Natural Family Disasters Page 8

  She spun around, craning her neck.

  In front of the buffet table stood a tall, red-haired woman, her plate piled high with food. Next to her, half a dozen people jostled each other to get to the stuffed shrimp, but no one encroached on the woman’s personal space. Even humans with their blunted senses could recognize a predator—at least subconsciously.

  As Griffin stepped away from the bar, the sting in her nose lessened and she caught a whiff of tiger musk.

  Apparently, the woman caught Griffin’s scent at the same time. She turned.

  Their gazes met across the room, neither of them admitting defeat by looking away.

  Griffin stalked closer.

  Just as she reached the tiger-shifter, Jorie caught up with her. “Where’s my drink? God, I really need it. Griffin? Hey, Griffin!” She followed Griffin’s gaze and did a double take. Her scent evoked images of a ray of light breaking through the clouds. “Quinn? Is that you?”

  Quinn? Like the tiger-shifter from Song of Life? Jorie named her main character after her? Griffin let out a surprised snarl.

  Quinn finally looked away from Griffin and turned toward Jorie. “Jorie Price,” she whispered, awe written all over her face.

  Was it just admiration for the dream seer, or did Quinn admire Jorie, the woman, too? Griffin wasn’t sure. She stepped closer to Jorie so that their arms touched, marking Jorie with her scent. Mine. Paws off.

  “Shannon Quinn,” Jorie said, a big smile on her face.

  “Just Quinn. I still prefer to go by my last name,” the tiger-shifter said.

  After hesitating for a moment, Jorie stepped forward and hugged the other woman.

  The tiger-shifter stood frozen, and then a short purr rumbled up from her chest.

  It stopped abruptly when Griffin growled. Instead of backing off, Quinn lifted her upper lip in a snarl.

  Jorie let go of Quinn and looked back and forth between them. “What’s going on? Do you two know each other?”

  “I heard about her,” Quinn said, “but I never met her.”

  Jorie frowned. “You heard about Griffin? How…?”

  “She’s one of us,” Griffin said, her voice low.

  “You mean…?” Jorie stared at Griffin, then at Quinn. Her eyes widened. “I named my tiger-shifter after you, and you’re really…?”

  Quinn’s eyes widened. “You named a character in one of your books for me?” Her cheeks were tinged red.

  Griffin didn’t need her nose to detect that Quinn was equally pleased and embarrassed to have inspired Jorie’s main character.

  “Yes, I did.” Jorie rubbed her face. “Wow. I had no idea that you’re…” She lowered her voice. “…a shape-shifter.”

  “Your subconscious obviously had,” Quinn said.

  A microphone screeched at the head of the room. “Folks, we’ve got a video slideshow, so you might want to find a table,” Thomas said.

  Lightly gripping Jorie’s elbow, Griffin steered them toward one of the small, round tables near the exit.

  To Griffin’s annoyance, Quinn followed them and lengthened her stride to reach the table first. She set her plate on the table and pulled out a chair for Jorie.

  Griffin nearly lunged across the table to throttle her. Anger pulsed through her, making her forearms itch. Is she suicidal? Quinn had to smell the mate scent, so she knew Jorie was involved with Griffin. Every Wrasa with an ounce of brain would have stayed away. Griffin hurled a subvocal growl that only another Wrasa could hear across the table.

  Instead of jumping back in panic, Quinn calmly met her gaze. Her lips curled into an amused grin as she sat next to Jorie.

  Griffin glowered at her. She sat on Jorie’s other side and used her foot to drag Jorie’s chair—with Jorie on it—closer. When their chairs rested side by side, she wrapped her arm around Jorie and leaned her cheek against Jorie’s head.

  Jorie glanced up, visibly surprised at the public display of affection, but then leaned against Griffin.

  Sucking in a lungful of Jorie’s soothing coconut-and-spring scent, Griffin finally calmed. She kept an eye on the cheeky tiger-shifter while she pretended to watch the video slideshow.

  Images of teachers, cheerleaders with yellow pom-poms, and teenagers on school trips flashed across a large screen. All around Griffin, people reminisced about who had scored the most touchdowns, who had dated whom in high school, and who had changed most. The slideshow held a dozen pictures of Chelsea and Heather and the other jocks and cheerleaders, but none of Jorie so far.

