“The asshole was freaking out because we found him,” Bran growled. I sensed the tension in his voice, in the way he held himself. He couldn’t take much more of this. “He was killing Liam. Drop the gun, Mom. Drop the gun and we’ll sit down and talk about this.”
“We’ll do no such thing. We’ll call the fucking cops,” Michael snapped.
Bernadette’s stare slashed the air around her husband. “You’d hand me over to the police?” The disbelief in her voice rose. “You bastard. You go around screwing anything with a vagina for decades and now I’m the bad guy?”
I felt sorry for her, despite the situation. In a society where men were considered studs and women whores if they took multiple lovers I couldn’t help but agree with Bernadette on one level.
That, however, wasn’t the level where killing and kidnapping were acceptable actions.
“Put the gun down and we’ll talk,” Bran repeated. He shot his father a warning glance—don’t piss off the woman with the weapon.
Michael Hanover might be a business genius but you could put everything he knew about women in a thimble and have room left for more.
Michael opened his mouth as if to respond to Bernadette’s accusations and then closed it.
It might have been his best decision in days.
“Put the gun down, Mom. Please.”
Bernadette looked at him as if he’d asked for a second serving of pie. “You don’t understand. I get it—you’ve been writing your little stories and doing your little trips around the country. I understand how you don’t get what I’m talking about.” She drew a ragged breath as if she was running a marathon. “When I married your father your grandfather was adamant about us keeping the family strong, keeping the business strong. We can’t let just anyone take over the family business. We need to guide them, nurture them.” She tilted her head toward Michael. “All of his hard work can’t be wasted on someone who won’t know what to do with it. We need a Hanover at the helm, someone to carry the business into the future.” She sneered at her husband. “If Bran decides not to take it, who will? Your cousin Eric? The idiot who keeps getting caught cheating on his income tax?”
“What, you’re going to take the kid and spend twenty years raising him to take over the business?” Michael snapped. “That’s insane.”
I bit the inside of my cheek. He wasn’t helping.
“If Bran doesn’t take it, then who?” Bernadette replied.
Bran shook his head. “There’s plenty of good friends, good relatives you can hand it over to.” His eyes narrowed. “I’m not going to take a business steeped in blood.”
She shook her head. “I’m tired of this. I want the baby and I want him now.” Bernadette directed her comments to me, ignoring her husband and son. “You call whoever has him and tell him to bring the baby here.”
“No,” I replied.
The acidic sting tore at my senses as if I’d inhaled a full shot of lemon juice. I spun around, yanking my hand free from Bran’s grasp.
Bran stared at me.
Michael squinted, looking past me at his wife.
She looked down at the barrel of the pistol with a confused expression as if it’d jumped up and bit her.
A light puff of smoke rose from the tip.
Chapter Twelve
My left arm itched.
The itch turned warm, burning hot.
I looked down to see the ragged three-inch gash in my skin, just below the shoulder. It oozed as the jagged pain shot up my arm.
“Reb!” Bran caught me as I fell to the ground.
“Where is the baby?” Bernadette asked, her voice trembling.
“You bitch,” Bran cried as he cradled me in his arms. I babbled something incoherent.
“You will not talk to me like that. I am your mother.” She waved the pistol again. “Where is the baby?”
“With a friend,” Bran answered.
Michael stood helpless to one side, paralyzed.
I gasped, clawing at Bran’s arms. He looked down at me.
“You’re going to be okay,” he murmured.
“No I won’t,” I whispered.
The world around me shifted and warped, changing enough to both scare and thrill me.
I was Changing.
The burning in my arm dimmed as my senses came into full focus. I could smell Bernadette’s fear, hear the loud pounding of her heart. Michael’s sweat dripping off him like small grenades, exploding when they hit the hardwood floor.
My claws shot out, digging into Bran’s duster. The sharp edges tangled in the dark leather and pulled him closer.
Bran pulled me close, hiding me as best he could from his parents.
I drew in short huffs. I couldn’t afford to Change—not here, not now.
“Stop it,” Bran whispered, lips pressed to my ear. “You know how to do it.” His words took on a commanding, dominating tone. “Stop it.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to push away the overwhelming rush of information attacking my senses.
The irony didn’t escape me. After being unable to Change at will for decades I was now trying to stop myself from Changing. The secret I’d had to keep from his parents was right in front of them if Bran shifted his position even a few inches to either side.
Bran sucked in his breath over clenched teeth. I knew what he was seeing—blond fur covering my face with dark brown horizontal streaks. My mother had once called them war paint, invoking a long speech from my father about political correctness.
The last time he’d seen me Changed he’d cut and run.
This time it was different. His eyes were soft, tears threatening to break free as he gazed at me.
“Damn, you’re beautiful,” Bran murmured.
I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Instead I burrowed into his chest.
The pounding in my ears began slowing as I forced myself to draw long, deep breaths. All I needed to do was take control again.
I might as well be trying to control a runaway train with a shoelace held in my teeth.
“What’s wrong with her?” Bernadette snapped.
“She’s in shock,” Bran responded. “You shot her.” He swept his duster over my shoulders as I ducked my head down.
The thick musk of alpha male swallowed me up, cutting out some of the outside influences smashing into my senses. It was a blessing and a curse, the shredding pain in my arm mixing with the inherent urge to protect my mate and lash out at those who had hurt me, hurt us.
I ran through mental exercises I hadn’t thought about for years, going back to the start to stop the Change. A powerful Felis like Jess could Change back and forth in seconds.
I might take a wee bit longer.
“Where’s the baby?” Bernadette repeated. “Get me the baby and you can call the ambulance, take her to get help.”
Michael’s voice cut through the pain. “Bernie—what are you doing?” The sadness in his voice tore at my heart. “Why are you doing this?”
“I’ll call her,” Bran said, surprisingly calm. “I need to get my phone out of my pocket. Don’t shoot me.”
“Smart-ass,” Bernadette shot back. “She’ll live. Just get me the baby.”
I suppressed a growl.
He shifted behind me and pressed his knee against my side, holding me in his shadow. “Keep chilling,” he murmured. “I got this.”
His right hand slipped into a pocket and extracted the cell phone. He held it up over us.
My arm burned, the pulsing running from my fingertips right into my shoulder and back.
“Put it on speakerphone,” Bernadette barked. “No funny stuff. I don’t trust you.” She gave a light giggle, the phony type reserved for the public. “No offense.”
“None taken.” Bran leaned in. “What’s Jess’s number?”