Pride (Shifters #3)(35)

“So you’re willing to risk Faythe’s life to help some cat you don’t even know?”
I gaped at Marc, surprised by how callous he sounded. “She’s not just some cat. She’s practically a child. A sick, scared child who probably has no idea where she is or how she got here.” Not to mention the fact that she was a tabby. Some Alpha’s daughter. And whoever her father was, he would not be pleased to know we let her suffer, especially out of cowardice.When Marc appeared unmoved by my argument, Dr. Carver stepped in again, the dim light from the hall fixture shining on his short brown beard. “Faythe won’t be in any real danger, Marc. We’ll be right here with tranquilizers, and if anything goes wrong, we can sedate the tabby and get Faythe out immediately.”
“Why don’t you just shoot her up now and force her Shift?” Marc asked.
“Because I need her responsive to properly treat her. I don’t have the supplies for an IV with me, so she’ll need to take liquids and medication orally. If I have to knock her out again, I will, but I’m leaving that as a last resort.”
Finally, I saw conflict in Marc’s eyes. It wasn’t that he didn’t care about the tabby, but that he cared too much about me to let me risk injury—even to help a scared young woman. But I couldn’t leave her alone and suffering, even long enough for the Alphas to argue their way to a decision. My mind kept returning to the memory of my cousin Abby, alone and scared in a basement prison, and I just couldn’t do it.
I turned my back on Marc to face the doc. “What do you need me to do? Get her to Shift?”
Dr. Carver nodded. “For starters. Then talk her into letting me treat her. And her name would come in handy too.”
“Got it.”
Marc scowled, an impressive imitation of my father. “Faythe…”
I whirled on him, irritation sparking in my veins. “I’m going in there to help her. You can either stay here and watch my back—and you know there’s no one I trust more—or you can go tattle and get us all in trouble.”
“The shit will hit the fan anyway, once the Alphas wake up. You’re just delaying the inevitable.”
“Precisely. By the time they find out, the tabby will be eating breakfast—in human form—and ready to spill her guts. And I’ll be safe and sound. That has to count for something.”
Marc sighed, and I knew I’d won. He’d just told my father that I needed to take on more responsibility, and he wasn’t about to go tattle on me now for doing that very thing. “I’ll be right here listening, and if she takes so much as a step in your direction, I’m pulling you out of there, so stay clear of the door. Got it?”
I nodded. “Fine.”
“And you’re going to take something to defend yourself with. Where’s that damn meat mallet?” He glanced pointedly at Lucas, who took off immediately for the stairs.
“Stop it, Lucas.” I glared at Marc. “She’s never going to trust anyone who comes in wielding a weapon.”
Marc rubbed his forehead, as if staving off a headache. “At least take one of those damn tranquilizers.” 
“Done.” I could live with that. “Where…?”
Dr. Carver pulled a red-capped syringe from the pocket of his khakis and set it in my outstretched palm. “Loaded and ready to go,” he said as I slipped the slim needle into the hip pocket of my jeans. “Be careful not to break it.”
“No problem.”
I reached for the doorknob, and the first threads of doubt wound through me, in spite of my bravado for Marc’s sake. Even the smallest, least experienced tabby cat in the world could do serious damage to an unarmed human if provoked. Dr. Carver’s arm was proof of that. Sucking in a deep breath, I wrapped my hand around the knob. “Here goes nothing.”
I turned the knob, pushed open the door, and stepped into the room, pleased to note that Dr. Carver had left the light on. No furry black blur leapt out of nowhere to maul me, so I exhaled in relief and closed the door. So far, so good.
For a moment, I stood still and silent, taking in the two twin beds, each beneath a small window, and identical plywood nightstands. Between the beds was a bare strip of wall and an oval braided rug. Against opposite walls sat cheap matching dressers, one for each theoretical occupant. Other than that, the room looked empty. The tabby was either under one of the beds or in the closet.
As the sound of my own rushing pulse faded from my ears, it was replaced by a low-pitched rumbling sound. The tabby was growling at me.