  Griffin suppressed a yawn. Her glance fell onto the honey-glazed ham on Quinn’s plate. Instantly, her mouth watered and her mood improved. No better way to stave off boredom than eating her way through the buffet while the humans were distracted by their trip down memory lane. She put both hands on Jorie’s shoulders while she stood, again marking Jorie with her scent, and sent Quinn a warning glare. “I’m going to hit the buffet. Be right back,” she said to Jorie and hurried to the buffet.

  * * *

  While the slideshow starring the popular crowd played on, Jorie studied her former classmate. During their high school days, Quinn had been an outcast just like Jorie. With her athletic skills, which Jorie now realized came natural to her as a Wrasa, Quinn had been sought after by every coach, but she’d been kicked off the swim team and the softball team for rebelling against the coaches’ rules.

  Like most of her classmates, Quinn had changed. Gone was the lanky form of a teenager and the T-shirts with names of bands Jorie didn’t recognize. Now her copper hair fell untamed onto a black leather jacket that stretched over a muscular body. She still looked like a rebel, and if Jorie’s gaydar—the one that had been delivered with instructions in Japanese—was right, she was also a lesbian.

  I wonder if she had any clue back in high school. I sure didn’t.

  After a few minutes, Jorie realized she was still staring. She cleared her throat. “I was hoping you’d come to the reunion, but I wasn’t sure you’d show up.”

  “I didn’t come because of them.” Quinn waved her hand in a gesture that involved the rest of the room and lifted her upper lip as if barely stopping herself from snarling. She leaned toward Jorie and lowered her voice. “I came because of you. I wanted to see if my Jorie Price… I mean, if you are really the Jorie Price who turned out to be a dream seer.”

  Jorie sighed. “Yes, that’s me. I always thought I’d go to my reunion boasting about literary awards and having a book on the New York Times Best Seller list, not about having precognitive dreams about weird shape-shifting creatures.” She, too, kept her voice low so people at the surrounding tables couldn’t overhear them.

  “And I always thought by the time our fifteen-year reunion came around, my classmates would have stopped referring to me as weird,” Quinn murmured, looking like a cat who’d had her tail stepped on. “At least the classmates that count.”

  Ouch. Genius choice of words, Ms. Professional Author. Jorie winced and massaged the bridge of her nose. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just that I had my life turned upside down in the last few months, and I’m still adjusting to that. It’s not all bad, though.”

  “Obviously not.” Quinn flicked her gaze toward the buffet, where Griffin was sampling the food. “She’s more than your bodyguard, right? Judging by your scent, she doesn’t just guard your body; she also worships it. I didn’t think that a human and a Wrasa could have mate scent, but you do.”

  Jorie ducked her head, hoping the dimmed light would hide her blush. “Um, yeah, I guess we do. So if you know about us, why did you pull out the chair for me? Encroaching on a liger’s territory is not a clever thing to do.”

  “Where’s the fun in doing the clever thing?” Quinn grinned crookedly. “Your mate is a Saru. She’s got too much control to start a serious catfight with all the humans around, so it’s fun to tease her a little.”

  Jorie half-turned to face Quinn more fully and stared right into her eyes. She had learned that mo
st Wrasa took it as a challenge, so she was careful not to blink or look away. “Stop provoking Griffin,” Jorie said, putting the authority of a dream seer into her voice. “Playing stupid games with other people is something they,” she indicated their former classmates, “would have done. I expect better of you, Quinn.”

  Quinn lowered her gaze. “Guess you’re as protective of her as she is of you.”

  “She’s my mate,” Jorie said.

  Not looking up, Quinn played with a leftover shrimp on her plate. “Griffin is one lucky cat.”

  Was regret resonating in her voice? Jorie wasn’t sure. Don’t flatter yourself. She can’t have been interested in the awkward teenager you were fifteen years ago.

  One second later, Quinn’s bravado grin was back. “No more teasing. I’ll find another woman to play with.” She winked.

  Jorie nodded. So my gaydar was right for once. “Thanks. So what have you been doing with yourself for the past fifteen years?”

  Quinn’s leather jacket creaked as she folded her arms across her chest and grinned. “Despite predictions to the contrary, I’ve managed to avoid prison.”

