Rogue (Shifters #2)(43)

Marc was always there for me, even when he was packing his bags to leave me. He deserved to hear the truth from me, but what he deserved even more was not to have to hear it.
“If you’ll promise to listen until I’m done, I’ll promise not to leave anything out. But please don’t go before I’m finished, because I don’t want to wonder later whether you left me because of what you heard, or because of what you didn’t hear.”
He tilted his head and watched me through eyes narrowed in suspicion and dread. “Does that mean there’s more to the story than your making Andrew into a stray in some sort of furry freak-fest? If so, you should feel free to leave out the nonpertinent details.”
I smiled a little at that. I couldn’t help it. “Um, yeah. There’s a little more to it than that. And yet a lot less to it than that. There was no furry freak-fest, Marc. Just normal, even average sex.”
Oddly enough, he seemed pleased to hear me describe sex with someone else as “average,” and I wasn’t complaining. Whatever made him more open to listening was fine with me.
“Talk. I might as well know what everyone else is going to be whispering about.” He pulled both of his legs onto the bed and sat cross-legged, looking amazingly vulnerable for a man of his bulk.
Marc’s new defenseless posture did little to make me want to spill my guts. Spew them, maybe. But I’d promised to explain, and I wasn’t going to pass up the chance.
“I was in human form when I bit Andrew,” I said, pulling my feet up to mimic his pose. “My teeth must have partially Shifted at the…um, height of things. It couldn’t have been much of a Shift, because there was no pain that I remember, and I didn’t notice anything different.” Embarrassed, I glanced at the pillow in my lap and discovered that I’d twisted it into little more than an amorphous bag of feathers. “Well, there was no pain for me, anyway. Andrew yelped as if I’d bitten his ear off, but I barely drew blood. Just a couple of drops.”
Marc frowned. “So you did break the skin?”
“Yeah.”
His arm moved faster than my eyes could follow, and another feather pillow smashed into the window before falling to rest against the broken suitcase. Good thing that wasn’t a brick, I thought, absurdly. 
“How could you even think about sleeping with a human?” Marc demanded, and I tore my gaze from the pillow reluctantly and turned back to face him. “There’s a reason we have the rules we have, and apparently you’re it.”
I stared at him openmouthed, waiting for him to realize he’d misspoken. My irritation grew with every second that passed without a retraction. “We don’t have any rules against sleeping with humans,” I said, my teeth clenched hard enough to make my jaw ache. “The guys do it all the time. Most of them lost count of the notches on their belts long ago. Hell, Ethan doesn’t even bother to learn their names anymore.” I threw the pillow at him, and he caught it in one fist. “But when I finally get a life of my own—and keep in mind the fact that this was a mutually monogamous relationship—everyone acts like I’ve committed a cardinal sin.”
With every word I spoke, my pitch rose a little, until by the time I finished, I was screaming at him, standing on my knees on the end of his bed.
“The problem isn’t that you’ve been dating humans, Faythe,” he said, tossing the pillow aside. “It’s that you’ve been infecting them.”
Only one of them, I thought, but I knew better than to say it aloud. “How was I supposed to know that was even possible?” I shouted, backing off his bed and onto the floor. “None of the guys ever infected anyone in human form, so how was I supposed to know I could?”
“That’s not the same, Faythe. You know human women can’t be infected.”
As a matter of fact, I did not know that for certain, and neither did he. But that was another argument entirely.
“I didn’t know about the partial Shift, Marc. I had no idea this could happen. If I had, I would never have gone near Andrew, or anyone else, for that matter.”
“Well, it’s too late for regrets now,” Marc said, his arms spread to either side of his torso. “In case you don’t remember, since you seem to think you’re above the council’s laws, creating a stray is a capital crime. The council’s going to want your life for this. And they’re going to want me to bring it to them. So you tell me how the fuck I’m supposed to deal with that.”
Chapter Twenty-one
So that’s what was wrong with Marc. He thought he was going to have to kill me.
