“This isn’t part of the hearing.” Marc pushed back his chair and stood, facing off against Malone. “She saved your son’s life, and the least you owe her is your gratitude. In lieu of that, she deserves the chance to tell us what happened.”My heart thumped against my rib cage, and my skin tingled with excitement. Marc was saying everything I wanted to say to Malone, and I felt as if I should contribute something to his argument. A show of solidarity. But other than a thick, foggy amazement, my mind was a complete blank.
Normally, I would take my cue from my father, but he seemed uninclined to interrupt, probably curious to see how far Marc would take his stance. Our Alpha was training him—training us both—to take over for him someday, and he considered experience an invaluable instructor.
I had my doubts, but I wasn’t going to argue with any tactic that gave me the chance to be heard.
Malone didn’t even glance at me, though that tick was back at the corner of his mouth. “I’m sure Faythe doesn’t mind waiting for the appropriate forum.”
“She can speak for herself,” I snapped, forcing him to acknowledge me.
“That’s what he’s afraid of,” Jace whispered behind his mug.
“What was that?” Malone demanded.
Bold anger shined in Jace’s eyes. “Marc’s right. This has nothing to do with the hearing, so you have no authority in the matter. She doesn’t need your permission to speak.”
For a moment, there was shocked silence as everyone processed Jace’s reply. Even my father looked astounded, both brows rising over wide eyes.
Then rage flooded Malone’s face, and his jaw bulged beneath a thin, trim beard. “No one pulled your string, boy!” he shouted, anger thickening his Appalachian accent. “You keep sticking your muzzle in where it doesn’t belong and someone’s going to break it off.”
Suddenly my father seemed much taller than his six-foot frame, much bulkier than his solid-but-trim build. “You threaten another one of my men, Calvin, and you and I are going to have a serious problem.”
Malone spoke through clenched teeth. “He’s my son.”
“Stepson,” Jace spat, as if even the legal connection to Malone left a bitter taste in his mouth. “Marrying my mother did not make you my father.”
Even my father flinched over that one. But he didn’t back down. “He’s my enforcer, and as such, you will respect him.” He turned toward those of us in the kitchen and continued before Malone could respond. “And you will respect him as an Alpha. Mutual respect. Understand?”
Marc and I nodded silently.
“Yes, sir.” Jace looked simultaneously nauseated over his own gall and relieved by my father’s interruption.
Malone nodded curtly, still obviously fuming.
My father’s shoulders relaxed and tension drained from his face as easily as if he’d pulled a plug. But anger still churned beneath the surface of his new calm, and those close to him knew it. “Now, Faythe, tell us what happened. Quickly.”
I spoke fast, eager to get the words out before I lost my chance. “There isn’t much to it. Brett took the trash out—” no need to mention my ploy for fresh air and solitude “—and a minute later we saw the stray dragging him across the backyard. Colin wouldn’t go out without Shifting first, but I didn’t think we had enough time for that. He tried to stop me from going to help, so I hit him. He fell backward and smacked his head on the counter—out cold.” I shrugged, scanning the half-dozen faces watching me. “Then I went out and took care of the stray. End of story.”
Blackwell narrowed his eyes at me. “You weren’t trying to escape?”
“Escape what?” I shrugged, still holding my mug. “If our justice system is as fair as everyone claims it is, I have nothing to fear from the tribunal, because I did nothing wrong. I look forward to a chance to defend myself. Besides…” Another shrug. “I sat there covered in blood and gray matter for several minutes before you guys got there. If I were going to run, I’d be halfway to Canada by now.”
My father’s proud smile faded into a deep scowl. I probably should have left off that last part.
My uncle’s mouth twitched in a good-humored grin. Blackwell looked skeptical. And though Malone frowned and shook his head, I was suddenly sure he believed me—and just as sure that he didn’t give a damn. He wanted me locked up anyway.
“Do we know how many strays we’re dealing with here?” my father asked, and just like that, I was dismissed in favor of more important business. I could have kissed him.
