Betrayed (27 page)

Grampa’s gaze vol eyed between us then stayed on Bran. “Wait for me in the kitchen,” he said in a firm voice that left little room for argument.

Bran didn’t even look my way as he stomped out. I glared at his back, wanting to yel at him.

Grampa entered my room and stopped before me.

The love and concern in his eyes sent a rush of tears to mine. I lowered my head, refusing to cry in front of him.

Grampa lifted my chin and studied my face, his brow furrowed. “You okay?”

I bit my lower lip and nodded. He patted my cheek then exchanged a look I couldn’t interpret with Aunt Janel e. Without a saying another word, he turned and left the room. I hoped he gave Bran hel .

Aunt Janel e cleared her throat, and my gaze swung to her. She stil stood by the door.

“May I come in, sweetie?” she asked.

I nodded and plopped back on my bed, the I nodded and plopped back on my bed, the tears I held back started brimming. My breath hitched again, and I covered my mouth.

Aunt Janel e closed the door and came to sit by my side. Without speaking, she put her arms around me and pressed my head against her shoulder. I couldn’t control my tears. Her murmured words of comfort only made me cry harder.

“He’s such a jerk. I just wanted to talk to him, and he was so mean ….” I kept on talking and crying until my tears left a large wet spot on the shoulder of Aunt Janel e’s red, silk blouse. “I’m so sorry for messing up your pretty shirt.”

She chuckled, brushed the sleeve of her blouse and black replaced red as though an invisible artist swept a giant brush across a canvas.

Embroidered round neckline became V-shaped with fril y details. Her new top was even prettier than the one she wore before.

“See? It’s nothing that can’t be fixed. Now go wash your face, then we’l talk.”

One look at my face in the bathroom mirror, and I gulped. My hair, my eyes…I was a mess. I flushed my face with cold water, brushed my hair and let it down, too tired to tame it into a decent ponytail.

Next, I searched behind the mirror for an eye drop to remove the redness. When I looked decent enough, I stepped out of the bathroom and found Aunt Janel e waiting patiently. She patted the bed.

“Your first fight?” she asked in a gentle voice when I sat beside her.

I nodded, my eyes tearing again.

“No, no, no, chin up,” Aunt Janel e said. “She-warriors….”

“Don’t cry,” I finished her favorite saying. She used to tel me that when I was little. Only then I had no idea she was a demon hunter, a real warrior. “But I just did.”

She dismissed my words with a wave. “Once in a while we’re al owed to indulge ourselves, but we bounce back and walk with our heads held high. I want you to go out there, be witty and charming and have dinner with a big smile on your face.” I shook my head. “I don’t want to see Bran, or sit anywhere near him. He’s a jerk.”

She cupped my cheeks and kissed my forehead. “No,
Luminitsa
. He’s a young man who loves you but doesn’t know how to treat you right yet.

You have to show him how. Show him that you can take what he dishes out without crumbling. That you’re beautiful and strong, and he should lift you up, not tear you down.”

She’d never talk to me like this before. “I don’t know how. Even now I want to scream at him. I know he’s worried about his brother, but he’s become so moody, mean, and obsessed with finding that stupid List and….”

“Shh.” Aunt Janel e shook her head. “Sweetie, she-warriors don’t scream. We wow our men with a look, tame them with a smile.” She stood, offered me her hands, and pul ed me up. “Go out there and show him what you’re made of and watch him eat out of your hands. The List and everything else means nothing when you have each other.”

Liking the idea of Bran groveling, I nodded.

“Can I flirt with another guy to make him jealous?”

“Oh no.” She laughed, stil holding my hands.

“
That
wil unleash something you can’t handle. You don’t mess with men that way. Besides, there’s only your grandfather out there and he doesn’t know the meaning of the word
flirt
.”

I liked talking to Aunt Janel e. “How come you know al this cool stuff, yet you haven’t hooked up with Grampa?”

She put her arm around my shoulders and led me forward, a tiny smile playing on her lips. “I’l let you in on a little secret. Your grandfather is very old-fashioned. He likes to do the courting, but I’m working on him.” She winked, paused before opening the door and touched my hair. “You should wear your hair down more often. It’s gorgeous.”

“Okay,” I replied, smoothing it self-consciously. Bran liked it down too.

She tucked a strand behind my ear and studied my face. “You remind me so much of your mother. The same smile, the same stubborn streak.”

“Thanks, Aunt Janel e.” I loved it when she compared me to my mother. They had been close. I hugged her.

