Pride (Shifters #3)(30)

When he and Jace had Shifted, they headed off into the woods for a four-hour session to relieve one of the teams out looking for the human hikers. Marc and Jace returned around five-thirty, exhausted and disheartened at having made no progress.
The human hikers had been missing for three days. Brett Malone had been mauled twenty-six hours earlier, and we’d found no sign of the strays we suspected were responsible for both. And to top all that off, I felt completely useless, because my stomach still hurt like hell.
As I watched Marc pop open a can of Coke after his shift in the woods, my gaze fell on his newly healed wounds and I knew what I had to do.
It was time for me to Shift—the sooner I healed, the sooner I could get my butt off the couch and into gear. My eyes slid briefly to the closed bedroom door next to mine, behind which my father had finally fallen asleep.
I should probably ask him first. But I didn’t, because he’d tell me to wait until the twenty-four-hour mark. Instead, I dug my cell phone from my pocket. While the guys watched, Michael frowning in disapproval, though he couldn’t have known what I was doing, I speed-dialed Dr. Carver’s cell, which we all kept programmed for medical emergencies. He’d talked the guys through more than a few tourniquets over the years. And a couple of broken bones, as well.
“Hello?” Dr. Carver answered on the second ring. “Faythe? What’s up?”
“I’m going to try Shifting.”
Silence settled over the line for a moment, and in the background Brett asked if it was supposed to hurt when he inhaled. “Give me ten minutes to get done here.” The doc’s voice held no doubt or judgment of any kind. I heard only acceptance of my decision and a willingness to help, which was a really nice change.
My father was awake by the time Carver arrived—I strongly suspect Michael woke him—which meant there were four extra sets of eyes staring at my stomach when Dr. Carver examined my lacerations beneath the fluorescent fixture in the kitchen, the brightest source of light in the cabin.“Excellent needlework, if I do say so myself.” The doc leaned forward in one of the dining chairs to peer closer at my stitches. “Well…” He sat up, making contact with my eyes this time, instead of my abs. “It’s not going to feel good, that’s for certain. Are you sure you’re ready to try? It won’t hurt to wait one more day…”
“I cannot sit on that couch doing nothing for the next twenty-four hours. All I want to know is whether or not Shifting will actually accelerate the healing. Is there any chance it could tear the skin more?” The very thought of which was enough to make me sick to my stomach.
Dr. Carver blinked, then glanced at my father before answering me. “It would have done more damage than good if you’d Shifted last night. But a few hours can make a big difference. You’ve already started to heal, and with any luck, the stitches will hold.” He shrugged. “If you’re feeling up to it, I say give it a try. Assuming that’s okay with the powers that be, of course.” And with that, his gaze slid back to the Alpha.
My father frowned as he studied the earnest hope surely plain on my face. I knew what he was thinking: Malone would never go for it. The tribunal didn’t want me to Shift because they knew that if I decided to run, they probably couldn’t catch me. I was the smallest—therefore the lightest—cat in our cabin complex, and I’d spent my entire life outrunning my four brothers just to emerge from childhood intact. That, plus my recent enforcer training labeled me a huge flight risk in their eyes, and no matter how often or sincerely I promised them I wouldn’t go, they didn’t believe me. The real bitch of it was that considering my history, I couldn’t really blame them.
But now that I was injured, things had changed. I couldn’t outrun an armadillo with four holes in my stomach, not to mention the ones in my chest. Surely even Malone would understand that.
Finally my father exhaled slowly, and the mischief sparkling in his eyes lent youth to his features. “Danny, are you saying Faythe needs to Shift to facilitate healing her lacerations?”
Wide-eyed, Dr. Carver nodded eagerly, clearly catching on. “The sooner she Shifts, the quicker she’ll heal, thus the faster she’ll be ready to continue with the hearing.”
“We don’t really have a choice, then.” A hint of a grin peeked through my father’s typically stern expression. “Faythe, you’re going to have to Shift for your own good, and you may as well get it over with now, so the tribunal doesn’t accuse us of trying to delay your hearing.”
