“Jace said he gave her three.”
Marc. I opened my eyes to find him staring down at me, dark curls shining in the dim glare overhead. “Here she comes,” he said, concern audible in his voice and visible in the worry lines etched across his forehead. “Feel any better?”
“I’m fine. What happened?” My fingers brushed velour at my side, and I realized I was on the couch. Lying down. “Well, crap. I fainted?”
Marc chuckled, worry melting from his face to reveal relief and more than a little sympathy—definitely not my favorite of his expressions. He lowered himself onto the edge of the couch next to me, careful not to jar me. “Nah, you just passed out. You stood up too fast, and you probably took one too many of those little white pills.”
“But Jace said—”
Marc frowned, cutting me off. “Jace weighs a lot more than you do. He’s also an idiot.”
“It’s not his fault.” I took the hand Marc offered and pulled myself upright slowly, ignoring the dull protest from the stitches in my stomach. As I leaned against the back of the couch, the rest of the room came into sharp focus. My father sat on the coffee table in front of me, slumped in his wrinkled suit jacket, his elbows propped on his knees.
Michael stood in the kitchen doorway behind him, watching me with a steaming mug in one hand. Coffee, based on the scent. Other than the three of them, the living room was empty, but the splatter of running water came from down the hall. Radley was still in the shower. I couldn’t have been out for more than a few minutes.
“How’s your stomach?” My father asked, peering into my eyes.
“Still hurts, but it’s only unbearable when I move.”
“Well, I have to give you credit for creativity, at least.” Michael ran one hand over his face, as if trying to rub the feeling back into his features. “I can’t remember anyone ever passing out to avoid being scolded before.”
“What?” Then I remembered what I’d been doing when my legs fell out from under me: complaining about my father’s decision to offer hospitality to the cat who’d left his mark on my stomach. Permanently. “Oh, yeah. I probably got carried away. But seriously, Daddy, if I’d carved up some poor cat’s stomach, you guys would have me bound and gagged. But you’re feeding and clothing him. How exactly is that fair?”
“He was bound and gagged,” Michael reminded me, betraying no trace of a smile. I couldn’t remember ever seeing him look more exhausted. He’d been working long hours with the tribunal on my behalf, and now thanks to Radley and the strays, he’d gotten less than three hours’ sleep in the last twenty-four.
“Was.” I stressed. “He was bound and gagged. Now he’s probably in there using the last of my shampoo. He better not come out smelling like lavender.”
Marc’s hand landed gently on my knee, and a jolt traveled up from the point of contact. “I don’t like him either, but your dad’s right. We don’t have any real reason to hold him. Or any place to hold him.”
“What happened to the attempted-murder charge? Was that just a ploy?”
“Not just a ploy…” Michael mumbled.
The coffee table creaked when my father stood, then lowered himself into the armchair on my right. “We reported the incident to the entire council via a conference call, while you and Radley were both still out. I suggested the charge because all we knew at the time was that he’d chased you and punctured your stomach.”
“Isn’t that enough to hold him on?”
“Of course it is.” He frowned, eyeing me sternly. “If you can honestly tell me you believe he meant to kill you. Can you? Because Marc says you were alone with him for several minutes before they found you, and that he could have killed you anytime he wanted to.”
I glanced at Marc, surprised he would speak up in Radley’s defense. He shrugged. “The truth is the truth, whether I like it or not.”
Impressed all over again with his professionalism, I nodded. I was a big fan of the truth. Usually. “Oh, fine. He wasn’t trying to kill me. But he wasn’t trying to save me from anything else bumping around out there, either. He never intended to let me go. I have no doubt about that.”
All three men nodded in agreement, and my father picked up a mug from the end table. “I don’t doubt that. But the fact is that he’s worth more to us out there—” he gestured toward the window and the great outdoors “—than he is tied up in here, where we’ll trip over him every time one of us crosses the room.”
“Not to mention the fact that we don’t need him overhearing our every word.” Michael swept a limp strand of brown hair from his forehead. “I don’t think he’s that innocent.”