  “I never thought you’d end up in prison,” Jorie said.

  “Then you were the only one who believed in me.” For a moment, pain flickered through Quinn’s green eyes before her old confidence was back. “You’ll never guess what I do for a living.”

  “Whitewater rafting guide?” Jorie said.

  “Not quite.”

  Jorie thought for a few moments. “Stuntwoman?”

  “Nope. Much tamer. I’m a pastry chef.”

  Jorie clutched the table with both hands to prevent herself from falling off her chair. She stared at Quinn. “Did you just say pastry chef?”

  “I know, I know. People always expect something much more adventurous.” Quinn shrugged, her cheeks tinged red as if she was embarrassed by her non-butch job. “Or they think it’s not a good fit for a cat-shifter because we can’t taste sweets. I’m probably the only cat-shifter in my line of work, but I really like it. It’s fun to come up with something creative that requires a lot of patience to make. Plus I can work at night.”

  “No, it’s not that. It’s just…” Jorie took a deep breath. “The tiger-shifter in my novel—your namesake—is a pastry chef too.”

  Quinn sat completely still, a rare occurrence for her. “But how could you…?” She blinked. “You… you had a vision about me?”

  “No. Well, I don’t know. If I did, I can’t remember it.” Jorie leaned her elbows on the table and pressed her fingertips to her forehead. “I still don’t understand fully how dream-seeing works. Maybe it’s all just a weird coincidence.”

  “Maybe,” Quinn said but didn’t sound convinced. “So what else can you tell me about your main character? I hope she doesn’t die?” She laughed, but a hint of fear showed in her eyes.

  Jorie touched Quinn’s forearm. “Don’t worry. She gets her happy end.”

  Quinn scrunched up her nose. “Please don’t tell me she ends up in the arms of a man.”

  “Oh, no. Her love interest, Samantha, is this really cute human woman who—”

  “A human?”

  Jorie rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I know, most of you Wrasa don’t find humans attractive at all, but it’s fiction, so bear with me.”

  “I didn’t say that. Why do you think I joined the school newspaper our senior year?” Quinn flashed her a grin. “It sure wasn’t because I was interested in journalism.”

  It took a few moments for the penny to drop. Christ, I never realized. Quinn had been one of a few classmates who was nice to Jorie in high school, but Jorie had been oblivious to any romantic interest Quinn might have had. “I’m sorry I—”

  “Don’t worry about it. I got over it,” Quinn said with a self-deprecating grin. “Apparently, we weren’t meant for each other. You’ve got Griffin, and if relationships between humans and Wrasa weren’t still taboo, I’d be holding out for a cute woman named Samantha.”

  They looked at each other. Both smiled. Finally, Jorie nodded. “Speaking of my better half… I think I better go and drag Griffin away from the buffet before she eats everything. The hotel staff didn’t plan for a Wrasa’s appetite.” She squeezed past Quinn and, careful not to block anyone’s sight of the slideshow, walked along the wall toward the buffet.

  Griffin was still enjoying the appetizers. With a big, happy grin on her face, she gobbled down stuffed mushrooms. Normally, she didn’t like mushrooms all that much, but now she was purring while she chewed, and when she finished the last mushroom, she twirled like a cat chasing her own tail and then rubbed against the buffet table.

  Jorie frowned. What the hell…?

  Griffin’s nostrils flared. She pulled back her upper lip and sucked in air through her mouth, acting as if she was breathing in a drug. Her head jerked up. When she saw Jorie, her eyes flashed. She ambled over and brushed her body along Jorie’s. “Jorie.” Her voice was a sexy purr, making Jorie’s knees weaken.

  “You didn’t have that drink you promised me, did you?” Jorie asked. She knew Griffin wouldn’t risk it since Wrasa couldn’t digest alcohol.

  Instead of answering, Griffin continued to rub against her.

  Chelsea was looking over from the table next to the buffet, a disapproving frown on her face.

  Jorie gave her a weak smile and tried to push Griffin away, but it was like attempting to move a mountain. “Griffin? Griffin, stop. What are you doing?”

  Again, the only answer was a rumbling purr.

  Quinn hurried over. “What’s going on?”

