership by doing so without announcing my presence."

  “And Clan Perseus? Can they do without you for so long?"

  I couldn't decide if what I was feeling was anger or a combination of betrayal and shame. I hated being dumb about a man, but Mark had enthralled me from the very first time I saw him and it hadn’t gotten better the longer I’d known him. Even now my libido was on its back, legs up in the air in the classic surrender position, its protruding stomach begging to be rubbed.

  It had no shame.

  I hate you.

  There, that got a reaction. Mark turned his head to look at me.

  Evidently he could still hear my thoughts. I wondered if I could send him an image and he'd be able to see it. I immediately envisioned a luau and a roasted pig with an apple in its mouth. For good measure, I imagined a spear and I thrust it at the pig.

  He flinched just the smallest bit.

  My father was saying something but I wasn't paying any attention. Neither was Mark, which wasn't a good thing. My father didn't like to be ignored.

  "Mr. Avery," he said, his tone less relaxed now. He sounded like he was lecturing Doreen again.

  Mark broke our gaze and directed his attention once more to the Council.

  "I appreciate your show of respect by coming here,” my father said. "In turn, I will accord you the same."

  I glanced at my father, wondering what was going on.

  "Clan Perseus has requested that we do not welcome you to our territory. Evidently, you’ve left some unfinished business behind, Mr. Avery."

  I’d rarely seen someone match my father eyeball to eyeball, in a manner of speaking. Mark, however, didn't squirm.

  He remained as he was, standing straight with his arms down at his sides, shoulders squared. He was good-looking enough to be a model and I immediately had a few visions that I hopefully blacked out in time. I didn't want to recall what he looked like naked. I didn't even want to think about it. Because if I did, he’d probably see what I was thinking.

  That hint of a smile was an indication that he already had, damn it.

  “It’s Dr. Avery, Mr. Boyd, and there is no unfinished business. There are some in my clan who would wish for me to be something other than a physician. I am what I am and I can serve my career and my clan at the same time."

  My father didn't say anything for a minute, just kept studying him.

  Mark didn't look away. He didn't falter. He didn't fill the silence with words or explanations. His look seemed to indicate that whatever was happening in his clan was none of the Council’s business.

  I was confused about Clan Perseus’s message to my father. Hamish really should have informed the Council. There’d never been a clan war on U.S. soil, but there had been plenty of them back in the Old Country.

  He and Mark stared at each other for a good five minutes in total silence. I didn’t know about the other members of the Council, but it was beginning to worry me. Nobody challenged my father the way Mark was doing and lived to tell about it.

  Finally, my father smiled and nodded.

  “Very well, Dr. Avery, permission is granted. You are welcome here.”

  With that everyone — including me — finally breathed.

  My father stood, came around the dais and extended his hand. The two of them shook hands. My father made a gesture with his arm that was a signal for the other men to come and meet Mark.

  Everyone but me, that is. I picked up my papers, my purse, and made my way out of the building as fast as my feet could carry me. I sincerely hoped the meeting was adjourned, because I wasn’t going back inside the Council chambers, at least not while Mark was there.

  Chapter Seven

&
nbsp; Dear Torrance, you're too much effort

  The rain was coming down in sheets when I left the Council Chambers. I hadn’t brought an umbrella or a raincoat, for that matter. I haven’t seen a raincoat in years. Did they even still make them? When I was a little girl I had a bright yellow one with a matching hood and yellow boots that came up to my knees. My mother had been very protective and evidently thought that one drop of rain on my precious little skin would turn me into a sugary puddle.

  I suppose somebody would say that I’ve been treated like a princess all my life and I probably have been. It didn't feel that way after I turned twelve and started to question everything, and I do mean everything. I was a Were who didn’t want to be a Were. I didn't want to turn wolf every month. I didn't want to live in a patriarchal society, one in which women were expected to fulfill a certain role. I wasn’t a trailblazer. Women like my grandmother, who’d inherited a fortune and decided to do something with it, were the true heroines. I was just lucky to have been born her granddaughter.

  I made my way to the car, a little thing that reminded me of a box. I don't know why I bought it. I should've splurged for a midsize car. It was new, since I'd totaled mine a few months ago in a spectacular accident, one that involved Mark's powers and a Humvee driven by my ex-boyfriend. Not that Craig had ever admitted to forcing me off the road.

  I opened the car door, got in, and started it. I turned on the wipers and stared through the windshield for a few minutes. I don't know why I was waiting. Maybe I was hoping that Mark would catch up with me. He didn't.

  I wasn’t going to pine after the man. I was smarter than that. Besides, I’d already gone through three months of pining. I’d gotten it out of my system.

  I hadn't missed that look my father gave me as I slipped out of the Council Chambers. He and Mark were still glad handing and doing the hail fellow well met thing. I thought he was impressed that someone had faced him down and hadn’t looked the least bit cowed.