The Severed Thread (23 page)

“Ah, Abigail,” he mimicked me.   The energy pulse that I felt when he approached kicked up a notch as he quickly took in my somewhat disheveled appearance and abandoned groceries.  “Is been what,” he consulted his watch “four hours and ten minutes since I left your office and already you seem to have instigated trouble.”

“What can I say,” I mused, “I seem to be a trouble magnet these days.”

“From what I understand, you were the one to provoke this particular violence.”  When did he decide he was my dad?  I gave Sampson and Trevor a disgusted look worthy of the two tattle tales they were. 

“She said they were following her,” Trevor offered helpfully.

“Why would Andrei and Luca be interested in following you?”  Who the hell did he think he was?  I did not need to explain myself to him. 

“Ah, I appreciate your, umm,” I struggled not to call them his subjects, “pack-members helping me out.  But right now I need to get home and take care of some things.  I’ll just be going.”  I smiled at Sampson and Trevor before attempting to walk around Jonathan to retrieve my bags.

  “I’ll drive you,” he said with deceptive calmness while stepping into my path.

“I have a car in the parking lot and some groceries to replace.”  The ice cream was now leaking onto the sidewalk and I was sure I could see some broken eggs oozing out of the bag as well.  “I will just pop back into the market, replace a few things then be on my way.” I was smiling too brightly and my hands were starting to shake.  I needed to get home.

Without taking his eyes off me, Jonathan began handing out orders.  “Sampson, can you collect Ms. Lassiter’s bags and replace anything that appears damaged or spoiled.”  Not a question but a directive.

I tried to interrupt but he just held up a finger and continued to stare me down.  “Then take the groceries and her car back to her home.  Put anything perishable away and arrange for someone to watch the house.  I’m sure she has not heard the last of Andrei and Luca.”  He was taking this a little too far.  “I will return her there later.”

“Sure thing, boss”

“What the hell do you think you are doing?”  I was feeling wired, indignant, tired and hungry all at the same time.

“I’m making sure that you do not start a war and drag the Lenape pack along for kicks just because your temper has run away with you.”  He had stepped into my personal space and was speaking with that deceptive calmness again.  The dominance pulsing off him was the only indicator that he was getting pissed off.

“I don’t know when you decided you were my dad,” I sputtered.  “But for the record, I already have one of those and he is about all the asshole I can take in my life at the moment.”

I heard Trevor snort beside me.  Jonathan’s dominance was suddenly leaking in huge waves.  As his eyes slid to Trevor, the younger man visibly tensed and lowered his eyes.  Once the kid was suitably cowed Jonthan’s eyes slowly swiveled back to me. 

“I assure you Abigail,” he said leaning further into my personal space.  His green eyes flashed and I could see his wolf looking out at me as he whispered, “I have no interest in being your dad.”

“Okay,” Sampson said briskly, rubbing his hands together.  “Trevor, it’s time we were off.”  He suddenly couldn’t get out of here fast enough.  I wish he would take me with him. 

“Your keys, Ms. Lassiter?”  He was looking at me expectantly.  Jonathan was back to his hard stare and the kid was looking at each of us in turn, waiting to see what was going to happen next.

I closed my eyes and sighed.  I started to count slowly backwards from ten while visualizing each number in my mind.  Ten, ten, ten, nine, nine, nine, eight….  When I finally got to one, I opened my eyes.  Two of the men were looking at me quizzically but Jonathan appeared concerned, as if something had just occurred to him. 
Yeah buddy, you guessed it.  I am precariously close to the edge.

“Ms. Lassiter, the keys….” Sampson’s hand was out, palm up and he was motioning with his fingers for me to hand them over.

“Oh, the hell with it,” I said in disgust before dropping the keys in his hand.  “Black BMW in the lot across the street.  Don’t scratch it, or I’m going to be seriously pissed.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it Miss,” he said with a chuckle.  “I saw firsthand what happens when you get your knickers in a bunch.” He shook his head.  “What I wouldn’t give to have a picture of Andrei’s face when you kicked him in the back of the head after jumping off Luca’s shoulder.”  He laughed quietly as he started to walk away with Trevor.  “Priceless.”

