BROKEN BLADE Page 7

  Since her rather timely death, Damon had been doing his best to turn things around and after a few rough months, things had changed. Usually, it was noisier here. He was doing a lot of rebuilding, putting his stamp on the massive building that was known as the Lair. Sounds of construction filled the air, people laughing, shouting.

  Some of the cats lived there. I think he had about two hundred people total living at the Lair and a handful were kids. Sometimes, you could hear them laughing. When I’d driven past, I’d heard the faintest strains of voices drifting over the resounding whack of a hammer, somebody blasting music.

  But the closer I moved to the Lair, the quieter it became.

  Nausea churned in my gut as I popped my wrist, wishing like hell that faint tingling I sensed in my palm was something, anything that would bring my blade to me, but it wasn’t.

  Because I needed to touch something, I rested my hand on my belt and rubbed my thumb over the silver wire worked into the leather.

  I wasn’t even afraid of them really.

  I was just—

  A tiger’s roar ripped through the air and I tensed as I saw the flash of orange just before he came leaping over the fence—that damn thing was eight feet high. He took it like it was a bump on the road.

  I came to a halt as Doyle crouched on the ground in front of me, a long, sleek tiger that was nearly double the size of a natural one. He waited there, staring at me with intelligence in his eyes.

  Swallowing the knot in my throat, I forced myself to talk.

  “Hi, Doyle.”

  He stretched out on his belly and rested his head on his paws, eyes on my face, just watching me.

  “Ah...is this your way of telling me I can’t go in? Using that giant, tiger-skin rug to block me?”

  He sneezed and sat up, still watching me.

  I took a step forward and he didn’t do anything, so I moved a little more.

  By the time I was even with him, I was almost breathing normal. As he leaned in, he lifted his head to butt it against my chest. It was almost enough to knock me off my feet. Sighing a little, I wrapped my arm around his neck.

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you missed me,” I said quietly. It hadn’t been that long ago that the overgrown house cat had acted like he couldn’t stand me. And now this?

  He rubbed his head against me. Sinking my hand into the thick, dense fur around his neck, I dipped my head and pressed it to his. “Thanks again for finding me, Doyle.”

  He’d been the one to track me down. I still didn’t know how. If I could ever get to where—

  Just before my mind could take that nasty sideways journey into fear, he made a harsh sound, deep in his chest and then eased away, still watching me with those alien, inhuman eyes.

  “I need to talk to you,” I said, darting a glance around. I could do this out here, I thought. If he’d just change—

  He moved his big head in a nod and then turned, flicking his tail as he walked.

  I stared at him.

  He stopped and looked back at me.

  “I guess that means I’m coming inside.”

  Another dip of his head and he started to walk. At the gated entry, the guards fell back aside, staring at their feet. Since they didn’t make any comment about my weapons, I wasn’t about to mention them. They would have seen them; I had no doubt about that.

  Oxygen seemed a little too sparse in this part of East Orlando all of a sudden. I completely blamed the atmosphere, too, because it was easier to think it was some weird thing with the air than to think about being afraid.

  Curling my hand around my belt, I followed Doyle’s orange-and-black hide into the Lair, focusing on nothing but him, the scents of fresh-cut wood and paint. He wound through, taking corridors I hadn’t previously used. Everywhere there were signs that the renovations had expanded well past Damon’s quarters. I guessed that explained why we were winding in circles.

  He paused in the middle of the hallway and I stood so close, I could feel the brush of his fur against my hip. Golden eyes stared through a pane of glass and I followed his gaze, wondering what it was that held him so enthralled.

  Somebody came flying at the glass right as I looked up.

  I managed not to flinch. Barely. It would have been reinforced, otherwise Doyle would have moved.

  Blood splattered the glass as the dark-haired woman crumpled to the floor. A few seconds later, she was upright. Swaying, but upright. I took a second to look past her—recognition hit. This was the training hall. They were putting in a viewing section. It had used to be grim and gray, more like a dungeon than anything else.

