Rogue (Shifters #2)(16)

The most daring thing I’d ever done with Andrew was, well…him, in broad daylight. In his apartment. Beneath the covers. With the door locked. Andrew wasn’t a daring sort of guy—at least not when we were a couple. Even during our one nooner, only hours before I’d left campus, he’d complained when I nibbled too hard on his earlobe. I’d barely broken the skin, but he jumped as if I’d tried to pierce his ear.
Instead of protesting, Marc would have upped the ante. He was always up for more. Faster. Harder. Anytime. Anywhere.
If Andrew came to the Lazy S, disaster would be hot on his heels.
How does he even know where I live? I wondered as I flipped my phone back open and navigated to the call history screen. I’d never told him, specifically so he couldn’t visit. But it wouldn’t be too hard to find out, even with nothing but my name and an Internet connection.
I pressed the call button and stood again as Andrew’s phone rang in my ear. It rang four times, and by the time his voice mail answered—in a woman’s mechanical voice—I was already pacing. When the beep sliced through my thoughts, I stopped, one hand propped on my hip.“Andrew, it’s Faythe. Stop hanging up on me! And do not come here! I’m sorry about leaving like that, but it’s over now. You cannot come here. Please.”
I hung up and threw the phone at the wall this time, glad only in retrospect that it didn’t break. How did Andrew even know about Marc, anyway?
Sammi.
No one else from school knew about Marc, but Sammi had met him. She must have told Andrew. My heart pounding again, I snatched the phone from the floor and dialed my college roommate. But she wasn’t home, either, so I left a message on her machine asking her to call me back as soon as she could.
Then I sat on the end of my bed and forced my heartbeat to slow, my breath to come evenly. If I went out in my current state, Marc would know something was wrong the minute I entered the kitchen. I couldn’t keep doing this. It was unfair to Marc and bad for my own health. If Andrew called again, I would tell Marc the truth. I’d rather have him mad at me for a few days than taken by surprise when Andrew showed up at the gate.
At the front of the house, the doorbell rang, and I listened as Vic answered the door, exchanging pleasantries with the pizza guy as he paid for our dinner. When anger and frustration no longer pulsed through my veins, I pressed the power button on my stereo remote, shoved my phone in my pocket, and ran a brush through my ponytail, reminding myself one last time that I’d been talking to Sammi, just in case Marc asked. Then I prayed that he wouldn’t, and headed for the hallway.
In the kitchen, Marc and Vic stood guard around three open and steaming boxes of pizza, a slice in each of their hands. Marc saw me and swallowed his mouthful. “There’s your salad,” he said, barely pausing before stuffing the pointed end of another slice into his mouth.
“Thanks.” I looked where he’d pointed with a chunk of pizza crust and found a single cereal bowl full of limp wet lettuce. I laughed. I should have known. Even on two legs, Marc was a carnivore, with little use for the food groups unrelated to meat, fat, and dairy. He probably didn’t even know what else went into a garden salad. Luckily, like the rest of us, he had great metabolism.
I’d just popped open a chilled can of soda from the guesthouse when the clicking of heels on tile echoed from the foyer. My mother paused in the kitchen doorway wearing a simple but elegant calf-length black dress, accessorized only by the pearls at her throat and the matching clutch purse in her right hand. “We’ll be back in a couple of hours.” Her voice was low for a woman’s and smooth. Like butterscotch, it was sweet and deceptively soothing, which was part of what made her nagging so annoying. It was terribly hard to tune out such a beautiful speaking voice, even when it was telling you what you should already have accomplished by this point in your life. 
“We’ll be at Mansion on the Hill, in case you need to get hold of us,” she continued, clearly speaking to me as her eyes roamed the junk food contaminating her pristine kitchen.
“And, of course, your father will have his cell phone on.”
“Aww, Mom,” Ethan said, stepping up behind her to lay a heavy arm across her shoulders. “She may be a spoiled brat, but she’s old enough to take care of herself for a couple of hours.”
“Yes, of course you’re old enough,” my mother continued. She smiled at me and patted Ethan’s hand affectionately where it rested on her shoulder. “Old habits die hard sometimes.”
