The mood vanished as I took a deep breath, knowing what I had to say but not finding the right words.
“I saw the baby.” I chewed on my bottom lip, delaying for a few more seconds. “It wasn’t Brayton’s child.”
Bran blinked. His eyebrows came together as he frowned.
“I—” I touched the tip of my nose. “I could tell he wasn’t Brayton’s because I recognized the scent from another male. Liam’s real father.”
I could see him putting the pieces together in a horrible, heartbreaking sequence. Our first case, the event that had brought us together and revealed my secret to him involved my ability to sniff a sample of Felis hair and determine a relationship between father and son. Each person had their own scent but there was always a trace of their parents in there, a family trait.
The baby wasn’t Felis but the same rules applied.
If Brayton wasn’t Liam’s father someone else was, someone who I could identify by his scent and who would have reason to want the paternity kept secret.
Someone who would use blackmail to keep me quiet.
“My father.” He said the words like a curse.
I dropped my head down. I couldn’t say the words.
Bran pressed his hands against his knees, hard. The muscles on his arms went rigid as he stared at the floor. He drew short, rough breaths.
I didn’t do anything. I didn’t know what to do.
Everyone reacts differently to bad news. I’ve seen women break into the giggles when discovering their husbands are fooling around and grown men shrug off infidelity as if it were a bug bite.
I couldn’t even begin to guess at what Bran would do.
I reached out to touch him, to somehow apologize for fracturing his reality. “Bran.”
He stood up and swung at the lamp on the table beside us. It crashed against the wall. The black clay shattered, exposing the electrical wiring that lay limp on the floor. The black lamp shade bounced away behind the couch and out of sight.
“That bastard,” he shouted. “A baby. A fucking baby.”
Jazz disappeared in a white blur up the stairs to the relative safety of the bedroom. I wanted to join her but couldn’t.
I’d brought the storm. Now I had to deal with it.
Bran brought his fists down on the cherrywood table. It didn’t break but angry cracks spun out from the impact site through the varnish. The narrow legs wobbled in preparation of surrender.
I got up and stood there, hands at my side.
Another hammering and the side table gave way. It sank to the ground like a dead animal, the dark wooden legs splayed out in all directions. Chips of varnish flew around my feet and under the couch.
Bran drew a shuddering breath. He turned to me.
“Bastard.”
Blood trickled down his fingers.
I took a step back, fear curdling the pizza and soda in my stomach. He looked like a trapped animal, an angry wounded animal about to lash out at anyone in range.
I didn’t know what to do or say.
He stared at me and for a second I saw the little boy inside him, betrayed and hurt. Another blink and his expression flashed forward into the steely-eyed predator I’d encountered in the Pennsylvanian forest, unbroken and proud.
I couldn’t breathe. It was like I’d been punched in the chest so hard my heart couldn’t beat and I was dying.
“Reb?” Bran whispered. “Are you okay?” He looked down at his bleeding hands, then back at me. “Oh God. Are you afraid of me?”
I shook my head even as I stepped back a pace, my feet moving independently of my mind.
“You’re trembling.” He took a step closer. His scent washed over me, the thick musk filled with testosterone.
I froze like a deer caught in the headlights. My legs turned to rubber, threatening to drop me to the ground.
“Oh God.” His arms went around me. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I’d never hurt you, never.” He pulled me to the ground, both of us kneeling on bloody splinters.
“It’s okay.” I felt the fear dissipate, washed away by a surge of emotion. “I just, I’ve never seen you like that.”
“I’ve never been so mad. So fucking mad at my father.” He tilted my face up so I could see him clearly. “But not mad at you.”
“You were. A little bit.”
“A little bit,” he admitted. “But I can’t stay mad at you. You’re too damned good in bed.”
“You know it.” I took hold of his shoulders and stood up, a little shaky on my feet. “You’re bleeding. Let’s get you fixed up.”
He followed me into the kitchen and shoved his hands in the sink. I turned on the cold water and let it wash away the blood.
“Bastard,” Bran repeated. The anger in his voice was still there, tempered with sadness and acceptance.
I opened up the drawer and got the first aid kit. There was nothing to add.
“Tell me the whole story.” The warning tone in his voice demanded honesty. “All of it.”
It took the length of time for me to disinfect and clean his hands to go through the details, including calling Jess and asking for the Felis to help find Liam. The scratches weren’t deep—I was more worried about splinters sneaking under the skin. He’d be sore and a bit bruised but he’d survive.
“A half brother,” he whispered. “A half brother.” Bran drew a deep breath. “What does he look like?”
“Cute. Adorable.” I ruffled his hair, dropping a kiss on his forehead. “Red hair. Did I mention cute?”
Bran chuckled. “Family trait.”
I waited. I couldn’t even begin to figure out what to say and didn’t want to try. This was far and away from anything I’d ever dealt with.
He chewed his lower lip before speaking. “Jess, your family—do you think they can find Liam?”
I smiled. “When we call a hunt it’s a serious thing. The cops might have their street connections but we’ve got a lot more people in a lot more locations looking for Liam. Whoever took him won’t be able to stay underground for long.”
“Thank you for asking. I know that must have been tough for you.”
“Remember that when the bill comes due,” I said. “Jess doesn’t give away anything.”
Bran nodded. “When it’s time I’ll be there for you, no matter what.” He sighed. “My family, they’re... They’re complicated. They’re all about appearances, on what looks best for them and the business. When I was ten years old we got a dog.” He flexed his fingers, inspecting the thin bandages. “It was a small dog, a corgi. I was told he would be my responsibility.”
I wasn’t a big fan of dogs but this wasn’t the right time to bring it up.
“I took care of him. Walks, grooming, feeding, the whole deal.” Bran studied his palm. “One day I came home and Billy was gone.”
“Gone?”
“My parents overheard someone in their social circle commenting on our having such a small dog. Seems at that time it wasn’t fashionable to have anything other than monster hounds.” He pulled his fingers into a fist, tightening the bandages. “The next day a Great Dane arrived and I was told this was my new dog. It was like Billy had never existed and now this new dog was supposed to slide into his place without me caring or changing a thing.”
I didn’t know what to say.
“That’s how my parents roll. It’s all about appearances and what people think of them. When I lost it and started working for the Inquisitor? They never called, never asked if I was okay. They told their friends I was doing some research for a new book. And the money kept flowing as long as I’d stay quiet and not embarrass them by coming to their parties.”
I shifted my weight to one side, feeling the pull of the marred skin on my back.
I’d forgotten some scars weren’t visible.
“My father’s had affairs for years. I caught him once with my nanny.” He chuckled. “He told me he was helping her shelve some books in his library and gave me money to go get some ice cream. I was seven and stupid, I didn’t know any better. When I got older I knew. And I did nothing because I figured it was their business, between them.” He shook his head. “And now the chickens have come home to roost, I guess.”