  It was still grim, but that had more to do with the blood all over the place than anything else. It wasn’t the windowless pit it had once been and the walls were white—had to be charmed or specially made to repel stains or something, because cats didn’t spar like human combatants. They fought to the blood. Then they healed up and did it again. When weres had to fight, it wasn’t about fair play and rules.

  It involved life and death. That was how they trained.

  The woman was upright now, moving with a limp as she headed back into the circle, blood flowing down at her back. The man in the middle looked familiar, I thought. Dark hair, almost black. Golden skin. Very pretty. Out of place in the middle of that circle—then he looked at me and I knew.

  It was the puma I’d seen back in Wolf Haven.

  One of Damon’s cats.

  Clenching my jaw, I looked away from him to the woman, but as she turned around and I saw her face, rage sizzled inside me, a low-level burn.

  Sam.

  He doesn’t want you now...

  The mocking edge of her words screamed loudly in my mind as I watched her. Her gaze slanted my way and that rage, a sleeping beast in the pit of my belly, snarled to waking life within me.

  A smile curled her lips. Mocking and cold.

  I imagined pulling the gun at my hip. Those windows might be strong, but the ammo in my gun would cut through a tank—and her.

  The man in front of her said something—I couldn’t hear what. The walls, the glass, all of it was soundproof. I imagined not even Doyle heard what he said.

  She just continued to stare at me. A split second later, she was on the floor.

  I blinked and looked at Doyle. “Ah, isn’t she one of the lieutenants?”

  Doyle made an odd hnk sound in his throat. It almost sounded like a laugh. Then he rubbed his cheek against my arm and started to walk. Lingering just long enough to watch Sam shove up onto her hands and feet, I fell back into pace behind Doyle. As long as I focused on him, I didn’t have to think about all the others around me.

  So far, the majority of them either backed out of the hallway at the sight of me or they took up the rapt study of Kit’s feet.

  The kids were different, though.

  Although they sensed the tension in the air and fell silent over that, they didn’t look away from me. One came hurtling down the hall, a little scrap of a thing, moving quicker than anybody had a right to, especially when she was all of three feet tall.

  Her hair was bright red and her eyes were as green as grass. She stopped dead in the center of the hall for a minute when she saw Doyle. Then she squealed and lunged for him. As soon as she caught him, he rolled, going to his back so that the girl was now sitting on top of him. “Are you ready to play with me?” she demanded, bending down and glaring at him, nose to nose.

  Doyle growled.

  She growled back and it was the cutest damn thing, because she wasn’t even close to coming up on her shift. It sounded just like what it was—a human throat trying to make an animal sound, but Doyle pretended to be afraid.

  I found myself smiling at them. Bumping his hindquarter with my toe, I asked him, “Am I interrupting a play-date, Doyle?”

  He swung his head over to look at me just as the girl noticed me.

  She blinked up at me, her eyes rounding.

  “Who are you?”

 
Somebody came rushing around the corner before I had an answer. “Chelsea, what are—”

  The words froze in her throat when she saw me and her eyes widened in the same way the girl’s had. I had no doubt this was the mother and the horror on her face hit me right in the pit of my stomach. As she jerked her head down, I tore my gaze away from her and focused on the hallway.

  “Chelsea, sweetheart, come with me now,” the woman whispered, the sound all but silent.

  The girl didn’t seem too interested in listening.

  She swung a leg off the living, breathing toy she’d discovered in Doyle and slid to the floor, leaning against him like he was a nice, cozy pillow. Her red hair spread around her like a fan as she smiled. “You look mean,” she decided.

  “Do I?” I asked.

  The mom inched a step forward.

  Screw you, I decided, hunkering down in front of the girl. She looked like a little fairy. Delicate and soft and pretty.

  Fairies weren’t exactly soft or delicate, but she still put me in the mind of one. And if she was a cat, she’d end up being deadly later on. Maybe it was a good comparison, after all.

