“What are you doing?” Jace demanded. “Get back in the bed.” He cradled my calf gently in both hands—as if the damn thing might break—and firmly guided it back onto the mattress.
“Let go, Jace.” My voice came out calm and commanding, and I must not have been the only one impressed by that fact, because he paused in midmotion. Evidently I was actually learning something in my training…“What’s wrong?” Marc asked, and I looked up to find him taking up most of the doorway. My father shot me a questioning look over his shoulder.
I scowled at them both. “I helped catch this stray and I’m damn well going to be there when you question him. If you’re taking him outside, I’m coming with you. And quit glaring at me—you’d all do the same thing in my place, and you know it.”
Marc sighed and glanced at Jace. “Did she take the pills?”
He nodded. “About five minutes ago.”
Marc frowned and shook his head at me. “You’re causing yourself more pain than necessary. Besides, you shouldn’t walk before you’ve had a chance to heal.”
I shrugged. “So I’ll Shift.”
“No.” His eyes were kind, but his tone was not. “Doc says you need at least twenty-four hours to heal naturally. Then you can try Shifting to speed it up.”
“You didn’t wait that long.” I stared pointedly at the new claw marks on his arm, which were little more than scabbed stripes now.
“Mine were only scratches, and I couldn’t afford to wait. You can.”
“Whatever. If you take him outside, I’m going, too.” I pivoted slowly, grimacing when I swung both legs carefully over the side of the bed. Jace sighed and rolled his eyes, shrugging helplessly at Marc.
“Get your stubborn ass back in that bed before I tie you to it!” Marc growled, and irritation shot up my spine, hot, fast, and invigorating.
“If you think you can do it, come give it a try!” To prove my butt was firmly in place behind my mouth, I gripped the nightstand hard enough to make the wood creak and stood carefully, gritting my teeth against both the pain and that creepy tugging sensation in my stomach.
An angry growl rumbled from Marc’s throat, and he marched toward me. But he only made it two steps before my father spoke from the living room. “We’ll stay inside. Jace, bring her in here. If she wants to be a part of this and is willing to work through the pain, so be it.”
Smirking at Marc, I wrapped one arm around Jace’s shoulder as he bent for me. But then Marc cleared his throat and nodded pointedly at my bare knees. “Forgetting something?”
Shit. Pants. Jeans would be too rough on my stomach, but I was not going to face the asshole who’d nearly disemboweled me without the dignity of being fully clothed. Even if he wasn’t.
Jace smiled in sympathy. “I’ll help you get dres—”
“Out,” Marc snarled. “I’ve got it covered.”
Jace closed the door as he left and Marc was already rooting through the suitcase on my dresser for something suitable. “How ’bout this?” He held up a new pair of low-slung red satin pajama pants, clearly trying to picture me in them.
I grinned. “That’s fine. Find the shirt and help me change.” I’d planned to wear the real pj’s around the cabin to tempt him. But I hadn’t counted on injury dictating the timing.
A minute later, I stood in nothing but the scarlet pajama halter top and my underwear. My heart lurched when Marc knelt in front of me. My breath lodged in my throat when his hands slid slowly up my thighs and over my hips, pulling the waistband of my pants into place. His fingers scorched my skin, yet left chill bumps in their wake, and I nearly moaned aloud when he sat back, dropping those gifted hands into his lap.
I gripped the headboard, hoping he’d think the throbbing in my stomach was what threatened my balance. But it wasn’t. As usual, my problem was Marc, and the taste he’d just given me of what we used to share. But a taste wasn’t enough, not then, and not ever. I wanted the whole damn meal.
Frantic for some semblance of self-control, I stared into the mirror, silently ordering myself to forget about Marc and focus on the job at hand. And when that didn’t work, I flexed my stomach, counting on the fresh wave of pain to ground me.
It worked, and I sucked in an agonized breath. Son of a bitch!
Marc stood and I had to look up to meet his suddenly grave expression. “You don’t have to do this,” he said, rubbing my arms, as if to warm them. “It won’t be pretty.”
