The office door was closed, but I barely noticed in my hurry to get on the road. I twisted the knob and walked in. My father stood in front of his desk, facing the glass display case against the wall. He clutched the phone to his ear, face flaming in rage so consuming he hadn’t even noticed my entrance. Which he probably hadn’t heard over his own shouting.
“…a child, and I will not hand her over just to satisfy some scheming, underhanded Alpha’s selfish political ambitions!”
Whoa…
My hand tightened on the doorknob in surprise, and my father heard the creak. He whirled to face me fully, one hand on the edge of his desk, and slammed the cordless phone onto the receiver. “Didn’t I ever teach you to knock?” he demanded, eyes flashing in fury.
I should have apologized and meekly backed out of the room. But the sick feeling twisting my stomach wouldn’t let me. “What was that about?” I asked from the doorway, not daring to come any farther into the office.
If my father had taken his phone call in any other room of the house, we all would have heard his side of the conversation, and likely most of the other side. But the office was a special room, designed for privacy in a house whose occupants all had supernatural hearing. The walls were solid concrete, without so much as a window for sound to leak through. The door was a panel of solid oak, and while not as soundproof as the walls themselves, it held a definite advantage over the hollow interior doors in the rest of the house.
My father sighed, and in that moment he looked a decade past his fifty-six years. “Come in and close the door.” He propped one hip on the corner of his desk next to the phone and waved me inside, lowering his voice to a weary whisper. “I’m going to tell you what happened, before your imagination kicks into overdrive. But you will not tell anyone else. I’ll make the announcement myself, when the time is right.”
Nodding, I hesitated a moment—I really needed to go after Marc—then stepped into the office and pushed the door shut, twisting the lock to keep someone else from walking in, like I had. I had no doubt that if my father had been expecting the call he’d just fielded, the door would have been locked before.
The flimsy twist-lock wouldn’t stop a werecat who really wanted in, but it wasn’t supposed to. It was merely a signal that my father required a little privacy, and the lock would be respected for its intent rather than its strength.
“Who was that?” I sank onto the edge of the couch nearest the desk, acutely aware that every passing second was another one-second delay in getting to Marc. But I had to know…
My father gripped the edge of the desk he sat on. “That was Milo Mitchell.” Kevin Mitchell’s father, who was currently in Georgia for Manx’s trial. Kevin had been expelled from the south-central Pride for accepting bribes to sneak a stray into New Orleans. “Milo claims he represents a ‘concerned faction’ of the Territorial Council, but I have no doubt he’s working with Calvin Malone.”
“And they want Kaci?” That sick feeling in my stomach grew to encompass most of the rest of me, and I was suddenly sure I would be violently ill right there on my father’s Oriental rug.
“Yes. Mitchell says several of the Alphas are worried, in light of Malone’s claims, that I’m acting against the best interest of the council. They want me to relinquish custody of Kaci to the council at large, which will then appoint a guardian for her. But you know exactly where she’ll wind up.”
“With Malone.” I scowled so hard my face hurt. The bastard was scheming to get control of both Kaci and Manx, just like we’d feared he would.
My father nodded solemnly and rose from the desk to sink into his armchair on my left.
“So, what are you going to do?” Even if I hadn’t just heard him refuse to give up Kaci, I knew my dad would never bow to threats from another Alpha. Much less hand over a mostly innocent child to be used as a political pawn.
Malone wanted control of Kaci for the same reason he’d tried to strong-arm me into marrying one of his sons—to put more territory under his misogynistic, bigoted, politically ambitious metaphorical thumb.
My father shrugged. “At this point it’s a simple request, and I’m within my rights to refuse. But they’ll come back with a formal demand, and our response at that time will have to be much more…civil.”Ha! I’d show them civil. I would tell the council exactly where it could shove its “civil” requests. Which my badass Alpha had just done.
