Of course, I’d been found innocent of that particular charge….
“Bert, would you mind going to fill Rick and Ed in?” My father asked. “Then we can all meet at the main lodge in half an hour.” My uncle Rick Wade and Ed Taylor—Alphas of the East Coast Pride and the Midwest Pride, respectively—were sharing a cabin on the other side of the main lodge.
Di Carlo nodded and rose, motioning for Teo to join him. On their way out the door, they let in a frigid draft and a glimpse of the rapidly darkening winter sky, and seconds later their footsteps faded into the distance.
“Everyone get ready,” my father said, then he disappeared into his room to change into his suit.
Marc followed me into the bedroom we were supposed to share with Jace and snatched Jace’s duffel from the floor. Before Jace could protest, Marc tossed the bag to him. “You’ve got the first shower. Take your time.”
Jace bristled, but I only shook my head. “Please, Jace. I’m tired of fighting with my own Pridemates. Let’s just save it for the real fight, okay?”
Jace spun without a word and stomped off toward the only bathroom.
I set my bag on the dresser and unzipped it, and was digging for clean clothes when Marc crossed the room and closed the door. “You can change and brush your hair, but don’t you dare take a shower.”
“Don’t tell me what to do.” I turned to find his hard gaze trained on me, his forehead furrowed.
“You owe me. Everyone knows you slept with Jace, and Dean will tell anyone who’ll listen that it’s because I couldn’t keep you interested. You’ve turned me into a walking joke, and the least you can do is make sure everyone knows I’m not out of the game yet.”
“This isn’t a game, Marc.” Why did they both keep referring to it as such?
“The three of us, all tangled up in knots? Hell, no, it’s not a game. It’s my fucking train wreck of a life. But you walking around smelling like we just had a roll in the shed? That’s just more of you lying in the bed you’ve made. With me, this time.”
I sighed and sank onto the side of the bed, holding my change of clothes. “Fine, if it’ll make you happy.”
He snatched his own change of clothes from the dresser and left the room, slamming the door.
Jace came back a few minutes later, as I was pulling a clean shirt over my head. He stopped cold in the doorway, his hair dripping on his shoulders. “Aren’t you going to shower?”
“I can’t.”
“The hell you can’t. He’s doing this on purpose. Punishing us both.”
I sat on the end of the bed and grabbed my left boot. “Don’t you think we deserve it? We humiliated him, and this is just the beginning. What do you think everyone’s going to be saying behind his back? It’s not going to kill either of us for me to walk around smelling like him for a couple of hours.”
Except that I hated being marked, and Marc damn well knew it. Which was the whole point.
I zipped up my boots and Jace dropped his duffel on the floor and stomped out of the room.
Great. This must be the episode where Faythe can’t make anyone happy. Fortunately, my plans for Calvin Malone had nothing to do with his happiness.
Clad in jeans, boots, and a plain, snug black long-sleeved tee, I grabbed my jacket in the living room, and we headed toward the main lodge as a group. I expected both of the guys to give me the proverbial cold shoulder, but to my surprise, they took up positions on either side of me, only pausing briefly to glare at each other. Not a promising start to the evening. But surely once they had a mutual enemy to focus on, the personal rivalry would fade for a little while.
The cabin Malone and Mitchell shared was dark when we passed it, and when we got to the main lodge, I realized we were the last to arrive. One of Paul Blackwell’s men met us at the door and led us to the formal dining room at the back of the lodge, where I’d stood trial for my life three months earlier. The room was long, and it normally appeared even larger than it was, thanks to an entire wall of windows. But it felt small and cramped, packed with ten Alphas and a grand total of thirty-six enforcers. I’d never felt such a concentration of testosterone and hostility.
And I was the only woman in the room.
The three solid walls of the room were lined in folding metal chairs, most already occupied with beefy toms. The table in the center sat ten, and nine of those spots were filled with the other Alphas.
