Since Kevin Mitchell had acted like a criminal, we’d interred him like one. Jace and Carver had buried him in the dark, in the woods, in an unmarked hole in the ground more than a mile from where Vic and Parker buried Peter Yarnell. Which was more than a mile from where Marc and I buried Dan, so that if one of the bodies was ever discovered, its connection to the others would remain buried.
Dan Painter’s grave was the hardest one I’d ever had to dig, and filling it in was even more difficult. Yes, he’d made some really bad decisions, and yes, those decisions had nearly gotten several of us killed. But in the end, he’d saved Marc’s life, and I couldn’t help but attribute that to my certainty that he’d genuinely liked Marc and treasured their friendship, as well as my conviction that he was a fundamentally good person.
Then, of course, there was the fact that I’d made more than my own fair share of mistakes in the past, which had also cost at least one life, and nearly cost several more. Knowing that, and that Dan had died making an important stand, I couldn’t help the tears I shed as we tossed dirt in on top of him. And I could have sworn I saw Marc’s eyes glisten, too, in the mottled moonlight shining between the bare branches overhead.
At my father’s insistence, Marc had agreed to stay through Ethan’s funeral. We hadn’t bothered to clear the visit with the other Alphas, because anyone who supported my dad would approve, and anyone who didn’t would disapprove. In short, telling them would change nothing, so we’d exercised our right to remain silent.
Marc must have known how I felt. He must have seen that I was near my breaking point, because after he pulled me from my chair, he held me close. He was careful of my right arm and its cast, already covered in signatures and inappropriate jokes from every tom I knew. And from Kaci, who’d written her name in flowery letters in a pink Sharpie, in one of her latelyrare moments of levity. When I groaned over the color, she’d even smiled. For nearly five seconds.
I hugged Marc back with my good arm, and fresh tears fell on his shoulder and my black dress, in spite of my best effort to hold them back.
I’d been fine during the service. We’d buried Ethan beneath the apple tree in the east field, with an arched granite headstone. I’d held it together for the entire burial, and had even spoken at the graveside. I’d said the things everyone expected to hear from the dead tom’s sister: Ethan was loyal and funny and protective. When we were little, he was the brother most likely to make me cry—and mostly likely to wipe away my tears. He died doing what he loved to do, and we couldn’t honor him more than to remember him at his best and lift a glass in his memory.My voice only cracked once, when I caught sight of my three remaining brothers, all lined up across the grave from me. Michael stood with Holly on his right—a rare appearance at the ranch, and one we’d all been briefed on—and Owen on his left, his formal black cowboy hat held over his chest, his eyes rimmed in red and magnified by tears. Ryan flanked Owen’s other side, after a surprise appearance that morning.
Only my mother had looked more relieved than truly surprised.
My father was just as upset as the rest of us, but not too upset to notice that his prodigal son had returned. Again. I had no doubt he would soon find out exactly how Ryan had gotten out of the cage—and how he’d known about Ethan. After the funeral.
“Let’s get it over with.” Marc kissed my forehead, then guided me gently but firmly toward the hallway. We passed my mirror on the way out of my room, and I noticed that the blue bruise-bloom on my cheek was finally fading, and with it, the memory of my fight for my life. And for Marc’s, and Jace’s, and Dr. Carver’s.
Marc looked pretty good, considering how long he’d spent outside in below-freezing temperatures, with no food or water. And that his skull had turned out to be fractured. He’d been Shifting at least once a day to accelerate the healing of his head and too many bruises to count.
We stopped in the living room first and said hi to Bert Di Carlo and my uncle Rick, my father’s strongest supporters. They stood near the front window, sipping whiskey from short, thick glasses, and the sight of them gave me a nauseating moment of déjà vu. They’d stood in that same spot the day we found out Sara Di Carlo had been murdered.
Of course today’s crowd was much smaller than the gathering that day, because thanks to the current Grand Canyon-size division in the council, nearly half of the Alphas had not been invited. But Paul Blackwell, the acting chairman, had made an official visit, and true to character, he’d remained professional and impartial. And unfailingly polite, especially to my mother.