Jace scratched his nose to hide a smile, but I didn’t bother. I’d only been allowed to Shift once every two weeks—currently considered the bare minimum for a werecat to maintain good physical and mental health—and even then I’d been heavily supervised. I was nearing the end of my two-week cycle of abstention, and the thought that I might have to leave the mountains without experiencing them on four paws was making me almost as crazy as the accusation that brought me there in the first place. 
“I’d like to observe your Shift,” Dr. Carver said. “In case anything goes wrong.”
“Fine.” As badly as I hated having my Shift ogled, I was not going to give up my chance to frolic in the woods over something so trivial.
My father nodded, and it was official. “After you Shift, you have half an hour to exercise. Make sure everything still works.”
“I’m injured, not eighty,” I complained, but he ignored my interruption.
“The strays are still out there, Faythe, and the fact that they’ve abandoned their hideout means they probably know we’re looking for them. Stay close to our cabin and away from the main lodge. And stay within sight of your escorts at all time. Escorts?” My father’s eyes roamed the room, and no one was surprised to see Marc and Jace each raise one hand silently. “Fine.” His gaze returned to me. “After your half hour, come back here and let Danny watch over your Shift back. And Faythe?”
“Yes, Daddy?” I stared up at him with my innocent face fixed firmly in place. He wasn’t falling for it. He never had.
“Don’t do anything stupid or dangerous. Understand? You are not fully healed, and you won’t be after a single Shift. Doing too much too fast will only hurt you worse. No tree climbing, no long-distance leaping, and no hunting. Just a little light exercise. Got it?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
Of course, like “be good,” “mind your own business,” and “play nice with the boys,” “light exercise” was open to interpretation. Right?
Twelve

Stretchy red boyshorts slid down my legs to land inside my pajama pants, already pooled on the ground around my feet. Tempering my eagerness with a slow breath of caution, I stretched my arms over my head, pulling my pajama top along for the ride. It landed with my other clothes, and I shivered as the frigid breeze brushed my goose-pimply skin. It wasn’t every evening I stood naked in the mountains.
On either side of me, Marc and Jace were well into their respective transformations, writhing on all fours among dead leaves and cold dirt.
Teeth chattering, I glanced over my shoulder at our cabin, easily visible through gaps in the bare branches. We’d stopped a few feet into the woods so that if anything went wrong, the doc wouldn’t have to go far for help. In fact, he’d only have to shout, because my father’s silhouette was clearly outlined in the front window, holding a mug-shaped shadow.
“Ready?” Dr. Carver asked, and I turned to face both him and the Shift that was starting to make me nervous, in spite of my earlier bravado and enthusiasm. I nodded, and he smiled supportively. “Now remember, if it hurts too badly, you can always reverse the Shift and wait another day. Or even a few hours. And if you feel any unusual ripping or popping sensations in your stomach, stop Shifting immediately and let me take a look.”
I nodded again, too nervous to speak. After more than a decade of Shifting on a mostly regular basis, I knew what was normal for my body and what wasn’t. “If anything goes wrong, you’ll be the first to know.”
“Good.” He made a sweeping gesture at the ground. “Have at it.”
Marc had fully Shifted by then, and he sat on his haunches next to the doctor, where they could both watch me carefully. Jace was entering the final stages of his own transformation, so I lowered myself carefully onto my knees next to him, distracting myself from the painful tugging sensation in my gut by breathing deeply to take in the recognizable yet different scents of an unfamiliar forest.As I put weight onto first one hand, then the other, I mentally cataloged the scents of pine needles, which we had in East Texas, bear dander, which we didn’t have in East Texas, and some kind of sweet, winter-blooming vine I wish we had in our private slice of nature.
Something crackled through a pile of leaves on my right, and my nose twitched, easily identifying a mouse fleeing from my scent even as I discovered his. If I had paws, you’d make a good snack, little mouse. As if the thought triggered my Shift, the first surge of pain rippled across my back and down my limbs, convulsing my major muscle systems in a graceless dance of agony.
I gave myself over to the pain, letting the Shift choose its own path through my body, as I’d learned to do more than a decade earlier. If I tried to force it in one direction or another, I’d pay the price with more and prolonged pain.