Prey (Shifters #4)(13)

“Faythe, I need a…um…” Manx paused and closed her eyes, probably searching for the right word in English. “A favor.” She met my eyes again, and the depth of her gaze alone emphasized the importance of whatever she was about to say.
“Yes?” I held my breath, and could hear both our hearts beating. No, all three of our hearts.
“If I die, will you take Desiderio home? To your mother? I have not asked her, but I think she will take him.”
For a moment I was so horrified by the necessity of such a question that I couldn’t answer. I’d known arrangements would have to be made for Des, just in case. But Manx making those arrangements herself, less than twelve hours before the start of her trial?
I could barely even conceive of that kind of courage.
“Please,” Manx whispered, misinterpreting my silence, her eyes deep gray pools of despair.
“Of course I will,” I assured her. Relief washed over Manx, and she slumped against the back of the rocker, as if now that we had that out of the way, she could finally relax.
I couldn’t remember ever seeing anyone look quite so pleased when contemplating her own death.
That night after dinner, I tried my hardest to keep Donna Di Carlo from putting me up in Sara’s bedroom. But she wouldn’t take no for an answer, and I stopped arguing when I realized she might take my refusal as an insult.
I didn’t mean it as one. Sara’s pictures still topped the dresser, and her old stuffed animals reclined on the bed. Her room looked like a shrine, and I didn’t want to disturb it. But her mother was tired of seeing it sit empty and clearly wanted me to get some use out of it.
So I lay down in Sara’s bed just after eleven o’clock—and was still awake three hours later. I couldn’t sleep with her staring down at me from the walls, asking me wordlessly why I saved Abby but couldn’t save her.
Her eyes haunted me.
Finally, around two-thirty in the morning, I snuck out of her room and down the hall to Vic’s, where I climbed into bed with him. He barely even noticed. He just scooted over to make room, then went back to snoring softly.
I would never have gotten in bed with Jace, because Marc would never have forgiven either of us. He knew that Jace and I had made a real connection, and that Jace would be happy to revive it. But Vic and Marc had been partners for years, and Marc trusted him completely. Mostly because Vic had never shown any interest in me sexually. He was a friend, and one who would understand why I couldn’t sleep in his dead sister’s bed.
In minutes, I was asleep, but I woke up with the first rays of sun and crept back into Sara’s room to keep from hurting her mother’s feelings.
I dressed and showered early, and after breakfast I said goodbye to Michael, Manx and Brian. Then Vic drove me to the airport in Atlanta. My plane landed in Dallas just before noon, and I made my way to baggage claim, where Jace waited, his blue eyes sparkling in the fluorescent glow from overhead. Kaci stood at his side, chestnut waves in a ponytail behind one ear. She had her hands stuffed into the pockets of a faded pair of jeans, her jacket unzipped over her favorite long-sleeved tee.
She hadn’t seen me yet, and was anxiously scanning the crowd. Then Jace tapped her shoulder and pointed me out.
Kaci’s hazel eyes found mine, and her face lit up with relief and excitement. She took off through the throng, hair trailing behind her, moving at human speed because of her weakened state. And hopefully in consideration of the people around her. Even so, Jace panicked the moment she left his side. I could see it in his eyes. He’d lost sight of her in the crowd, and was seconds from seriously losing his cool.I caught his eye and shook my head calmly; I could see her.
A second later she collided with my midriff, but lacked the strength to even push me back. “I thought you weren’t coming back,” she mumbled into my jacket, and her arms tightened around my waist.
“What? Why wouldn’t I come back?” I dropped my bag and put both hands on her shoulders, prying her away gently until I could see her face. She was panting from the brief exertion, and her face was flushed with effort beneath the sickly pallor of her skin—a recent development.
But I smiled to reassure her, and she grinned back, evidently convinced I was real.
Kaci stepped back and took my bag in both hands, already turning toward Jace when she spoke. “Greg said you were hurt, and I thought you’d stay in Georgia till you got better.”
I took the bag from her, afraid she’d keel over with the additional weight. “I’m fine, Kaci. See?” I stomped my right foot on the floor, demonstrating my own sturdiness. “Not even a limp. And you know why?”
“Why?”