Overhearing us. Of course. That’s why my dad had put the prisoner in the shower: so the running water would block out our discussion. Damn, I have a lot to learn…
I nodded. “So what’s the plan?”
“Radley’s going to lead a large team to that cabin, on the off chance they’re still there. If they are, we bring them in. If not, Radley goes about his business with his eyes and ears open for any trouble. He’s been here longer than we have and no doubt knows the woods much better.”
“And if he doesn’t want to play along?”
“He doesn’t have that option.” The hard line of Marc’s jaw said he wasn’t as happy with the plan as he wanted me to think. He’d go along because Zeke Radley held our best chance of catching the strays. And because our Alpha was calling the shots. But Marc didn’t trust the stranger any more than I did.
From the end of the hall, the sound of running water dribbled to a halt and metal rings rattled as the shower curtain was pulled back. Radley was out of the tub, and our privacy had expired.
A quarter of an hour later, a clean, dressed Zeke Radley sat at the kitchen table, ignoring us all as he scarfed down his second microwavable chicken potpie. Michael and Jace sat on either side of him, silently chewing canned clam chowder, and the combined scents of their odd, predawn breakfast were not appetizing, even from the living room where I sat on the couch, trying to move as little as possible.
Radley wore a tattered but fresh pair of jeans and a solid black T, both donated by Marc, just to piss our “guest” off, even though Jace was closer to the stray’s size.
In guy logic—an oxymoron if I’d ever heard one—since Marc had technically done Radley a favor by clothing him, the stray was now in debt to him, even though he’d only accepted the clothes because refusing them would have been a blatant insult to the lender. And the best part was that now Radley had to walk around smelling like Marc, which was practically an admission of Marc’s dominance. And the source of our guest’s steady scowl.
Someone knocked on the front door as Radley spooned the last drops of gravy from the paper pie plate, and Lucas stood to admit the last two members of the team my father and the tribunal had assembled. First through the door was Nate, Paul Blackwell’s grandson, whom I’d expected. But I had not expected Danny Carver, who came in right behind him.
“Hey, Doc.” I leaned forward to see around Marc, who sat very close to me. “You here to see me, or to play in the woods with the other boys?”
His ubiquitous smile widened when his eyes met mine. “Both.” He shrugged. “I haven’t gotten my paws dirty in a while. Thought it might be fun.”
“That, and we’re running short on uninjured, available enforcers,” Marc murmured into my ear. Logically, I knew he was just trying to keep Radley from overhearing anything about our manpower shortage. Still, my pulse jumped and my face flushed when his lips brushed my ear.
Dr. Carver edged between the couch and the coffee table and held one hand out to me. I took it, and he helped me gently to my feet. “How you feeling?”
“Like I’m already tired of answering that question.”
He nodded, laughing softly. “Sounds about right. Let’s take a look.”
I let the doctor lead me back to my bedroom, where I lowered myself gingerly onto the bed and pulled the hem of my shirt up to my sternum. He carefully pe
eled back the tape holding my bandages in place and inspected the stitches, talking the whole time.
“I just treated similar wounds on Brett Malone, and I have to say, you’re a much easier patient to deal with. You haven’t hissed at me once.” He grinned. “Of course, you only have twenty stitches. He has closer to one hundred.”
Smiling, I closed my eyes as the doctor spread clean squares of gauze over my stomach. “Is he okay?”
Dr. Carver nodded, taping the new bandages in place. “He’s gonna be fine. Not as soon as you will, naturally. Your gashes are closing up nicely.” Standing, he tossed the used gauze into the trash can by the door. “But I want you to go to sleep.”
I nodded, but he ignored my assurances as if he knew I didn’t really mean them. “I’m serious, Faythe.” He frowned down at me, showing the strict-doctor side of him I rarely saw. “If you don’t get some rest and let your body do its job, you won’t be ready to Shift tomorrow, and you’ll have to spend another day sitting on the couch.”