I looked over at Jonathan.  He was studying me in a way that made me uncomfortable.  It was as if he was just seeing me for the first time and was not entirely certain he liked what he saw. 

“What?” I barked.  “He had it coming.”

Chapter 20

Jonathan put his hand on my elbow and wordlessly guided me to his car.  The dark grey Range Rover was parked about half way down the next block.  I don’t know what I was expecting, a sports car maybe?  After all he was a single, attractive male that obviously had power and money at his disposal.  Not that the Rover didn’t scream money, it was just more practical than sexy.  Not what I thought he would drive.

“You have a very expressive face Abigail,” he said mockingly.  “You don’t like my car?”

“Uh,” well didn’t I sound like a genius.  “It wasn’t what I was expecting.  I thought black, low slung and two seats”

“This is more practical than a sports car for my lifestyle.  There are invariably several wolves with me most days,” he shrugged.  “With the added third row, I can haul seven.”  He opened my door and offered his hand to help me up.  I could have jumped over the SUV without any help but I took his gentlemanly gesture in stride.  No need to be rude.

“If you make a right out of the lot, I only live about two miles,” I said, hoping to get home as soon as possible.

“We aren’t going to your house.”

“Alright,” I said slowly.  “Then where
are
we going exactly?” I asked as he started the car.

“The Den.”  My eyes must have bugged out of my head because he started to laugh.  No one but wolves and the odd non-wolf mate had ever seen the inside of the Den.  “You need to work off some of that aggression and the Den has a great sparring space.”

“I’m not sure sparring would be good for me right now,” I admitted.   Even though I had held it together while fighting with Andrei and Luca, I still felt out of control, my psyche fractured.  “What I really need is to go home and meditate.”

“You can meditate later; first you need to get some of that anger out.  You are one crisis away from an explosion.”  I could not help but remember my earlier thoughts about being a volcano.  It was disconcerting to think that he had read the situation so accurately.  Maybe he was right, a pressure release might help.

I looked down at my slacks and dress shirt.  “I’m not exactly dressed for sparring.”

“No worries.  I’m sure we can find something for you to wear,” he said as he turned on the car’s sound system.  Classical cello music wrapped around us like a warm embrace.  I closed my eyes and leaned back against the headrest.  We did not talk during the fifteen minute ride, both of us just letting the music blanket us.

I opened my eyes when the car finally came to a stop and the volume of the music was lowered.  I blinked a few times and looked around.  We were in a large garage that contained at least ten other cars.  I spotted a creamy pearl colored Bentley Continental GT two slots over.  I rolled my eyes as I looked over at him.  “I guess practicality only gets you so far,” I mused drily.

“Come on, time to work out some of that anger,”   he said, completely ignoring my comment.  I wasn’t sure that I was ready but I got out anyway, following him between the rows of vehicles to a door set into the far wall. 

“Welcome to the Den,” he said with a flourish as he opened the door.  We entered an unassuming hallway that led to a staircase.  Not exactly flourish worthy.  I craned my head into the stairwell.  One way went up to a well-lit atrium and the other disappeared down into the dark.   I looked questioning at him, eyebrows raised.  “Up or down?”

“Down.”  He flicked a switch on the wall, flooding the stairwell in warm light.  He started down at a light jog.  With no other options, I followed him.  I can’t explain why I was agreeably going along with this.  Maybe on some visceral level I hoped that I
could
work out some of this aggression.  I did not want to end up cracking like my mother did just before the funeral.  My primary goal was to find Jason’s killer – losing my mind before that was accomplished was not an option. 

At the bottom of the staircase was another hallway.  Jonathan headed left past a row of darkened windows finally stopping in front of a door.  He flicked a switch on the wall and I gaped at the illuminated room on the other side of the glass.  It was enormous… bigger than most high school gymnasiums.   There was cardio equipment, free weights and an assortment of boxing apparatus.  The wall to the right was lined with every conceivable hand-to-hand fighting implement; knives, daggers, swords of all shapes and sizes, bō staffs, axes, nunchaku and a few other items that were completely unfamiliar.  I turned at the sound of his chuckle and rolled my eyes at him. 

“After you.”

