Rogue (Shifters #2)(44)

Lightning flashed outside and Marc blinked from the bright light. And just like that, the spell was broken. “Then I passed out again, and when I woke up, your mom was there with soup.” He shrugged, and I knew he was finished talking. At least about the past.
“Marc, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” As the last raindrops pattered against the window, I closed my eyes, trying to decide how best to express my own regret. “I never meant for any of this to happen. I really, truly didn’t. But I can’t change anything now, and I understand if you still want to leave—”
He shook his head slowly, as if in defeat. “I’m not going anywhere. Greg wouldn’t let me leave in the middle of an investigation, anyway.”
“Really?” I fiddled with the still-damp, frayed hem of my shorts, unable to look at Marc as I offered him a way out. He deserved at least that much from me. “Because Daddy would probably let you go if you push the issue. He always sides with you over me, anyway.”
“Are you trying to convince me to leave?”
I glanced up at him, already shaking my head in denial. “No. Absolutely not. But I want you to understand what you’ll be getting into if you stay. It’s going to get worse from here, not better. We have to find Andrew, which means that eventually you’ll have to be in the same room with him. Without killing him, if I have any hope of him talking to the council.”
Marc laughed ruefully. “I won’t hurt him unless I have to. You’ve already done enough to punish him for sleeping with you.”
I glared at him, my fists propped on my hips. “How many times do I have to tell you it was an accident? A freak accident I probably couldn’t repeat if I tried.”
He held up both hands, as if to ward off a blow. “All I’m saying is that he got more than he bargained for with you.”
“I got more than I bargained for with him, too. Much more. I know he’s completely different now, but he was really nice and funny when he was human. But apparently his manners didn’t survive the transition.”
Marc smiled. “Yeah, well, yours didn’t survive puberty, so you can’t really talk.”
I opened my mouth to rebut, but Ethan cut me off, calling to us from downstairs. I hadn’t heard him come into the guesthouse, maybe because the rain was too loud. But more likely, Marc and I were too busy yelling at each other to notice. “If you guys have come to some sort of truce, Dad would like to speak to you both in his office. If it’s convenient with you, that is.”
I laughed. There was no way on earth my father had mentioned our convenience. But sending a message with Ethan was like looking into one of those old funhouse mirrors. Everything got distorted.
“We’re coming,” Marc called in Ethan’s general direction. To me, he extended his right hand. “Truce?”
“Absolutely.” I took his hand and shook it, expecting him to pull me into a hug. But he didn’t. On the way out of the room, Marc held the door open for me. But he didn’t grab my ass as I walked through ahead of him. And though I understood his reason, I couldn’t help but be hurt that he stayed several steps behind me on the stairs. I was disappointed, but not surprised. I couldn’t really expect things to go back to normal just like that. Of course, “normal” for me and Marc was a relative term, anyway.To say that Marc and I tended to run hot and cold would be like saying it’s a little chilly at the North Pole. I didn’t know how to deal with Marc’s new lukewarm presence. I’d never known him to demand anything less than all of my attention, and I didn’t recognize this polite, courteous behavior. It was too distant, too cold. He was acting as if we were strangers. Or worse, just friends.
Downstairs, Parker gave me a hesitant smile, and Vic and Jace avoided my eyes entirely. But Ethan had never been one for subtlety. Or for tact. “So, did you guys break up, or what?” he asked, popping the tab on a can of Coke at the kitchen island.
Marc glanced at me with an arched eyebrow and a wry smile. I shrugged. I would have liked to know the answer to that one myself.
“Sounds like you should learn to listen better,” Marc said, stuffing his hands into his jeans pockets.
Ethan grinned, unfazed. “Jace’ll fill me in later.” He was shirtless, as usual, and damp from the rain.
Ignoring them both, I pulled the front door open and stepped onto the rain-slick porch, beyond caring whether or not anyone followed me.