“You’re welcome, sweetie. Come on.”

Sure enough, Bran couldn’t take his eyes off me as soon as we entered the kitchen/dining room.

Grampa was eating desert, a piece of an apple pie we bought from the store two days ago. Bran was stil on the main course. His eyes stayed glued on me. I sat, served myself, and started to eat. His foot me. I sat, served myself, and started to eat. His foot grazed mine under the table. No playing footsy when he’d been a bad boy. I tucked my feet under my chair. Our gazes met, and I smiled. He glowered. I savored the taste of a juicy turnip and victory, and swal owed.

At first, I couldn’t think of anything to say. But Bran’s piercing stare gave me the nudge. “The food tastes great, Grampa.”

Grampa smiled. “Thank you, but the cook deserves the thanks.” He reached over and squeezed Aunt Janel e’s hand. She beamed.

My eyes popped. Wow, open display of affection. Progress.

“I haven’t real y decided about what to serve my guests next Friday,” I added.

Grampa’s eyebrows rose. “Guests?”

“You know, the party I’m throwing for Bran.

Didn’t I say it’s also a welcome party for him and Celeste? I thought of using a restaurant from downtown, but I think I might just get pizza and dips.

And as for music, I’m thinking of hiring a local DJ,” I said. My gaze met Bran’s. His eyes promised retribution. I grinned. Bring it on.

“What’s a DJ?” Grampa asked, interrupting our game of eye tag.

“Guys who use fancy music systems with, you know,” I indicated with my hands, “big speakers and flashing disco lights.” I had no intention of having that kind of party, but I enjoyed watching Bran squirm too much to stop.

“Isn’t that a little too much?” Grampa said, frowning. “What about the little machine you play in your room al the time. That’s loud enough.”

“My Mp3 player?” I giggled. “The speakers of the docking station can hardly entertain a roomful of people, Grampa.” He wore a bewildered expression as though he regretted the whole party idea. Aunt Janel e hid a smile. She was fast and caught on. “But if you think using a DJ is too much, I can talk to Remy and Sykes to hook up their audio system.”

“What system? What’s going on?” Celeste asked, walking into the kitchen.

For the next fifteen minutes, conversation moved from the party to the Academy. Celeste regaled us with stories of her new friends. Bran stopped glaring, and the fun went out of baiting him.

Looks didn’t wow him, and my smile came nowhere close to taming him. Aunt Janel e’s advice didn’t accomplish anything except make things worse.

Bran wasn’t like other guys. I wanted us to be alone, so we could talk. Maybe make up.

When Grampa said they had to leave, I was relieved. Maybe I’d get a moment with Bran before heading to Remy’s for our pre-mission meeting.

“Be careful out there, you two,” Grampa said, kissed my forehead and teleported.

Aunt Janel e hugged me and then Celeste before she left too.

Bran didn’t even look at me. He smiled at Celeste and said, “Sorry about today, pint. I promise to take you to see Gavyn tomorrow after school.” Celeste shrugged. “Sure. Tomorrow is fine.” Then he left without saying a word to me. I sat there, feeling so miserable I could hardly breathe.

14. Coordinated Attack

I pinged Remy and Sykes before teleporting to their living room. The voices of sports commentators

drifted

from

the

basement.

Downstairs, Sykes lay sprawled on the couch in front of the TV, eating spaghetti and meatbal s from a bowl. From his wet hair, he must have just gotten out of the shower.

“Hey, Red. Want something to eat?” He got to his feet and offered me his bowl. “It’s hot and spicy.”

“No, thanks.” I looked around. “Where’s Remy?”

“He just left with Llyr. So what’s up with him?”

“Uh, what do you mean?” I hedged, walking around the couch. Misery wrapped around my heart and squeezed. I didn’t want to discuss my fight with Bran.

“He was more anal than usual tonight. I asked him a simple question and he nearly bit off my head.” Sykes waited until I sat before resuming his slouching position, legs on the coffee table, bowl propped on his chest. Instead of going back to his food, he studied me.

“Depends on the question,” I replied. Bran barely tolerated Sykes. In a bad mood, his tolerance level dropped even further.

“My question was just about his hair.” He smirked, hazel eyes twinkling. “I mean, it’s always perfect. What’s wrong with wanting to know how long it takes him to style it every morning and if it’s cut by a professional?”