  So far, the little fairy was the only one besides Doyle who didn’t treat me like I was either breakable or contagious. Mean sounded so much better.

  Bracing my elbows on my knees, I peered into her face. “Just how mean do I look?”

  “Even meaner than Doyle when he acts like he’s going to eat me,” she said. A dimple appeared in her cheek.

  “Chelsea.”

  Her mom sounded like she was going to have a panic attack. I should probably stop talking to the girl, stop distracting her, but it was nice to not be treated like a pariah. Resting my chin on one fist, I said, “If I look that mean, then why are you talking to me?”

  “Cuz you’re with Doyle. If you were really mean, he would have eaten you.”

  “Do you really think he’d try to eat me? I don’t think tigers eat people.”

  She scrunched up her face. “If you were mean, he would.”

  “Chelsea...” the woman’s voice was near tears now and I was so disgusted, I wanted to kick something. Hit something. Somebody.

  I slid Doyle a look. “Think so?” I leaned in a little closer and said, “I think your mom thinks I’m the one who’s going to start making snacks out of people. Either that, or she thinks standing near me is going to give you a deadly disease. Who knows, maybe you’ll catch human.”

  Chelsea gulped. “You can’t catch that.” Then she darted her mother a quick look and her thin shoulders drooped.

  I patted her on the head. “Go on, Miss Chelsea. I’m not hungry today anyway.”

  She laughed a little as she clambered back over Doyle. As her mom snatched her up, she whispered, “She’s funny, Mama. You can’t really catch human—”

  “Chelsea, hush,” the woman said, still staring at the ground. “You’re being rude.”

  “Actually, she’s the only person who isn’t being rude,” I snapped. Screw these nerves. I nudged Doyle again and watched as he stretched out before climbing to his feet. “Other than your kid and the lap-cat here, everybody else is acting like I’m a leper. Didn’t the humans cure that finally?” Disgusted, I buried my hand in his pelt. “Wherever we’re going, can we go?”

  I was so pissed off, I thought I could have maybe handled seeing Damon without falling apart.

  Maybe.

  Chapter Seven

  Then again…

  I wanted to take off running down the long dim hall when Doyle reached the end of it and bumped his head against the wall. A wall that wasn’t a wall. My gut went tight, turning into slippery knots as a section eased forward.

  Even before it moved completely out of the way, I knew where Doyle had brought me. “You damned overgrown fur rug,” I grumbled while the knots in my gut went taut, drawing tighter and tighter with panic. Damon’s quarters. I knew it. Just from the change in the air—I knew the light, the feel, the scent of it.

  And I reacted the way I always did when I thought I might see him. Belly tight, hot. Hands sweating. Heart racing. Mouth dry. My body went on red alert while my brain kept replaying moments that I tried too hard to forget.

  Goodbye, Kit.

  Damon’s voice, rough and raw in my ears.

  Did you really think I wasn’t coming…

  I realized I was standing there in the middle of the hall, a shaking, terrified mess, all because Doyle had pushed open a door. Six months ago, I would have been in that room and happy with it. Had been happy, as happy as I’d ever been.

  Then the job from hell ended everything. Damon and I’d fought, because I’d been investigating him, trying to save his life and I’d been bound from telling him. He’d told me goodbye and those were some of the last words I’d had in my head, words that haunted me during the two weeks I had been Jude’s prisoner.

  Did you really think I wasn’t coming for you?

  “Shit.” I drove the heel of my hand against my head, wishing I could silence all of those memories. Now wasn’t the time for inner contemplation or self-reflection.

  He did come—

  “Job first,” I muttered. Job first. Breakdown later.

  My legs were only shaking a little as I pushed past Doyle and headed into the main room.

  The scent of him wrapped around me and for a moment, just a moment, the world spun away and I was back in that time. When life made sense, and I felt secure in who I was…when I had mattered. When I had been something. Somebody. When I’d been somebody worthy…

  Swallowing the knot in my throat, I cast a furtive look around and couldn’t decide if I was relieved or disappointed to see he wasn’t here. Although part of me had already known that. If he was in here, I would have realized it already.

