He chuckled. “Except that.”
Of course. The Alphas would never let a pizza driver on the premises.
I sipped from the straw, and my throat felt better immediately. When I’d had enough, Jace replaced the cup. “Want me to help you sit up? The doc left some pain pills for you, but you’ll probably choke on them if you try it lying down.”
“Yeah, thanks.”
Jace bent over the bed and hooked his hands under my arms, supporting my weight as I slowly pushed myself into a sitting position, leaning on a pillow propped against the headboard. My abdomen screamed in protest, and my skin seemed to pull tight around the stitches. I couldn’t squelch the fear that if I moved too suddenly the threads would rip through my flesh and I’d have to be sewn up again.
Fortunately that didn’t happen. The worst of it was finding a comfortable position once I was upright. I squeezed my eyes shut and clenched the blanket in both fists as the first wave of pain washed over me.
“Here, take these. They’ll help.” Jace poured three round white pills from a bottle beside the nightstand, and my eyes widened in surprise over the size of the bottle. He smiled. “You’ll be thankful for that soon. You’re supposed to take these for the first twenty-four hours, then try Shifting to speed things along.”
I stared at the pills on my open palm. “Three of them?”
He shrugged. “I took four every four hours after Manx shot me. They wear off fast. Anyway, your dad told the doc to make sure you feel good. I think he’s afraid to put the hearing off any more than necessary.”
He wasn’t the only one. I was more than ready to have it over with, even if I had to hear the verdict flat on my back. I washed the pills down with another gulp of the water he held for me.
“Where’s Marc?” I asked, suddenly concerned by the silence from the rest of the cabin. A frown flitted across Jace’s face, and I immediately felt guilty. Like everyone else, he knew Marc and I had broken up, and he probably knew why. Secrets were hard to keep in a werecat household, because everyone could hear through the walls.
But Jace had to know I wanted Marc back, so I tried not to talk about one in front of the other. And to move on quickly when I forgot. “They’re not questioning the stray without me, are they?”
“Not yet. He woke up about an hour ago, but the Alphas are still talking to Marc. They called him in after me, to question him about what happened out there.” His sweeping gesture took in my entire body, and a second pang of guilt followed hot on the heels of the first.
“They’re not blaming you guys for this, are they?”
Jace glanced away and gave me a noncommittal shrug. “Calvin would love to, but your dad’s running interference.” Since the rogues in the forest technically had nothing to do with my hearing, my father would lead the inquiry. Thank goodness.
“I’ll set them straight,” I promised, frowning in anger. “It was my idea, and neither of you could have stopped me if you’d tried.”
Jace smiled as his hand settled over mine. “That’s exactly what your dad said.”
I grinned, pleased to hear that my father was coming around. That he was thinking of me as an enforcer again, instead of as a child to be protected. Now if I could only make the tribunal see things my way…“What happened to you guys out there anyway?” I asked, remembering the screech of an unfamiliar cat and the fresh claw marks on Marc’s arm.
Jace leaned against my headboard and rubbed his forehead, then met my eyes with regret shining in his. “Damn, Faythe, I am so sorry about that. We heard someone thrashing through the forest. It was so loud and obvious, we thought it had to be you baiting the stray.” He shrugged. “Obviously it wasn’t, but by the time we figured out it was another of the strays, he’d circled behind us.
“Marc must have heard him pounce, because he dodged just in time, but the bastard still got in one good swipe before I could get there. He ran off when I arrived, but by then we’d lost you. If you hadn’t shouted, we might not have found you in time.” He shook his head again, and his face held so much shame and guilt I could hardly stand to look into it. “I’m so sorry.”
I waved off his apology. “Hey, I’m a big girl. I got myself into this mess.” Fortunately, it all worked out in the end. Except for these damn stitches.
I reached for the water on the nightstand, and the blanket whispered against my legs as I moved. Jace tried to get the cup for me when I winced in pain, but I shook my head. Being babied wouldn’t get me out of bed any faster. Determined to get up and going, I drained the cup in several long gulps.
“Want some more?” Jace asked.