I walked into the gym, feeling a slight give underfoot.  Amazingly, the entire room had a sprung floor.  It was softer than a traditional surface, being designed to reduce shock and injuries while enhancing performance.

“I’ve got to hand it to you.  This is an awesome space,” I admitted looking over at him as he moved away to the opposite side of the room where a row of lockers was positioned.  He stopped at a locker at the far right end of the row and began rummaging through the clothes stacked inside; grunting in approval when he found what he was looking for.  He brought me a black tank top and loose fitting white pants that made me think I was receiving the bottom half of someone else’s Gi.

“Whose clothes are you pilfering?”

“No ones.  We keep extra items in that locker.  Invariably something gets ripped or torn, especially if someone gets riled up enough to shift.”  He pointed to a door just beyond the lockers.  “You can change in there.” He then started to unbutton his shirt.  I caught a glimpse of his rock hard chest as he started to peel the shirt off.  When I looked up he was watching me as I watched him.  That seemed to be a recurring theme with us. 

I quickly looked away, uncomfortable at being caught checking him out like a hormonal teenager.  Deciding it was time to get changed I headed for the door he had indicated.  I found myself in a changing room that had several benches, a bathroom and two shower stalls.  Stripping down, I put on the tank and pants.  The tank was snug but the fit of the pants was not bad.  I did a couple of lunges and jumped the benches.  The pants moved with me without being restricting. 

I returned to the gym to find Jonathan waiting for me holding two bō staffs.  “You ever use these?” he asked handing me one.

“No,” I replied honestly, hefting the staff from one hand to the other, getting a feel for the balance and weight.  I was raised in a prosperous household and sent to boarding school.  I had my natural skills but not much in the way of formal technique.  “Never really had a need to learn.”

“Well, if you are going to go around confronting two hundred plus pound shifters, you are going to need to be able to do more than hop around like a bunny.”

“Hey,” I said somewhat indignantly, “I do
not
hop!”

“Whatever you want to call it,” he said.  “It will only fool someone once or twice.  After that you need to be able to back up whatever foolish situation your anger gets you into.”  I was feeling like an errant child getting a reprimand from a parent.

“There you go sounding like you want to be my dad again.”  Come to think of it, he sounded more like a real dad than my dad ever did.  I cannot remember him ever really caring enough to offer advice beyond things that affected his position.  Jonathan let out a breath.

“I can see that explanations do not work for you.  It seems you need a demonstration.” And without any warning he lunged at me, staff thrust in front of him on a collision course with my sternum. 

I quickly dodged to the left, narrowly avoiding his strike.  He came at me again, this time attempting to sweep my feet out from under me.  I took a step back and then vaulted over his head, landing several feet behind him.

He turned to follow my movements but otherwise did not miss a beat.  He shifted the staff rapidly to swing it in a downward motion that would have resulted in a serious headache later if I had not moved fast, this time ducking to the right.  He must have anticipated the move because mid-swing he shifted and jerked the staff down and under his left arm while lunging to the left.  I let out a strangled oomph as the blunt end made contact with my side, just under the ribs.

He stood up, placed one end of the staff on the mat and watched while I rubbed the spot that was sure to have a bruise later.

“I wasn’t ready,” I grumbled, knowing it sounded childish.

“Are you ever ready when someone jumps you on the street?” he asked, raising one eyebrow in question. 
Good point
.

“Alright, you proved your point, I suck and you are a god with a staff.”   I made a mock bow with my elbows bent, hands level with my ears.

“That’s not what I was trying to prove and you know it,” he snarled at me.  The dominance was back in spades.  I stood up and made pointed eye contact, there was no way he was going to cow me like he did Trevor.  “You need to either be able to defend yourself if you plan to stand and fight, or you need to employ your elven speed and get the fuck out of harm’s way.”

“I obviously need to get the fuck out of there as you so kindly demonstrated.”

“God you are stubborn,” he said to himself as he turned away.

“For the record, this isn’t actually helping me work out my anger.  If anything, I might be more irritated now than earlier.”

“Me too,” he muttered under his breath as he walked away from me.  He stopped in front of a row of cardio equipment and turned on the tread mill.  “Get on.”