“I know,” I whispered miserably, wishing I could do what he wanted. Wishing it was that simple. But it wasn’t.
“I don’t think you do!” He whirled on me from across the room. “My job as Alpha is to rid the Pride of any threats. But my job as a parent is to protect you at all costs. What am I supposed to do when you are the threat? Why are you making it so hard for me to protect you? You have to give a little, Faythe. You have to meet me halfway.”
“For the last time, Daddy, I’m telling the truth. The partial Shift is real. Abby saw it. Hell, Marc saw it. You know that.”
He shook his head, pacing back and forth in front of the fallen chair. “Abby doesn’t know what she saw. It was dark, and she was upset and confused. She said the shadows scared her, for crying out loud.”
My palms began to sweat as I realized what an unreliable witness my cousin was. The council didn’t really disbelieve her. They believed she thought she saw my partial shift. But they also thought I was responsible for planting that belief in a traumatized, impressionable young mind.
My head spun like a Tilt-a-Whirl, possibilities flying past too fast for me to catch. “What about Marc?” I asked at last, clinging to the only other witness I had. “He’s seen it. Ask him.” Surely the Alpha wouldn’t doubt his own right-hand man.
My father paused in his pacing to stare at me in surprise. “Marc would say anything to protect you,” he said, as if I should have already known that. “He was humoring you before because you were devastated by Sara’s death, and this time he’d lie to save your life. Not that I blame him, but the council will never believe him. He’s a stray. Half of them think his word is worthless, anyway. If you ask him to back up a story like this, his credibility will be shot for good. As will yours. This Pride can’t afford to lose your credibility any more than it can afford to lose you.”
No. I shook my head, denying that the council would discredit Marc. It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be. And even if it was, so long as my father—my Alpha—believed me, the council would have to. Wouldn’t they?
And that’s when I realized it didn’t matter. None of it mattered, because he didn’t believe me.
My head fell in defeat. If my own father didn’t believe me, who would? “What do you want from me?” I asked, staring at my hands, where they lay limp in my lap. “You want me to lie?”
My father was in front of me before I could blink. He bent over, his nose inches from mine. His forehead was red and wrinkled, his brows dark and furrowed in fury.
I tried to pull away. He grabbed my chin, squeezing it between his thumb and forefinger. Pain shot through my jaw. Tears formed instantly, blurring my vision. His eyes swam before me, pools of green even brighter than my own, magnified by the lenses of his glasses. I whimpered, too terrified to be embarrassed by the sound of my own weakness.
“Dad—” Michael began.
“I want proof!” my father roared. He actually roared at me. From inches away. My sensitive ears rang from the abuse. My hands shook uncontrollably. I blinked as his Scotch-breath puffed in my face. I’d never seen him so mad. So scared. So terrifying.
I couldn’t do it on demand. I’d tried—over and over again—but it never worked when I was relaxed and calm, so what were the chances that I could do it now, when I was half-hysterical and scared shitless?
“Do it,” my father ordered, giving me a sharp shake with the grip he had on my chin.
My brain rattled in my skull. I blinked, and tears fell from my eyes.
“Show me,” he hissed. “Or I swear I’ll have you declawed myself to save the council the trouble.”
My chin still pinched in his grasp, I closed my eyes. Tears spilled over again, running down my cheeks. He couldn’t be serious. He wouldn’t have his own daughter declawed. Or maybe he would, especially if he thought that would satisfy the council and keep them off my back.
But I couldn’t lose my claws. Without them, I couldn’t defend myself. I’d be dependant on my father and his enforcers for the rest of what passed for my life. And I certainly couldn’t go back to school with my deformed, nail-less human fingers.Panic clawed at the inside of my throat, trapping my breath. My heart raced, and more hateful tears ran down my face to drip on my father’s hand. I couldn’t live with that kind of damage. I wouldn’t live with it.
I squeezed my eyes shut as the first lick of new pain shot through my jaw. I recognized what was happening immediately; evidently the list of emotions that could trigger a partial Shift included mind-numbing panic.
Popping sounds filled my ears, my bones crackling like pop rocks. My father gasped, and his hand fell away from my face. I opened my eyes to see him backing away from me, still on his knees. His eyes were wide, his brows arched high in surprise. And in shock.