“At the pond, we smelled, what? Four? Five?” Marc glanced at Jace for confirmation, and Jace nodded. The other enforcers had been sent back to search, and Michael had stayed to watch me and care for the injured. “But we didn’t find any fresh trails. The newest was at least a day old, except for the one from the stray Faythe killed.”
“Any connection between the scents?” Uncle Rick asked. “Same infector?”
Jace shrugged. “Can’t say without a fresher scent.”
Marc nodded in agreement. “One thing’s for sure, though. Humans have been stomping all over that mountain. If they don’t find those missing hikers soon, the strays will, and…” Marc trailed off, and we seemed to come to the same conclusion together.
“Son of a bi—” I censored myself just in time. “The hikers are dead. The strays already found them and killed them. Otherwise, the timing’s too much of a coincidence.”
Marc nodded grimly, and my father sighed, but Blackwell looked less than convinced. “You don’t know that. They could just be lost.”
“Maybe, but Marc’s right. If the strays haven’t found them yet, they will soon,” my father said. “The human search party only complicates things. Call your men and have those in cat form Shift back for now, to blend in with the human search parties.”
The other Alphas pulled out phones and began dialing as my dad continued. “We need information about the hikers—what trail they were on and how long they’ve been missing. Michael?”
“Yes?” My brother stepped into the room from the makeshift infirmary.
“Can you get Internet access out here?”
“There’s a patchy broadband signal from the tower on the mountain. I can give it a shot.”
“Good. Bring us what you find,” my father ordered, and Michael jogged out the door, headed for our cabin and the laptop he never traveled without. “Someone turn on the news.”The lodge didn’t get cable reception, but there was a radio on top of the ancient yellow refrigerator. Jace plugged it in and rolled the dial until he found a strong local station.
After that, things got quiet for a while. Blackwell and Malone retreated to the dining room with a bottle of scotch for a private anti-Faythe party. My father and Uncle Rick settled around the kitchen table with a platter of cheese and cold cuts, the radio playing in the background. Jace plopped down on the floor in one of the bedrooms to play a shoot ’em up game on someone’s PS3.
I made myself a sandwich and sat in the living room, from which I could see the kitchen, the front window, and the dark, quiet bedroom where both Colin and Brett lay unmoving.
Several minutes later, Marc settled on the other end of the couch, twisting to face me with one leg bent on the cushion in front of him. “So, how you holding up?”
I stared at the gold flecks in his deep brown eyes, thinking of how they sparkled in the moonlight, even in cat form. “I’m fine. What’s the worst they can do? Kill me?”
He frowned. “That’s not funny.”
“Michael told you?”
“Jace.”
Oh. So that’s why he looked so…irritated.
Leaning forward, he plucked a bread crumb from the dingy upholstery and dropped it on my plate. “Why did you tell him, but not me?”
Because he doesn’t look at me like I’m what’s wrong with his life. Because he takes what I can give him without pouting over what I can’t. “Because he found me on the verge of tears and gave me a hug. Any man who catches me crying gets a free peek at my thoughts. House rule.”
“I’ll have to remember that.”
I took my time chewing, hoping some of the wistfulness would drain from his face before I had to answer. No such luck. “If you want to know what I’m thinking, ask me.”
“What are you thinking?”
I sighed, dropping my sandwich onto the plate. “I’m thinking this needs more tomato.”
Marc frowned. “I wasn’t kidding.”
If he’d been any one of my other fellow enforcers, I’d have stretched out and put my feet in his lap, begging for a massage. The others would take such a gesture as I meant it—a sign of trust and friendship. A werecat won’t touch someone he or she doesn’t trust. Not without bared claws, anyway.
But touching Marc was never a good idea. Not since we’d broken up. Touching him reminded me of what we’d had. What we’d been. What was gone.
“What do you want me to say? ‘Hey, Marc, it turns out you were right. If I’d married you instead of going to school, they’d think I was worth what it costs to feed me. But since I’m only as valuable as my uterus—which is currently unoccupied—this time next week, I’ll probably have gone the way of the dodo bird.’”