I set the cup down and sat straighter in the bed, ignoring the tugging sensation in my stomach. “Think you could snag me a Coke instead?”
“Absolutely.” Jace carried my cup through the living room and into the kitchen. He left the bedroom door open, and I was surprised to realize that the stray was visible through the gap.
He lay nude on the floor in front of the couch, on his stomach, with his head turned away from me. Thick coils of duct tape secured his wrists behind his back, and matching strips bound his legs at the ankles and again just below the knees.
A booted foot sat in front of the armchair next to my bedroom door, its owner no doubt guarding the stray while everyone else was busy with me or answering questions for the Alphas.
I couldn’t see the prisoner’s face, but a quick sniff of the air verified his identity. He had nondescript straight brown hair, tousled from his run in the woods. Or maybe from trying to wrestle free from his bonds. He was thin but obviously strong, lean muscles standing out from slim arms and legs. I considered calling out so he’d turn his head, because I was curious to know if his eyes were that same greenish-brown color in human form. And I was even more curious to hear what he had to say for himself.
But before I could act on my curiosity, the cabin’s front door opened. I couldn’t see the door from my bed, but another sniff told me who had entered: Marc, my father and Michael. The gang’s all here.
“He’s awake,” Marc said, and the stray’s head jerked up at the sound. He struggled against his bindings, thrashing on the floor and kicking his legs as best he could with them bound together. From the muffled sound of his cries, I was guessing the stray’s mouth was taped shut, probably over a gag of some sort.
“Pick him up.” My father’s distinctive footsteps headed away from my room. “Faythe’s awake, too?” The new echo of his voice said he was in the kitchen now, where soda fizzed as Jace filled my cup.
Jace must have nodded, because I didn’t hear his answer, but a moment later, my father stepped into my room, cup in hand. “How do you feel?” he asked as Jace followed him in.
Like crap. “Fine. Much better.” I smiled and accepted the soda he held out.
“Good. After I take care of our guest, I’ll give you an update,” my father said. I nodded, and he returned to the living room while Jace sat in the chair by my bed.
Framed by my doorway now, Marc and my cousin Lucas—the owner of the boot I’d seen—lifted the thrashing stray, each gripping one of his arms. They set him on his knees in the middle of the bare floor, and I could see his profile, a long, crooked nose and a single thick brown eyebrow.
Marc bent close to the detainee and gripped his chin in one hand, and the stray tried to shrink backward. Marc tended to have that effect on people. “I’m gonna take this off your mouth, but that does not mean you get to talk. Got it?”
The stray hesitated, and Marc’s expression hardened, his gold-flecked eyes darkening, beautiful lips thinning in anger. It was the face he saved for trespassers. The one that said he’d broken plenty of skulls before, and wouldn’t hesitate to do so again at the slightest provocation. That face was how he got his job done so quickly and so thoroughly. Along with those fists.
Sometimes it was hard for me to reconcile the angry fists clenched at his sides with the gentle hands that touched me. That used to touch me, anyway.
“Got it?” Marc repeated, and the stray nodded hesitantly. Marc scratched at one corner of the tape to loosen it, then ripped it off in one quick motion. The stray screamed around whatever was in his mouth, and I got the distinct impression that in this case, ripping the Band-Aid off quickly wasn’t so much a mercy as a brutal warning.
The stray’s jaw worked, muscles flexing behind the furious red skin of his cheek as he tried to spit out his gag. Marc and Lucas watched with cold detachment born of years of training. Half a minute later, the stray finally spit a damp white cloth onto the floor at his knees, and I noticed with a jolt of alarm that it was spotted with blood.
Straining forward in spite of the pain in my stomach, I studied what I could see of the stray’s face and decided he had a fat lip, no doubt the source of the blood. Someone had roughed him up pretty good, hopefully in response to some resistance he’d offered after waking.
My father stepped into sight beside Marc. “I miss my basement already,” he mumbled. “Take him outside.”
“No!” I shouted, and all heads turned my way. I threw back the comforter, mildly surprised to find my legs bare. Pressing one hand to my stomach, I shifted my left leg onto the floor in spite of the pain ripping through my middle with each movement.