  Sucking in one slow breath, I turned in a circle, taking in the room. Nothing had changed.

  Nothing except everything outside this room. Shaking it off, I turned and faced Doyle.

  “Why am I in here, kid?”

  Hot, prickling energy rolled across my skin and I wasn’t surprised when I heard him speak a few seconds later.

  Some people had to fight to shift from one form to another.

  Doyle made it look easy.

  “Sorry, Kit. I figured you’d rather talk about this privately. Most of your jobs are usually stuff you don’t talk about on the street.”

  I glanced up and saw him standing behind the couch, tugging a shirt over his head. As he moved out from behind the couch, he dropped down on it and stared at me, his blue eyes calm.

  Once his face had given me some bad, bad moments. He reminded me of somebody I hated, feared, despised, but I didn’t see so much of that now. And it helped that he didn’t seem to hate, fear or despise me, I’ll admit.

  “You don’t seem to have any trouble looking me in the face,” I said levelly.

  He shrugged, something dark and unhappy moving through his eyes. “Don’t be angry at them. I know you see it as an insult, but they’re just…ashamed.” He shoved off the couch and started to pace. Doyle had as much trouble being still as I did; always had, it seemed. “Seeing that you’re out working and about ready to kick us all in the teeth will probably help a little.”

  “I’m not working,” I muttered, hunching my shoulders. I had to fight the urge to hide. I could curl up in that chair and press my face against the fabric of the upholstery. It smelled like Damon and if I didn’t think about what had happened…

  You need to think about it , the rational voice in my mind whispered. What really did happen? Jude was wrong. You got out. And your friends did come, all of them. Damon came.

  I couldn’t do this here. I was too close to falling apart already and I knew I’d been lying to Chang. I knew it, because it hurt too much to think about the disaster I saw when I looked at myself. If the woman I had been was dead, it wouldn’t hurt so much. I’d be a shell, starting over from new and the memories wouldn’t cut so deeply; the pain wouldn’t tear into me with hoo
ked claws.

  Yes, I’d lied.

  I was angry with Damon. Not because he’d told me good-bye. Not because he’d been angry with me.

  It was because he hadn’t been there when Jude had me grabbed. That he hadn’t stopped it. There was no way he could have known, but it didn’t matter.

  Nobody hurts you, Kit…

  He’d made that promise to me. That foolish, unrealistic promise. And some part of me had wanted to believe it. That same part of me was furious that he hadn’t kept that promise.

  That wasn’t fair.

  Swallowing the knot in my throat, I forced myself to focus on Doyle, on why I was here. “I’m not working...exactly. I don’t know if I’m going to.”

  Liar.

  A half-hysterical laugh bubbled in my throat but I kept it trapped inside. “Look, let’s not talk about work, okay?” I looked at my hands and realized I’d managed to keep hold of the phone number. “Right now, I just need to focus on one thing—finding whoever used to have this phone number. Chang says you’d be able to help me.”

  Doyle glanced at it. “Yeah. I know who used to have it. Why?”

  “That’s personal.”

  He grimaced and went to flop back on the couch, rubbing the back of his neck in a way that reminded me too much of Damon. “Well, that’s a problem, because I can’t tell you unless I know. Damon could, but then you’ll probably have to explain to him why you need to know.” With a look of wide-eyed innocence, he stared at me. “You want to ask Damon?”

  The knot in my throat was about the size of the Epcot Center, lodged there. Choking me. Shooting to my feet, I crossed the room to the small bar area. There was a stock of packaged water and I needed something. “Sure. You can have him call me when he gets in—”

  The prickle of heat that I’d felt from Doyle was nothing like the wave of it that rolled across of my skin in the next moment. Gripping my water in my hand, I stared at the bar. “Damon’s in the Lair, isn’t he?”

  “Yeah.” Doyle stayed on the couch. I could see him from the corner of my eye and he was watching me.