Shattered Bonds (Jane Yellowrock #13) - Faith Hunter Page 0,36

sparkly, maybe. Or gold and sparkly to match my eyes. I held out my knobby-knuckled hands and figured it would take a whole bottle of polish to cover all twenty nails. Worth it. Totally worth it. I dug in a drawer for polish and found the sparkly red. “Oh yeah. So perfect.”

Want kits, Beast thought at me, her tone fierce. Cannot have kits if Jane is Jane. Can only have kits if Beast is Beast.

Shaking the polish, I headed toward the kitchen and calories and protein as Beast’s truth moved through me, slow and powerful, like a mudslide. “Okay,” I said aloud, taking the stairs slowly. “You’re right. I guess . . . I’ve been selfish for a long time.”

Now Jane has mate. Jane will never let Beast have kits. Jane will stay Jane for mate.

Ummm. Not necessarily?

Beast’s mental ears perked high.

I needed to talk to Bruiser about this. Because Beast was right. I had made no plans to let her live her life until I got sick. Let’s take care of the SOD and then we can plan for you. We might have to go out west or to Canada to find you territory close to a possible mate.

Beast perked up. Kits?

Sure. Why not.

Want strong, big mate. Want fast mate. Want mate with—

Yeah. I got it.

If Bruiser was puma, would want Bruiser as mate.

I chuckled softly. It came out a lot deeper than I expected.

Eli lifted his eyes from the bar where he had a number of handguns in pieces. The place stank of lubricants and suddenly felt more like home. He glanced to one side where Little Evan was eating Cheerios, dry from the bowl, sitting beside him, watching every little movement. Eli had a fan. The former Army Ranger looked out the windows, scanning, his fingers touching the loaded weapon still holstered beneath one arm. On guard. Protecting. Always.

The little boy looked up. “Hey, Ant Jane,” EJ said. “That’s a really good costume. I learned to breafe . . . breathe . . . and to baw’ance—balance—on two feet.”

“Yeah? That’s good. Breathing is important.” I covered his head with a paw-hand, surprised when the whole thing fit into my longer fingers. Children were so small and fragile.

Kits . . . , Beast thought, the word filled with longing.

I scrubbed Little Evan’s head, mussing his hair, and said to Eli, “Thank you.” I opened the fridge and asked, “Got anything to build muscles in this form?”

“Babe.” Which meant it was a stupid question. Wiping his hands, keeping an eye on his workbench, Eli said to EJ, “Don’t touch. Remember?”

“I ’member.” EJ crunched down on cereal, his eyes mischievous. “I’m a good lil boy.”

Eli sighed as if he knew better than to believe the assertion, stepped up beside me, and pointed. “Roast. Steak. Eggs. Name it.”

I had eaten eggs at breakfast, able to keep two down. “Steak. Let’s start with a couple pounds and move on from there.”

Eli chuckled. “And then we spar for a while. That last attempt was pitiful.” Eli turned on the stove grill and pulled a steak from the fridge.

“Mmmm. Beat your butt this time, I betcha,” I growled in my deeper voice.

“Beat ya butt! Beat ya butt!”

“Molly’s gonna kill you, you know,” Eli added casually, turning the gas up high to sear the steaks.

“Yeah. Shoot me now.”

EJ giggled and slammed his fists down, scattering Cheerios on the floor. “Soot me! Soot me! Soot me!”

Eli managed not to laugh at me and picked up my godson, placing him on the floor. EJ squealed and took off running in the general direction of his parents’ suite. Eli slapped the steak on the stove grill and made the kitchen smell wonderful. Within minutes, he gave me a mostly raw steak cut into bite-sized pieces so I could pretend to have good manners. If Molly was gonna kill me, at least I’d go out with a full belly. In that odd comfortable silence of family, I watched Eli finish the weapon maintenance and clean the bar while I scarfed down several pounds of meat.

As I was wiping delicious beef grease off my lips, Alex walked in and plopped a sheaf of papers onto the bar top. “Your appointment of Grégoire to the Dark Queen’s Warlord, thoroughly vetted and approved by Bruiser and the Robere Onorios. Read and sign.” He clicked a pen open and held it out to me. I didn’t bother to read the papers, but I knew that what I was doing would change the way

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