“Because I Shifted.” I switched to a whisper in concession to the presence of so many humans. “Shifting can heal injuries in a fraction of the time it would have taken if I stayed in human form.”
“Well, good for you.” Kaci shrugged and headed for Jace, dismissing my less-than-subtle hint with an easy toss of her hair. “I’m not injured.”
I growled beneath my breath. Two months earlier, I would never have believed a thirteen-year-old could be harder to deal with than an infant. I guess that’s why nature starts most women off with babies and lets them grow into teenagers.
Jace took charge of my bag, and I gave him a quick hug. “How’s the leg?” he asked, eyeing me carefully when I pulled away.
“Just a little sore. But these make me look badass, huh?” I pushed back my sleeve to show off my new battle scars, and he whistled in appreciation, then laughed. “Where’s Ethan?” I asked, tugging my sleeve back into place.
Kaci grinned, pulling her MP3 player from her front pocket. “He’s trying to hook up with the girl at the Starbucks counter.”
I scowled. “Hook up with her?” I wasn’t sure whether I should be more bothered by Kaci’s too-casual phrasing, or my brother’s obvious disdain for the concept of monogamy. Guess he was getting tired of white rice.
Kaci nodded sagely. “Yeah, but I don’t think he’s really after coffee.”
Jace grinned sheepishly at me over her head, and I rolled my eyes. “Let’s go home. And no more hanging out with Ethan. You’re supposed to be under the supervision of your mental elders.” 
We retrieved my brother from the food court, where he sat in front of a tall cup of something slathered with whipped cream, across from a girl in a green Starbucks apron. He grinned all the way to the car.
During the three-hour drive from the airport, Kaci fell asleep against the car door, her earbuds in place, blasting the latest teen-angst anthem. I watched her breathe, amazed by how peaceful she looked, all things considered.
Because Kaci Dillon had not led a peaceful life. Not even for a werecat.
Kaci wasn’t born into any Pride. In itself, that wasn’t incredibly unusual, as the ever-growing population of strays might suggest. But Kaci wasn’t a stray. She was a rare genetic anomaly—a werecat born to two human parents.
And so far, she was the only one of her kind we’d ever found.
We’d only known for about six months that, in spite of generations of belief to the contrary, it was indeed possible—if unlikely—for a werecat and a human to procreate. The children of such rare union  s were humans whose DNA contained certain recessive werecat genes. Those genes would have no effect on the child unless they were one day “activated” by a bite or scratch from a werecat in cat form.
Normal humans can’t survive a werecat attack. Their bodies fight the “virus” and eventually they die of the infection. So all strays were once humans who already had the necessary werecat genes before they were attacked.
Kaci’s parents both carried those recessive genes, though they never knew it. Their unlikely pairing resulted in one daughter who didn’t inherit any werecat genes. And in Kaci, who got them from both sides. She was a full-blooded werecat, born of two humans, and she’d had no idea until puberty brought on her first Shift.
I can’t even imagine what that must have been like. So much unexplainable pain and an unfathomable transformation. In the height of her pain and terror, completely ignorant of what was happening to her, she accidentally killed her mother and sister. And in the process, she’d temporarily lost most of her sanity.
Kaci had wandered on her own for weeks, stuck in cat form because she had no idea she could Shift back, much less how to do it. She did what she had to do to survive, mostly out of instinct, but when we found her and showed her how to regain her human form—and with it, her sanity—she was horrified by what she’d done on four paws.
So horrified that she’d sworn never to assume her feline form again, convinced that if she did, she would hurt someone else.
But by refusing to Shift, she was only hurting herself.
Watching her sleep, I was shocked to realize Kaci was nearly as thin now as she’d been when I first saw her. She was slowly killing herself, and I had to do something to stop it. To help her help herself.
It was nearly four in the afternoon when we pulled through the gate onto the long gravel driveway leading onto my family’s property. The Lazy S ranch lay before us, winter-bare fields on both sides of the driveway. Deep tire ruts cut into the eastern field at an angle, leading to the big red barn, quaint with its gabled roof and chipped paint. And at the end of the driveway lay the house, long and low and simple in design, in contrast to the buildings my father designed in his professional life.