Bran had natural y gorgeous hair, so the question shouldn’t have set him off. Usual y, I trimmed his hair. In fact he was due for a trim, and I had no intention of giving him one. I hoped he regretted being a jerk. He deserved to be miserable.

“Did you two have a fight?” Sykes asked, twirling his fork and coiling strands of spaghetti.

“N-no. Why would you think that?” I crossed my arms and gave him an innocent smile.

“The sparkle in your eyes is gone. Want me to beat him up for ya?” Sykes’ eyes gleamed as though he relished the thought.

I laughed, though the sound rang false to my ears. Sykes wouldn’t stand a chance against Bran.

Ignoring his question, I asked, “So when are we leaving?”

He stretched. “You’re talking to the wrong person, babe. I go wherever they tel me, whenever they tel me, and kick ass. Planning gives me a bel y ache.”

Relief coursed through me when he went back to his food. I turned my attention to the game of basketbal on the screen. I hardly ever fol owed sports, so after a few minutes, my attention drifted to Sykes. He wore sweat pants, no socks, and a T-shirt that he must have retrieved from the bottom of his closet or hamper. It was so wrinkled.

“Don’t get any ideas, Red,” Sykes warned.

My gaze lifted to his face, but his eyes were on the screen. “What?”

“You’re lusting after me, but you can’t have me,” he turned his head and smirked, “until you ditch Neanderthal Llyr. Usual y I don’t care what my girls do when they’re not with me. But you,” he winked, “I wouldn’t share you with another guy, especial y
him
.” My face warmed again. Half the time, the things that came out of Sykes’ mouth were so outrageous you couldn’t take him seriously. This time was no exception.

“The only thing I’m wondering about is who

“The only thing I’m wondering about is who does your laundry.” I got up, getting restless. “I’m heading home. Ping me when everyone is here.”

“Whoa…whoa, don’t go.” His feet left the table and landed on the carpeted floor with a thud.

“Come here.”

I stood my ground and cocked my brow.

“Why?”

He waved me over. “I want you to take a look at my hair. Remy said I have split ends.” He rol ed his eyes, lifted a lock of his blond hair, and studied the tips with an annoyed expression. “Split ends, my ass. Because of him, I tried to trim it but did a crappy job. How about you level it for me?” He shook his head, hair flying every which way.

I went to where he sat and lifted the wet locks.

“It’s not bad.”

He shot me a hopeful look. “You sure?” Before I could respond, Kim and Izzy arrived, teleporting in. Remy and Bran fol owed. My gaze met Bran’s, my heart skipping. His eyes narrowed on my hand, and I let go of Sykes’ hair. Immediately, I regretted the gesture. I had no reason to feel guilty.

Bran didn’t own my hands. I could trim any guy’s hair if I chose.

“I’l trim it later,” I said, touching Sykes’ hair again and contradicting my earlier statement.

Pain flashed in Bran’s eyes, and my heart strings tugged. The urge to scream at him surged through me. His unpredictable behavior was driving me nuts. He shouldn’t be mean to me one minute then turn around and act like I was the bad one. It wasn’t fair.

Remy must have picked up on the vibes between us because he watched me with narrowed eyes. As I walked to end of the sectional and plopped down, my heart pounded so hard I was sure everyone could hear it. The rest of the gang took their seats. Usual y, Bran sat beside me. He chose the other end of the couch.

Oh, he can go rot in Tartarus.

As though he heard me, he glanced my way.

“We’re final y going to Old Jethro’s Bar,” he explained, voice flat. “The plan is, we get in, find out what he knows about Damien and the List and get out. If he has a lead, we fol ow it. Chances are he does. Nothing gets past him. If he doesn’t, we stop by the motels Zedekiah frequents in L.A and Vegas to see if he’s back and then head home.” He glanced at his watch. “Questions?”

“I hope this bar is nothing like the last one you guys dragged us to a few months ago,” Izzy griped, frowning.

Last time, Izzy and Kim had to do an exotic dance routine. Since I was stuck in the val ey at the time, I only heard everyone’s version of the event.

The guys hadn’t minded, but the girls, wel , detested would be an understatement. Izzy complained about it for days.

Bran smiled, though his eyes remained cool.

“It’s not that kind of bar, Izzy. More like a bikers’

hangout. Besides, Old Jethro doesn’t consider himself a demon, or a Guardian, or even a member of the Brotherhood. He’s in the business of sel ing information to the highest bidder and doesn’t apologize for it. He’s an upstanding guy.” A few snickers fol owed his words.