Ethan jogged after me, sloshing soda onto the porch without bothering to clean it up. “Come on, Faythe,” he said, throwing one arm around my waist as I stomped through the soggy grass, my newly wet hair already clinging to my face. He obviously wasn’t still mad about my right hook connecting with his jaw. “I’ve got twenty bucks riding on this. Did he forgive you?”
“That’s none of your business.” I pulled his arm up by his wrist and ducked beneath it. In one smooth move, as fat droplets plopped down on us both, I stepped behind him, twisting his arm back and up, until his fingertips brushed his own shoulder blade.
Ethan’s howl of pain brought a satisfied smile to my face. I should probably have felt at least a little guilty about getting the better of him twice in less than an hour. But I didn’t. I still owed him a few hard knocks from childhood.
“Hey, thanks,” Marc said, plucking the half-empty Coke from Ethan’s free hand as he passed us. He drained the can, then crushed it in his fist, sparing a grin for my brother as he took off toward the main house, jogging ahead of us in the rain.
“Damn it, Faythe, don’t make me hurt you,” Ethan said through gritted teeth, pulling against me to free his arm.
I tightened my grip. “Who’d you bet against?” I asked, shoving him forward until he had to either start walking or fall on his face in the wet grass. “Jace?”
“Hell no. Leave me out of this,” Jace muttered, passing me from the left. “I didn’t want anything to do with his dirty money. It was Vic.” 
I glared at Vic, and he shrugged.
“You’re both assholes.” I let go of Ethan’s arm, and gave him another hard shove, for good measure. “You have no business sticking your noses into our personal lives.”
“There’s no such thing as privacy around here.” Vic stomped off through the rain with his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans.
Parker held the door open for us, and we tromped into the house one at a time, tracking water and clipped grass blades onto the tile in the back hall. On the way to my father’s office, I ducked into my bedroom to change into dry clothes and towel-dry my wet hair. Then I headed back down the hall.
In the kitchen, the guys—all but Marc—were gathered around several half gallons of ice cream, each shoveling indiscriminately with his own spoon. I smiled at them, then turned toward the office. My fingers had just closed over the doorknob when it turned on its own.
The door swung open and Marc stepped out, his hands curled into fists at his sides and his eyes blazing. He paused just long enough to meet my eyes, then brushed past me and stomped off down the hall and out the back door.
All commotion from the kitchen ceased. Then, after mere seconds of silence, Ethan became the first to break it. As usual. “What crawled up his ass?”
In his office, my father looked up from his desk at the sound of Ethan’s voice. But his eyes settled on me instead. “No sense standing in the doorway, Faythe. Come in and sit down.” He glanced over my shoulder and across the hall at the guys in the kitchen. “The rest of you put up the ice cream and get in here.”
As I plopped on the end of the couch closest to him, tucking my feet beneath me, he stood and crossed the room to his armchair without waiting to see whether or not his orders were followed. He still wore his suit jacket, but his top button was undone and his tie was gone. It lay draped over the back of his empty desk chair.
With the exception of the occasional postbedtime emergency, when my father came to his office still in silk pajamas and a matching robe, I couldn’t remember ever seeing him work in less than a full suit. It was disconcerting. And a little disorienting.
“What’s wrong with Marc?” I asked, eyeing my father in suspicion.
He watched me for a long moment, his lips pressed into a firm, straight line. “I split the two of you up.” He crossed one ankle over his knee, waiting for my reaction. He wasn’t disappointed.
I sat up straight and my heels hit the rug a little harder than I’d intended. “You what?”
“Not as a couple,” he said calmly, his hands folded in his lap. “As field partners.”
Did that mean Marc would be taking his vacation, after all? I wrapped my hands around the scrolled arm of the couch, sinking my fingers into the cool, smooth leather. “Why? We work well together.”
“Not on this assignment. You’re clearly better equipped than the guys to find and question Andrew, but I don’t want Marc anywhere near him. We need Andrew alive, and not just on the off chance that he might be able or willing to testify about his infection in front of the council. We have to know what happened to the missing strippers, and where they are, and we need him for that. Unfortunately, I’m not sure Marc can deliver him intact.”