Prey (Shifters #4)(40)

Jace stumbled, and Owen put a hand out to steady him. “Stayed to fight. Told me to get Kaci home.”“Good.” Dad took Jace’s right hand and gently pulled his arm forward to inspect the injury. “Go in and let the doc get you fixed up,” he said, as Kaci moaned in my arms. I hoped she’d wake up, but she only turned her head toward me. Her eyes never opened.
“I have to go back for Ethan,” Jace insisted, even as he wobbled again from blood loss.
The Alpha scowled. “Go inside. That’s an order.” Jace closed his eyes briefly, then his jaw clenched in frustration, but he turned toward the house.
Owen stepped out of his pants and pulled off his socks.
My father’s eyes met mine, and my heart beat so hard, so urgently, it actually hurt. “Take her to your mother. If she’s sure Kaci’s stable, you Shift and follow us. Understand?”
I glanced down at Owen, who’d just dropped onto all fours. “Daddy, I’m faster. You know it.” I could outrun any of the guys, and when I really concentrated, I could Shift in under two minutes. Owen couldn’t do that.
The Alpha hesitated for a single heartbeat. Then he nodded and pulled Owen up by one arm. “Take Kaci inside and make sure Jace doesn’t fall. Then Shift and follow us.”
Before my brother could protest, I handed Kaci to him and tore my shirt open. Eight buttons flew into the dark, and cotton hit the grass an instant later. I shoved my jeans and underwear down together, then ripped the hooks right off my bra.
I dropped to the ground so hard my knees bruised, and my palm was cut open on a tiny pinecone. I Shifted faster than I ever had in my life, forcing the transformation in spite of the agony in every bone and joint of my body. A minute and a half later, I took off toward the creek on four paws, without bothering to stretch.
My cat-brain categorized sounds as I ran, classifying them as wind, insects, or small animals—all of which I dismissed. My ears rotated on my head like miniature radar dishes, and suddenly I picked up a collection of snapping twigs, hissing cats, and abbreviated roars that betrayed the fight still in progress.
At least for the moment. But Ethan couldn’t hold off four cats by himself forever.
I’d only been running a few seconds when I heard my father behind me, huffing with exertion like a tiger. He was putting everything he had into this, and he would pay for it later. But hopefully not until we’d run off or disposed of the trespassers and gotten Ethan home safely.
Please, let us get Ethan home safely….
I ran silently now, slipping between trees and soaring over brush, focused only on getting to Ethan quickly and unannounced. The sounds of the fight grew louder. A solid thunk. A low, feline moan of pain. A hiss. Then Ethan shouting, “Stay the hell back, you Benedict Arnold motherfuckers, or I’ll bash your fucking skulls in!” 
My heart leapt at the sound of his voice. Ethan was alive and shouting. And apparently holding his own by some miracle.
I zigged around a broad cedar and zagged around a fat clump of evergreen shrubs, and there they were. I had a single instant to absorb what I saw in the cold, predawn glow. Then I shoved off against the earth and went soaring.
My front paws hit the nearest cat. He fell onto his side. I clamped my jaws over his throat, squeezing but not puncturing. An enraged growl trickled from my throat, channeling my fear, fury, and triumph into the most primal sound I’d ever uttered in my life.
An instant later, my father leapt over a fallen log to pounce on the other cat, pinning him with little effort.
Between us, Alex Malone stood in jeans and a thick down jacket. He held his arms out in a defensive posture. His eyes went wide with surprise as he glanced from me to my father, then back again.
“‘Bout time.” Ethan’s tone was light, but his eyes were serious and his jaw bulged with tension. He held a huge, gnarled branch no human could have lifted alone. Swung by a werecat, that branch could kill a man with a single blow. Which was no doubt how he’d managed to hold them off until we arrived.
“Alex, your dad has just made a huge mistake, and he’s taking you down with him. You have a choice. You can scurry on home and tell Daddy you’ve failed—and you’ve just pissed off the biggest Pride in the country. Or you can tuck your tail, ask my father’s forgiveness, and beg him to take you in. Because that’s the only way you won’t go down for this along with your Pridemates.”
Ethan glanced at our father, who was watching him just like I was, with his jaw still clamped around the intruder’s throat, his eyes rolled up almost painfully to keep my brother in sight. “What do you think, Dad? Do we have room in the cage to throw all three of them…”
But that’s where my thoughts trailed off. All three. Jace had said there were four. So where was the missing werecat? Had Ethan already gotten one?