My gums began to throb and burn. My tongue started to itch. I clamped one hand over my mouth to muffle a moan as the pain intensified. The roof of my mouth seemed to buckle, and I tried to grit my teeth against the agony. But my teeth no longer fit together right.
Michael leaned across the love seat and turned on a table lamp, to see me better. And finally the pain began to ebb, fading from deeply penetrating bolts of agony into a dull ache, with the occasional twinge. When it was over, my partial Shift complete, I let my hands fall away from my face.
I didn’t need to see my reflection to know I was monstrous. My father’s sharp inhalation said more about my appearance than words could ever have managed, and for a single, completely uncharacteristic instant, his unguarded expression left nothing to my imagination. Michael’s choking sound only underlined the point.
Then my father’s horror was simply gone, replaced by a professionally empty look, which was especially irritating in that moment, when I would have appreciated a little wonder and amazement in reward for my efforts. Or at least some professional curiosity.
But until he felt like he’d made up for his deplorable loss of control, I would get none of that. At least not from my father. Michael, however, was undeniably impressed. Or maybe disturbed. Either way, he’d taken off his useless glasses and was squinting at me with his bare eyes. But he made no move to come closer. In fact, he might have actually scooted a little farther away. Which was oddly satisfying. Unlike my father’s reaction.
“Well? Say something,” I demanded. Or rather, I tried to demand. What actually came out was a mutilated string of vowels and sibilant consonants too strange for even me to comprehend, so my father shouldn’t have had a clue. But he seemed to understand, anyway.
He squinted at me for a better look. “I’ll…be…damned!”
Chapter Nineteen
I could count on one hand the number of times I’d heard my father use profanity, and now he’d done it twice in the same half hour. And to my satisfaction, his voice reflected the amazement I’d hoped to see on his face. Yet no regret for scaring the crap out of me.
I wasn’t embarrassed to have been afraid of my father. Fear was a perfectly reasonable response to an Alpha’s rage. Expected, even. Better cats than I had pissed themselves in terror when an Alpha lost his temper. Fear was normal. And this time, it had also been productive.
He stood and seemed to float toward me, sinking to his knees with an ease and grace he hadn’t displayed in years. He took my chin in his hand, gently this time, and turned my face toward the light. His thumb pulled down my bottom lip for a better look at my teeth, which seemed blatantly unnecessary considering that my mouth wouldn’t close, anyway.
Or maybe I just resented being examined like a horse on an auction block. Especially after being forced to perform like a circus freak on display.
“Satisfied?” I asked, nearly nicking one of his fingers.
“That is without a doubt the most…amazing thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Um…yes,” Michael stuttered. “It’s…really something.”
I rolled my eyes at him, wishing he’d been shocked speechless. Yes, I was no doubt hideous compared to his classically beautiful model-wife. But I’d like to see Holly rip someone’s throat out with those practically worthless blunt porcelain caps.
“So you believe me now?” I asked, turning back to my father.
“Turn a little more to the left.” He ignored my question, aiming my head without waiting for me to comply. Maybe he hadn’t understood me. Not that it would have mattered if he had.
He squeezed my cheeks until I had to either open my mouth wider or risk cutting myself on my own teeth. “Your jaws are longer, and your teeth are definitely feline,” he said, as if making a diagnosis. “Your tongue is rough, too, but your lips are still human, and I see no sign of fur.”
“Thanks for the rundown,” I mumbled, pulling free of his grasp. I stood and started to brush past my father, desperate for a little personal space after the invasion of my mouth. But before I’d taken even one step, a movement-blurred glimpse of myself in the silver-framed wall mirror stopped me cold. I sank back onto the couch, curling my hands into fists to keep them from shaking.
That one brief, out-of-focus image was more than enough. I didn’t want to know what I looked like. Feeling my teeth with my tongue gave me more information than I could deal with as it was. A partial Shift was great when I needed to rip apart a captor, or see in the dark. But proving my father wrong had lost its novelty, and my self-satisfaction was quickly fading into self-loathing. I hated looking like a monster. Not as badly as I hated looking like a little girl, but almost.