After brief words with my uncle and Vic’s father, Marc and I circled the room somberly, greeting the congregated toms in dark suits, then made our way to one corner of the room, where Michael stood with Holly. I could tell from his posture and the tense line of his mouth that something was wrong.
“It’s because they’re all in mourning,” he was saying as we approached. “It has nothing to do with you.”
“I don’t know, Michael,” Holly insisted. Her voice was like honey: smooth, and almost too sweet to stomach. “I don’t think they like me. Everyone looks at me like I come from another planet.”
Michael smiled tightly and tucked a golden strand of hair behind her ear. “They just don’t know how to act around a famous model.”
Or a human woman at a werecat funeral, I thought, smiling at him from behind his tall, twig-thin wife.
“Hi, Holly, thanks for coming.” I rested one hand briefly on the tan shoulder exposed by her sleeveless black dress.
“Of course. I’m so sorry about Ethan. He seemed so full of life, and twenty-five is so young to die. What was he doing in that tree, anyway?”
“He was just messing around. Just being Ethan.”
We’d told Holly that he’d fallen out of our apple tree and broken his neck. We said he’d died instantly, and that there was no obvious pain or fear. The truth was somewhat different, of course, but everyone who really knew Ethan knew he’d died a hero, and that was all that really mattered.
He would be remembered.
“Faythe, what did you do to your arm?” Holly eyed my cast in obvious horror, and I wasn’t sure if she was more upset by the thought of a broken bone, or by the fact that my scribbled-all-over cast didn’t match my funeral dress.
“I tripped and fell on a hike a couple of days ago. Sucks, ‘cause I’m right-handed.”
“I’m sure. So, how do you put on makeup…?” Her question faded into awkward silence as her focus moved from my cast to my bruised face, which was bare in comparison. “Oh.” Holly wisely brought her cup up to her mouth, likely to avoid shoving her foot back in, and Marc rescued me—or maybe her—by claiming we had to check on Kaci.
As we walked away, Holly’s latest question followed us. “These men are your father’s colleagues? They don’t look like architects….”
I chuckled at Michael’s weary sigh, then followed Marc down the hall and into my dad’s office. Kaci sat at one end of the couch, playing a silent game of chess with Jace. She was beating him. Badly. But then, that was no surprise.
“Hey.” She looked up from the board briefly when we entered the room.
“Hey, Whiskers.” Marc scuffed the top of her head and leaned against the couch at her side. To my surprise, when we’d returned to the ranch, Kaci had greeted us in cat form, rubbing her whiskers against my leg in welcome. Marc had rarely used her real name since.
I sank onto the love seat next to Kaci, eyeing the pieces on the board. “I think you’ll have him in—”
“Three more moves. I know.” She moved her rook into place with no hint of a smile. Kaci had sniffled all through the service, then had refused lunch, claiming an upset stomach. But the truth was that she’d seen enough of death in her short life but hadn’t yet learned how to deal with it.
Hell, neither had I. Unfortunately, I was fairly certain we’d get plenty of practice in the near future.
Jace watched me while Kaci contemplated her next move, his eyes red from both tears and exhaustion, and the intimacy in that look jarred the breath from my lungs. But he’d kept his word; he hadn’t so much as hugged me since we’d found Marc. Not even when they’d lowered Ethan into the ground and covered him with earth, though I know his heart was breaking just as surely as mine was.
He’d stood beside the coffin, jaw clenched, fists curled tightly at his sides, eyes shining with unshed tears. Then he’d met my gaze from across the grave, and the misery in his eyes took hold of my heart with a grip of iron. For several seconds I couldn’t breathe. I was stunned by the depth of his need, and scared witless by the knowledge that I could ease the ache in his heart. And that he could return the favor.
Fresh tears formed in his eyes as he watched me across the chessboard. But his grief hid something new. A very changed Jace, just waiting to take the stage.When Ethan died, he’d taken part of Jace with him. The tolerant, even-tempered, jovial part that had made him easy to love but hard to take seriously. What was left was raw emotion and a steel glint of determination in his eyes worthy of any Alpha. Jace wanted only two things out of life now, and I understood that once he’d regained his equilibrium, he’d do whatever it took to attain them.