“I know.” I’d never seen an actual interrogation, but I knew the basics of what it would entail, and I knew that watching Marc beat information out of a bound and helpless man—even one who’d nearly disemboweled me—would likely horrify me.
I also knew it was necessary. We needed information. The stray probably had it, and almost certainly wouldn’t want to part with it. The lives of the human men and women scouring the mountain were worth more than the comfort of one man who might know something that could save them.
No real enforcer would be squeamish about doing what had to be done. And red satin pj’s notwithstanding, I was a real enforcer.
Marc saw the decision in my eyes and nodded solemnly. Without another word of protest, he scooped me into a careful cradle-hold, and I smiled through the pain as he edged us out the door into the living room.
He carried me past the stray, who still knelt—naked—on the floor, then lowered me into the chair Michael had taken from the breakfast table. I sat nearer the kitchen than the couch, well out of the action, should something go wrong. But I was out of bed and officially part of the proceedings, so I was pretty pleased, all things considered.
Now if only those damn pills would kick in…
Michael and Jace took up posts on either side of my chair, while Lucas sank onto the couch behind the kneeling stray, one hand on the prisoner’s bound wrists, to hold him in place. Marc assumed the position of honor in front of our unwilling guest. He towered over the stray, who hung his head, refusing to look at any of us.
“Let me explain how this works.” Marc’s voice was colder and more detached than I’d ever heard it. “We ask the questions. You get one chance to answer on your own. If you don’t take that chance, I convince you to cooperate. This can be as easy as you want to make it. Of course, the opposite is also true. Ready to give it a shot?”
The detainee made no response.
On the edge of the room, my father stood with one arm folded over his chest, the opposite hand stroking the graying stubble on his chin. “Let’s keep this one neat, please.” He paused to survey the arrangement of old, worn furniture and the dingy walls. “I don’t want to have to repaint the place before we go, like in Abilene.”“Yeah, sorry about that.” Marc nodded grimly, and the stray’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.
Repaint? I didn’t even want to know what they’d had to cover up in Abilene. Maybe I’m not as ready for this as I thought…
Ten
Marc stood in front of the stray kneeling naked on the floor. “What’s your name?” he asked. The stray didn’t move. Didn’t even acknowledge the question. “Your name, or your nose.” Marc’s fingers popped as they curled into a fist at his right side, and my mouth went dry.
The stray scowled up at Marc, defiance stark in his bearing, in spite of his nudity and humbled pose. “You have no right to—”
Marc glanced at my father, who nodded, and my throat constricted around the heart-size lump lodged in it.
“Wrong answer.” Marc’s fist flew. Bone crunched. Bright red droplets sprayed his jeans and the floor. The stray gurgled, coughing and choking on his own blood as it poured down his face and over his chest.
My eyes closed and I swallowed back revulsion. It’s part of his job, I told myself, uncomforted by the truth much as I was by the necessity. And by the knowledge that in the line of duty, I’d punched several strays in search of a name. But I’d never made one kneel naked and bound on the ground before me, and that part of the procedure bothered me more than I wanted to admit. It reminded me of a time when I’d been bound and at the mercy of a man standing over me.
Jace’s hand landed on my shoulder, and I opened my eyes to look at him. His face was carefully blank, a skill I envied.
“Your name,” Marc repeated, and I turned my attention back to the spectacle in progress, which didn’t appear to be upsetting anyone else.
“Zeke.” The stray spit blood on the floor at Marc’s feet, eyeing him in defiance, which I had to kind of admire. “Radley. Zeke Radley.”
“And what are you doing here, Mr. Radley?”
The stray cleared his throat and spat more blood on the floor, tossing a strand of brown hair from his forehead. “I was chasing a downed alien spacecraft.” No one seemed very amused by Radley’s ill-timed attempt at humor, least of all Marc, whose arms bulged in anger. But the stray was unperturbed. “I thought this was free territory. Was I wrong?”
“Where did you hear that?”
Radley shrugged, which looked painful with his hands taped behind his back. “Some cat told me. Did I cross some kind of boundary? If so, you guys do a piss-poor job of marking your territory. No pun intended.”