Suddenly I wished I’d knocked before opening the door. I didn’t like it when people walked into my bedroom unannounced, so why should she?
“Um…hi,” I said, still scanning the apparently empty room. “Where are you? Under the bed?” I took a step forward, and reached to lift the blanket draping the nearest bed, but before I could, the growling grew louder and its source moved. She wasn’t under the bed; she was between it and the right-hand wall.
One more step forward, and I could see her. She lay curled up in the corner, every muscle tense, her head high and alert. Her ears swiveled in my direction, to best catch the sounds of my approach. With each breath, her chest rose and fell, ribs standing out in the glare from the light overhead.
I squatted slowly, to put myself on her level, and big greenish eyes followed my movement. “My name is Faythe, and I’d really like to help you. Can I get you anything? Something to eat?” She had to be hungry.
Though her eyes never left my face, the tabby stopped growling, and I took that as a sign she understood me. Love, my ass. The international language is food.
Encouraged by the fact that she hadn’t yet tried to kill me, I took another step forward—then froze in place when her growl rumbled back to life.
Okaaaayy, we’ll take it very slooowly.
“You know, this would be much easier if you would Shift. That way you could actually tell me what you want to eat. Or your name. Or exactly how far you’d like me to shove this olive branch up my ass.”
The tabby snorted. She was laughing! “Aaaah, you do understand me.” I smiled, and pride bubbled up inside me. I bet Dr. Carver didn’t get her to laugh. Or even listen. “So what do you say about Shifting? If you’re worried about your clothes, I’m sure I have something you can wear for now.”
The tabby’s eyes narrowed, an oddly human gesture, but perfectly understandable, especially once she cocked her head to one side. “You don’t understand me?” I paused, as another possibility occurred to me. “Or you don’t like what I’m saying… Is it the clothes? You don’t want to wear my clothes?”
That made sense. Werecats have very sensitive noses, even in human form, and she’d be surrounded by my scent if she wore my clothes, even if they came right out of the dryer. I wouldn’t want to walk around smelling like anyone else. Except maybe Marc…“I can send someone out for new clothes, if you want. And you can wear a sheet or a towel in the meantime. Would that work?”
She tilted her head again, and I frowned. Maybe she really didn’t understand me…
“I need a sign that you know what I’m saying. How ’bout a head nod? Nod your head if you understand me.” Of course, if she didn’t want to do that either, I’d never know whether we were having a communication problem, or she was just stubborn.
The tabby nodded hesitantly.
“Good. Wonderful.” Now we’re getting somewhere. “Okay, are my clothes the problem? You don’t want to wear my clothes? Nod for yes, shake your head for no.”
This time she just stared at me, not moving her head in either direction. Hmm. Maybe my questions weren’t very clear. She’d responded to the mention of food earlier…
“Are you hungry?” I asked, and the tabby nodded in slow, exaggerated motions. Awesome. “Can I send someone to the kitchen for food?”
Instead of nodding, she glanced at the door. In cat form, she could probably hear them breathing, whereas I only heard feet shuffle on carpet as they listened to our one-sided conversation.
“So, no food? Or no guys? You want me to get it myself?” I backed toward the door, and the tabby swung her head back and forth vehemently, rising to sit on her haunches. “No? You want me to stay?”
Her head bobbed again, and a smile stole over my face. She liked me. Or she at least preferred me to a group of strange men. Either way, it was a good start.
“How ’bout lasagna? I think there’s some left from supper.” The tabby shook her head, so I tried again. “Chicken? We had fried chicken last night.”
She nodded again, and the tips of my fingers tingled in excitement. Accepting food from me meant she was starting to trust me. Either that, or she was starving, and the clear view of every one of her ribs told me which answer was more likely. “Okay, I’ll be right back. I’m just going to give your order to the waiter. Okay?”
After a moment’s hesitation, she nodded reluctantly, and I slipped into the hall before she could change her mind.
“What happened?” Carver asked the minute the door closed behind me. He and Lucas stood across from the door, eyeing me eagerly. Marc stood to the left, syringe in one fist, ready to burst in, should I need him. But I was pretty sure I wouldn’t now.