“I got it, Doc.” Surely my wide-eyed, innocent look was more convincing than a mere nod. “Stay in bed, sleep all night.” Fortunately, the night was nearly over.
“Exactly. And this is to make sure you do as you’re told for once.” From his pocket, Dr. Carver pulled a brown plastic prescription bottle, from which he poured two more of those stupid sleeping pills. “Don’t worry,” he said in response to the panic that must have been written all over my face. “These don’t work very well on us, as you may have noticed. You’ll only be out for a few hours, and you’re not going to miss anything.”
“Oh, fine.” I swallowed the pills with a gulp from the water he handed me. Then I had to stick my tongue out and wiggle it up and down to convince Dr. Carver that I’d actually ingested the damn things.
Ten minutes later, the guys filed out the front door, Zeke Radley sandwiched between Marc and Lucas. Marc and Jace both said good-night before leaving, but neither of them even hesitated to go on without me. They’d made the usual promises to come back safely, and to tell me the whole story when they returned. Then they’d left me alone with my father and brother, both of whom refused to speak to me for fear of keeping me awake.
I don’t remember falling asleep, but I definitely remember waking up. When my eyes opened, the first thing I noticed was how bright my bedroom was, even though the lamp was unlit. The alarm clock read 8:04.
Damn. It’s morning. I’d slept through the whole rest of the night—nearly three hours.
But the annoyingly bright sunlight wasn’t what woke me. Voices had interrupted my sleep. Angry voices, one of them my father’s.
“—let him go? Why would you do that?” Malone demanded. From the sound of it, he and my father were arguing in the living room, right outside my door. And they clearly had no idea I was awake.
“It was my call, and I made the decision I thought best. I stand by that decision. The cabin was empty—probably had been for a couple of days—and Radley stands a much better chance of finding them than we do. He knows the forest, and they have to be familiar with his scent by now, so they won’t think twice about him wandering around, whereas one whiff of any of our toms would send them running. We need Radley’s help, and we’re not going to get that with him wasting away in front of the television.”
“He’s a criminal, Greg. I know your perspective on criminal behavior has changed a bit lately, but Radley’s a stray. You have no reason to protect him. He nearly killed your daughter, for crying out loud. You should have his rear paw hanging from your key chain like a rabbit’s foot. Instead, it’s prancing around the woods with his other three, without a care in the world.”
“You’d see my daughter executed tomorrow if you could, Calvin.” My father’s voice was dangerous, and so low I could barely hear it. “Should I take your paw, too?”
A thrill raced up my spine and down my limbs at Malone’s silence. I would have given almost anything to see his expression at that moment. It was fear. It had to be. Surely he was about to mess in his pants after being threatened by my father, even indirectly. Anyone else would be.
“That’s not the same, and you know it,” Malone finally said. “I’m not out to get her, no matter what you think.”
Yeah, right, you sorry bastard. I had to shove my knuckles into my mouth to keep from shouting it out loud.
“It’s my job to make sure Faythe’s hearing is fair, not just to her, but to the entire werecat community. She infected her boyfriend, then killed him to cover up her crime. She’s dangerous, whether you can see that or not, and it’s not fair to the rest of us to leave her free to do it again.”
“She killed him in self-defense, and you damn well know it.” The floorboards groaned, and I pictured my father stepping closer to Malone, invading his personal space. “Having my daughter executed won’t get you a seat at the head of the council. You must know that.”
“My position within the council has nothing to do with this. This is about your priorities, and the fact that they no longer represent the interest of the majority.”
“That’s out of line. I released Radley in hopes that he can help us. No, I’m not certain he will. But neither am I certain we can find the strays on our own before they do any more damage. Trusting Radley was worth a shot, so I took it. If it was up to you, you’d probably have had him executed.”
“Damn right. That’d be one less str—”
The bathroom door creaked open from down the hall, then silence fell, as sharp and sudden as the blade of a guillotine. I wanted to get out of bed and creep closer to the door, but I was afraid the rustle of my blankets would cover whatever happened next.
“One less what?” Marc demanded, his voice as cold and hard as steel.