“Daddy, I’m this close to talking Kaci into Shifting.” I held my thumb and forefinger less than an inch apart. “I think I could get her to do it today, if I had the time. But she’s never going to Shift for someone she doesn’t know and trust, and she hates Calvin Malone almost as much as she hates her own cat form.” Which was partly my fault. She’d heard everything Jace and I had to say about his abusive, narrow-minded, ass-wipe of a stepfather and now the tabby was firmly aligned with our Pride against him.
“I know.” My father sighed and suddenly looked very tired. “I won’t let this happen.”
The last time he’d said that, he’d been talking about my possible execution, and he’d been as good as his word. Unfortunately, to take the death penalty off the table, he’d had to exile Marc.
I couldn’t help but wonder what we’d have to give up to keep Kaci.
“So, what’s the plan?” I fingered a figurine on the end table on my left—a pewter cat reared to pounce. Then I forced my hands into my lap when I realized I was betraying my extreme impatience.
“You’re going to find Marc. I can handle Kaci, and I don’t want you worrying about this until he’s back and healthy. There’s nothing you can do about it, anyway. This is my battle, Faythe. I may not be young anymore, but there’s a fight or two left in me still. Don’t count your father out just yet.”
“I haven’t, Daddy.” And I never would. But Kaci was as much my responsibility now as I ever was his. We’d both fight for her.
Just as soon as I was sure Marc was okay.
“I’m calling in reinforcements from the rest of the Pride, so we’ll have some extra bodies on patrol.” He went to the desk and pulled open the top drawer and removed a bulging three-ring binder, which he dropped on the blotter with a thunk. “With all that stray activity going on so close to the border, we need to know immediately if they try to cross over.”
“Good.” With Michael, Brian and Vic still in Georgia, and me and Parker off looking for Marc, my father would need all three of his remaining enforcers to protect the home and hearth. But he could hardly ignore the threat posed by our suddenly aggressive neighbors.
I hated that we were so crippled by circumstance, but incredibly grateful that we had resources to call on in our time of need. The other members of our Pride would be called into active duty, a possibility they’d agreed to upon joining the south-central Pride. And if I knew my father, he’d pair the less experienced toms with those who’d once served as enforcers.
They’d take sick days, vacation days, unpaid workdays, or whatever it took to get off work when they were called. And in a matter of hours the Mississippi border would be crawling with south-central cats. They would patrol in human form until dusk, then on four paws once darkness descended to blend with their fur.
“With any luck, by the time you get there, several toms will be within an hour’s drive should you need them,” my father continued. “Do not hesitate to call them in. There are no bonus points for bravery on this one, Faythe. The only way to win is to get Marc back then get all three of you home in one piece. Understand?”
“Of course, Daddy.” I didn’t even roll my eyes, because for once I was pretty sure he wasn’t being overprotective just because I was a girl. He was being regular-protective, because I was one of his enforcers, and that felt good. Really good. Almost as good as him letting me go in the first place.
Nine
Four and a half hours later, Parker and I turned onto a long, tree-lined gravel driveway beside a house I knew without a doubt to be Marc’s, though I’d never been there or seen any pictures. And though Painter’s directions had been about as clear as swamp water.
The setting sun shone on a large lot, open in front and wooded in the back. The house was isolated; Marc’s nearest neighbor was two and a half miles down a dirt road—and a good six miles from Rosetta proper. And if the Homochitto National Forest didn’t actually adjoin the property, it came damn close.
The only detraction I could see was the house itself, which had to be at least eighty years old and had definitely seen better days. But in my opinion, and no doubt in Marc’s, the benefits far outweighed any material discomfort caused by outdated wiring, insufficient insulation, or peeling paint and crooked shutters.
I was out of the car the instant it stopped, long before Parker actually shut down the engine, and for a moment, the below-freezing windchill—a relative rarity for the South—stole my breath from my lungs. My boots crunched across gravel briefly before landing on dead, brittle grass. Relieved to see that the ice had melted in Mississippi, I raced over the lawn—then skidded to a halt about a foot from an ominous, dark trail slicing across one corner of Marc’s front yard. The stain was dry, and no longer bright red as it must have been hours earlier, but it stood out starkly against the dull, colorless lawn.