“We could lock them in together. Let them rip each other to pieces. What do you—”
A black blur dropped from a limb above, a soaring shadow I never had the chance to focus on. His front left paw hit Ethan’s chest. His right batted away the huge branch. My brother landed on his back. The cat fell on top of him. Ethan’s breath exploded from his lungs.
He reached to the side, left hand scrambling for his weapon. And before I could blink, the cat reared back and swatted him. Across the throat.
Blood poured from Ethan’s neck. He gurgled, and his eyes went wide. They found mine, and his lips formed silent words. “Faythe. Help.”
I roared and shoved myself away from the cat beneath me. But my father was already there. He knocked the cat off Ethan and onto the ground. His muzzle clamped over the bastard’s esophagus and he jerked his head back without hesitation. My father ripped the tom’s throat wide open.
The cats we’d pounced on took off into the woods, with Alex Malone on their tails.
Daddy turned his back on the dead tom and whined, nudging Ethan’s head with his nose, licking a spray of blood from the line of his jaw.
Anguish washed over me, and I suddenly felt so heavy I could barely move. My chest seemed to constrict around my heart. My limbs wouldn’t cooperate.
I crawled on my belly across five feet of cold earth, whining the whole way. I couldn’t make it stop. Sounds of grief poured from my throat as blood poured from Ethan’s. I sidled up next to him and laid my head on his torso, blinking through tears as his stomach rose and fell beneath me. Twice.
He blinked at me, his eyes the exact shade of green as my own. His mouth worked silently, opening and closing, as if he were trying to breathe. It was horrible. But then his mouth quit moving, and that was even more horrible. Unbearable.Ethan’s stomach stopped rising. He blinked one more time, then his eyes lost focus.
My father roared.
I cried.
Ethan was gone.
Seventeen
Cockleburs cut into my heels. Twigs poked between my toes. Branches slapped my bare stomach and arms, drawing blood. I walked naked through the woods, my vision oddly blurred, turning here and there out of habit, like a plane on autopilot.
Goose bumps covered my skin, and moisture froze on my face. I felt it, but I didn’t really feel it. And I couldn’t smell my blood at all. I could only smell Ethan’s.
My father walked in front of me, bare shoulders shaking. He sobbed and choked, and my heart broke a little more with every sound. He held Ethan like a baby, my brother’s head limp over one arm, his feet dangling over the other.
I don’t remember Shifting. I don’t remember much of anything after Ethan died, until the walking. I remember walking in the woods. My hair was tangled and my hands were bloody. Ethan’s blood. I must have touched him.
But my father carried him. All the way home. At least half a mile.
Owen met us in cat form, about halfway there. He cried and roared and moaned. He tried to get Daddy to stop. To let him sniff Ethan and nuzzle him. But our father didn’t stop. He didn’t speak. He just walked.
We emerged from the woods into the backyard near the guesthouse, and had only gone a couple of steps when Dan burst from the back door of the house, still shirtless from his minor surgery. He ran toward us, but stopped when he saw Ethan. When he understood.
He shook his head. “Oh, no,” he whispered. But we all heard him.
My mother came next. She pushed open the screen door and came out wiping her hands on her apron. Then she saw us. Saw Ethan.
“Nononononono…!” The anguish echoing in her screams broke my heart all over again. She ran toward us, apron clutched to her chest. My father walked on, even when she got in his path, clinging to him. Stroking bloody locks of hair from Ethan’s face. “My baby boy…” She sobbed. Then, “Nonononono…”
As she screamed, a shadow fell over the back door from inside. Dr. Carver stepped onto the porch, his face frozen in a mask of shock. Jace followed, his right arm wrapped from elbow to wrist, the blood soaking through his bandages highlighted in the harsh glow from the porch bulb. He moved slowly, his face already pale with pain and blood loss. But when he saw Ethan, he paled more.
“Jace…” I said, but my voice cracked on that one familiar syllable.
He stood frozen on the top step, staring. He blinked and his jaw bulged rhythmically, as if he were trying to unclench it but couldn’t. Then he jogged down the steps and past us, tears glinting in the moonlight as they trailed down his cheeks. 
A second later, the guesthouse door slammed shut, and I flinched.