Well, clearly that wasn’t the only thing bothering him, but we’d finally gotten down to the part he couldn’t get over.
“Marc, it was an accident,” I said, shifting awkwardly on a twisted lump of comforter. “The council won’t condemn me over an accident.”
“You said it yourself, Faythe. They’re going to want your head on a spike in the front yard.”
“That was hyperbole. You guys didn’t seem to think they’d execute the rogue tabby for murder, so why would they execute me for an accidental infection?” I reached out to touch his arm, but he pulled away as if I’d scorched him.
My eyes watered, and I stood to turn my back on him as I blinked away the tears, hoping with each passing moment that he would touch me. I wanted a hug, or even just a pat on the back to let me know he regretted pulling away from me. I would have even taken an apology. But he didn’t offer one. Not that I could blame him.
When I turned to face him, still standing in the middle of his room, I avoided his eyes. I didn’t want to know what he was thinking, but even worse, I didn’t want to not know. I desperately didn’t want to see his poker face staring back at me. So I didn’t look.
“They’re not just going to take your word for it, Faythe,” he said. “They’re going to need proof that this was an accident, and last I heard, you couldn’t give it to them.”Still avoiding his eyes, I crossed the room and righted his suitcase in one rough, angry motion. “Well, I can sure as hell try.” Kneeling on the floor, I folded one of his shirts in a series of fuming, jerky movements. Dropping it neatly into the bag, I snatched another shirt from the floor, uncomfortably aware that I was now helping him pack. But I had to do something with my hands. “And even if I can’t do it on command, I’ve already proved it to my father, and he’ll speak up for me.” For a single heartbeat, I hesitated, my hands pausing in mid-fold. “You could do the same, if you were so inclined.”
“Oh, come on, Faythe.” On the wall in front of me, Marc’s shadow threw up its arms in exasperation. I turned my attention back to the clothes, vowing not to look at his shadow-self, either, as he gestured at me in frustration. “They’re not going to believe me for the same reason they won’t believe your dad. They’ll think we’re both lying to save you.”
Damn, were he and my father sharing a brain? Or were they just right?
I shook out a pair of jeans, my gaze centered on the worn denim beneath my fingers. If things were normal, I’d have changed out of my soaked clothes and into some of his dry ones, but at the moment, I had serious doubts Marc would want his clothes smelling like me.
“What about Andrew?” I asked, still holding his jeans. “We’ll find him and make him testify. Surely they can’t think he has any reason to want to protect me. If anything, he wants me dead.”
Marc walked around the end of the bed to kneel at my side. “What did he say?”
When I didn’t answer, he snatched the pants from my hands. Irritated, I met his eyes without thinking and regretted it instantly. I hated that he didn’t trust me, even though I knew he had several good reasons not to.
“He congratulated me on a life well lived,” I said, my voice heavily laced with sarcasm. Marc glared at me, and I shrugged. “Well, what the hell do you think he said? He’s pissed at me for infecting him, then abandoning him. He said he has something to take care of tomorrow, then he’s coming here for a reunion  .”
“It’s amazing that he survived your bite, you know. Lots of strays die within a couple of days of being infected. I don’t think I could have made it through my own transition without your parents taking care of me. I don’t even remember being scratched,” he added, and I could almost feel my ears perk up, in spite of my self-centered fear. He’d never spoken to me about his attack, guarding his memories like a leprechaun guards his gold. “I just remember seeing my moth—”
He stopped abruptly and stared out the window behind my head, his mouth firmly closed. 
“What’s the first thing you remember after being scratched?” I breathed, hoping that if I whispered softly enough he might mistake my question for a thought from his own head. No such luck.
Marc turned from the window to look at me, a ghost of a smile haunting the corners of his mouth. “The first thing I remember is you.”
“Me?” I frowned, sure I’d heard wrong.
“Yeah. I woke up and saw you standing in the doorway, staring at me with these huge green eyes. You had a headless doll under one arm, and dirt smeared across your forehead. And all I could think about was what a beautiful child you were.”