Oh, shit.
“This is none of your business.” Malone wisely refused to complete his aborted thought, but I couldn’t let him get away with that. If he was going to hate Marc, he was damn well going to be honest with himself—and with the rest of us—about why.
“One less what?” I shouted, pushing myself into a sitting position with my back against the headboard. The pain in my stomach was sharp at first, but had already faded into a dull throb before my father threw the bedroom door open.
He didn’t say a word. He simply warned me with his eyes to stay out of it.
Over the shoulder of my father’s navy terry-cloth robe, I saw Malone, already fully dressed. And beyond him stood Marc, wearing only the shorts he typically slept in, his hair wet from the shower he’d just taken.
“One less what?” I repeated, narrowing my focus on Malone, wondering if he could possibly know what a complete ass he was. Surely not. Surely no one could possibly maintain such a repulsive personality without a blanket of ignorance insulating him from reality.
“One less…criminal running loose.” Malone’s face flushed in either fury or humiliation, but I didn’t know him well enough to decide which it was. “I was going to say criminal.”
“We all know what you were going to say,” I spat, tossing the covers back to expose my lower half—still clothed in the red pajama pants, thank goodness. “It doesn’t take a genius to fill in the blanks. Though apparently it takes a pedigree to get in your good graces.”
“Faythe…” my father warned, but his expression, rather than matching his carefully stern tone, was completely blank. Did that mean he didn’t really want me to shut up? Or just that I hadn’t yet reached “critical” on his internal political-disaster dial?
Malone turned back to my father, ignoring both me and Marc. “I assume you’ll let us know if Radley contacts you.”
“Certainly. And I assume you’ll let us know when you’ve agreed upon a verdict on the murder charge?”
“Of course.” Malone’s glance landed on me briefly before he stomped across the living room and out the front door.
“Get some sleep,” my father said to Marc, then he turned to me. “And you don’t overdo it today. Danny will be back this evening to see i
f you’re ready to Shift.”
With that, my father retired to his own rented bedroom, where he probably spent more time staring at the ceiling than actually sleeping.
The rest of the day dragged by slowly while Jace, Marc, and my father tried to catch up on sleep. Jace and Marc had been sharing one of the two upstairs rooms, but since I was awake, I let Marc borrow the spare bed in mine, for a little privacy. That left only Michael to keep me company/watch to make sure I didn’t escape, which was obviously a huge risk, considering I’d nearly been disemboweled twelve short hours earlier.
My brother spent the entire day on the couch next to me, his laptop balanced on both knees, clacking away at the keyboard as if there weren’t a real world all around him, ready and willing to keep him busy.
Fortunately, he didn’t want to talk, so I had plenty of time to catch up on my reading. As luck would have it, during one of Michael’s two short bathroom breaks, the cabin’s landline rang for the first time all day, and there was no one else around to answer it. I dropped my novel on my lap and carefully stretched toward the end table, hoping to reach the phone before it woke anyone up.
“Hello?” I gritted my teeth as the pain in my stomach faded.
Naturally, it was my mother, since there was no one around for me to pass the phone to. “Faythe, dear, how are you feeling?”
“Like a pincushion. How ’bout you?”
To my surprise, she actually laughed. “Well, you sound good. And I’m fine. We’re all doing very well, in fact. Manx finally decided on colors for the baby’s first picture outfit. We’re going with stripes in cornflower, periwinkle, sapphire and midnight.”
“Lovely.” I couldn’t help rolling my eyes. “And…monochromatic.”
“I know.” My mother chuckled again. “She’s still insisting on all blue.”
Dr. Carver had confirmed the unborn infant’s gender a couple of months earlier with an after-hours ultrasound at his office. Far from being disappointed with another boy, Manx was thrilled. She was determined that regardless of her own fate, this baby would live, and that the world would welcome him in spite of his gender. Unlike his brothers. And to prove her point, she and my mother were knitting the poor thing an entire closetful of hats, sweaters, mittens and blankets in every shade of blue imaginable.