An odd hush descended as I entered the room followed by Marc and Jace, and I fought the urge to drop my eyes, which got easier when I realized they weren’t focused on Marc’s scent still clinging to me—they hadn’t had a chance to smell me yet. This was the first time about half the men in the room had seen me since Colin Dean sliced my face up.
Most of them didn’t know what had happened to me. I’d declined to answer the few who’d had the nerve to ask, and Dean didn’t seem to be advertising that little bit of trivia, probably because his scar was bigger than mine. But I’d obviously been cut on purpose—accidental cuts aren’t that straight or even.
I stared back boldly, silently daring someone to comment, and only when the return glances went to Colin Dean did I realize which direction the prevailing rumor winds were blowing. They may not have put all the pieces together yet, but our similar scars were too much of a coincidence to be unrelated.Paul Blackwell stood at the head of the table, his cane hooked over the arm of his chair. Malone sat to his left, and the seat opposite had been reserved for my father.
My dad took his place and Blackwell cleared his throat, signaling for the last of the stragglers to find a seat. But when I looked for a chair, I saw that there were only two available. One between Alex Malone and Colin Dean, and the other on Alex’s other side. They had set us up, insuring that I’d have to sit with one of them instead of with either Jace or Marc. Marc had already taken the seat between Dean and the wall, and when I smiled to thank him for taking that option out of the mix he returned my smile with a tight one of his own.
I deliberately took the chair between Alex and Dean, to show them I couldn’t be intimidated. Both men looked perversely pleased by my choice.
When I sat, Blackwell spoke. “Before we begin, is there any prevailing business?” He knew what we were up to. He’d been at the ranch when we were attacked by the thunderbirds, and he’d launched the initial investigation into Malone’s involvement. But he remained officially neutral, which he considered the only appropriate course of action for the council chair. At least until we’d formally presented our case.
“I have one bit of business,” my father said, and I treasured the look of surprise on Calvin Malone’s face, brief though it was.
“Go ahead, Greg,” Blackwell said.
My father stood and straightened his suit jacket. “I charge Councilman Calvin Malone with treason against this organization and its members.”
Six
“What?” Alex Malone popped up from his seat like a jack-in-the-box, and his surprised, angry gesture came within inches of smashing my nose. But at a single glance from his Alpha, he dropped into his chair, fuming in silence. His gaze was glued to the table, where my dad now stared down at his, both Alphas impeccably composed, while the level of tension in the room rose quickly enough to make the rest of us sweat. Literally.
Malone leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. “Now, Greg, I hardly think that my questioning of your authority qualifies as treason.”
“No. But inciting war with another Shifter species does. Especially when that war is intended to hide your Pride’s guilt and cripple my Pride’s resources.”
“Greg, these are very serious charges,” Milo Mitchell said, from his seat next to Malone. Like we were unaware.
“Accompanied by very few details,” Nick Davidson added. “I assume you can provide both specifics and evidence?”
“Of course.” My father nodded, and this time, Malone’s slow blink was the only indication of his surprise. He didn’t know about the feathers. “I believe you all know that, last week, my Pride was attacked by a Flight of thunderbirds from a nest in New Mexico. Evidently they winter in the werecat free zone just to the west of my territory. We were hosting several guests at the time—” no need to mention that our “guests” were helping us plot an attack against Malone’s Pride in retaliation for my brother’s murder “—and between us, we lost two enforcers and sustained multiple serious injuries. But we also captured a prisoner, who told us that his Flight was attacking to avenge the death of one of their own—whom they believed we murdered.”
“And how exactly does this make Calvin Malone guilty of treason?” Mitchell demanded, while Malone sat silently beside him, apparently unfazed by our allegations.
“We have evidence that the thunderbird in question was killed not by one of my enforcers, but by one of his. But Calvin blamed the murder on us, inciting the thunderbirds to attack and cripple my Pride, while sparing his own.”
“The thunderbirds told you this?” Nick Davidson leaned forward, propping both elbows on the table. He looked considerably older than forty-two, but then, he’d had a rough few years. He’d lost his wife to cancer and was left to raise their seven children—including one small daughter—alone.