  Griffin wrapped both arms around Jorie, pulled her almost painfully close, and buried her face against Jorie’s neck.

  “I don’t know,” Jorie said from her liger cocoon. “She… uh…” Her voice trailed off as a hot tongue swiped along her neck, making her shiver. Griffin’s breath bathed Jorie’s wet neck as Griffin sniffed her. Goose bumps covered Jorie from head to toe. Now she had to clutch Griffin too to stay upright. “She’s behaving like… uh…”

  “Like a cat in heat—or a cat who got her paws on a little catnip,” Quinn said, her voice low so no one else could hear her. “Is she using?”

  “What? Oh, you mean…? No.” Jorie shook her head as much as she could in Griffin’s close embrace. “Catnip doesn’t even have an effect on her.”

  Quinn lifted both brows. “Sure. Whatever you say.” Then she sniffed the air. She blinked and looked dazed for a few moments before she blew out air through her nose as if wanting to get rid of a smell. “Ah. So that was the scent I caught earlier before your arrival lured me away from the buffet. Did Griffin by any chance eat one of the mushrooms?”

  “One?” Jorie snorted. “She was gobbling them down as if there’s no tomorrow. Weird. Normally, she doesn’t even like mushrooms all that much.”

  “I bet she still doesn’t. Ever see how cats react to olives?”

  “Yes.” Years ago, Jorie had accidentally spilled a bit of olive juice on the kitchen floor. Her cats had gone crazy, rolling all over the floor, sniffing, and meowing for half an hour. “You mean…?”

  “Yeah. There were olives in the stuffed mushrooms. And now your better half is as high as a kite.” Quinn grinned.

  Griffin started chewing on Jorie’s earlobe.

  “Christ. Let’s get her out of here before someone comes over to see what’s going on with her.” Jorie indicated for Quinn to grab one of Griffin’s arms.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Quinn said.

  Jorie sent her a pleading gaze. “I can’t do this alone.”

  Quinn sighed and grabbed Griffin’s shoulder to drag her toward the door.

  Jerking around, Griffin let out a deafening roar.

  The buzz of conversations and the clinking of glasses stopped as everyone in the room stared at her.

  Jorie forced a smile. “Uh, sorry, folks. She never could hold her liquor.” She turned her head and whispered to Griffin, “Please, ple
ase, behave and let Quinn help.”

  Rubbing her face all over Jorie’s hair, Griffin finally hung between them with her arms draped over their shoulders, and when Jorie moved toward the door, she followed. Step by step, they shuffled toward the exit.

  “Are you staying with your parents?” Quinn asked.

  “No.” Jorie swallowed. That had been part of the reason why she was reluctant to return to her hometown. Too many memories. “My dad died and my mom moved to Florida three years ago.”

  “Oh. I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s okay.” Jorie lost her grip on Griffin’s arm.

  Griffin immediately took advantage and tried to strip off her shirt. Buttons flew everywhere. Griffin purred more loudly and pressed her half-naked chest against Jorie. Her free hand came up and clawed at Jorie’s blouse.

  “Oh, no, no, no.” Jorie caught her hand and pulled it away. “The… the elevator.” She nodded toward it with her head. “Let’s get her upstairs to our room.” She was breathing heavily, not only because of Griffin’s weight partially resting on her, but also because Griffin was covering her sensitive neck with little nips, bites, and kisses.

  One of their former classmates was blocking the way to the elevator. He hooked his thumbs into his belt and rocked on his boot heels as he regarded the three flushed women in a close embrace. “Ooh. Wow. The dream of many teenage nights. Need a fourth person?”

  Griffin lifted her head, probably about to growl at the man.

  Jorie quickly pulled Griffin’s head back until Griffin’s mouth was pressed against her neck. She was in no mood to deal with this jerk. “Sure,” she said coolly. “Tell your wife she can join us.”

  The leer dropped off his face. He huffed and pushed past them, back into the banquet room.

  Quinn almost let go of Griffin because she was laughing so hard. “Wow, you really changed. You used to be so shy.”

  Jorie freed one hand to press the elevator button. “Not much room for shyness when you’re dealing with an amorous cat.”

  The elevator doors pinged open. Jorie dragged Griffin into the elevator.