My mother was a study in contradiction. Petite, prim, and delicate, she was the embodiment of feminine grace, with a backbone of pure steel. She was both overbearing and soft-spoken, hiding the power she’d once wielded on the Territorial Council behind the facade of a cultured 1950s model housewife.
“Come on, Ethan, we’re going to be late,” Jace called from the hallway, his footsteps clomping toward the front door. He was dating again, and would smile back at me if I smiled at him first, but we were never alone together anymore, and he’d stopped teasing me entirely. Things between us had not been the same since I told him I was in love with Marc, and as sad as that made me, it seemed to be a necessary sacrifice for the peace of the household.
“Don’t forget, your father wants you both in the barn by nine-forty-five,” Mom said, trying to brush the wrinkles from Ethan’s shirt.
He frowned and swiped at her hand. “We’ll be there. Eventually.”
Jace stepped into sight behind them both and smacked Ethan’s head, sending straight black locks flying. “We’ll be early.” He pulled Ethan toward the front door by one arm, never quite making eye contact with any of the rest of us. “Save me some pizza.”
“Get your own!” Vic yelled as the front door closed.
“Pizza again?” Mom came closer to inspect. “You know, it wouldn’t hurt the three of you to take a bite of something green every now and then.”
Grinning, I grabbed my “salad” from the counter behind me and popped a piece of lettuce into my mouth, crunching it loudly as I chewed. “There.” I set the bowl down and crossed my arms beneath my breasts, leaning against the counter to smile at her. “Happy now?”
“It’s a start,” she conceded, refusing to rise to my bait. “But next time add some tomatoes and carrots.”
“But I didn’t make—”
“Karen!” my father bellowed from across the house, cutting off my protest.
“There’s no reason to shout, Greg. I can hear you even when you whisper.” My mother shot me a conspiratorial eye roll, as if we shared some kind of special experience by virtue of tolerating the male sex.
I took another bite of Marc’s pizza, ignoring her. I refused to willingly bond with her unless she could pick an activity that didn’t require me to use my feminine wiles. I’d misplaced them sometime during adolescence.
My father appeared in the kitchen doorway, wearing a black three-piece, which showed off the tall, athletic figure he’d kept even in his midfifties. The silver vest and tie brought out streaks of silver in his hair. His eyes, the same vibrant green as Ethan’s, contrasted brilliantly with the monochromatic formality.
“You look great, Dad,” I said, wishing I could hug him without getting pizza grease all over his clothes.
“I agree.” My mother wrapped her arms around him, resting her head on his shoulder as her hands snuck beneath the material of his jacket to snake around his back. My heart ached as I watched them, recognizing a pose Marc and I had struck countless times. But surely we’d never looked as in love, as picturesque, as they did.In that moment, I was absolutely sure I’d done the right thing by keeping my mother’s secret. They should look like that forever, and her secret, while it probably wouldn’t end their marriage, would end the possibility of any more embraces like that.
“Where are you two going all dressed up like movie stars?” Vic asked.
My mother shot us a tight, suffer-in-silence smile. “We’re meeting with the head of the Dallas City Planning Commission.”
“You’ll never be back by nine-thirty,” Marc said, vocalizing almost my exact thought. “We can always meet in the morning, instead.”
“No.” My father didn’t even hesitate. “We are not going to leave a corpse to rot in the barn because of a business dinner. Any business dinner.”
I smiled at my father’s resolve, wiping pizza grease from my chin with a paper towel. His career depended upon him making and keeping the right connections, but he would let nothing get in the way of Pride business.
“Your mother will develop a migraine around eight, and we’ll have to excuse ourselves to take care of her. So don’t risk being late because you think I won’t make it. I will.”
None of us doubted it. My father didn’t make plans he couldn’t keep. Nor did he bluff. He was a horrible poker player, but one of the best Alphas in the entire world. I should know. I’d been on the receiving end of his wisdom and guidance more often than anyone else in the Pride. He was hoping some of it would rub off.
I wasn’t holding my breath.
Chapter Nine
Three and a half hours later, the pizza was gone, the kitchen was clean, and Parker was back from New Orleans, having stashed the van in the barn without bothering to remove the body first. Not that I could blame him.