Prey

by Rachel Vincent

  When I had my expression under control, I met her eyes again as I stuffed a handful of underwear into the bag. “But I’m going to find Marc, and make sure that whoever took him lives to regret it. For a few minutes, anyway.”

  She only blinked at me, and I turned back to the dresser for some shirts. “How did it happen?” Kaci asked as I pulled two long-sleeved tees from the second drawer.

  “It looks like some men broke into his house and beat him up, then took off with him.”

  “Somebody beat Marc up?” Disbelief was thick in her voice, and my pride for Marc and his reputation swelled, even under the circumstances.

  “It was at least three against one.” No need to mention that the weapons were pieces of his broken furniture, or that he was in his own home at the time. “And he got two of them,” I said after a moment’s hesitation, hoping she wouldn’t ask me what “got” meant.

  I was a little conflicted about how much to tell her. On one hand Kaci was a werecat now, a fully integrated member of our society, and she needed to know how life worked for us. Sheltering her would do little to help her adjust. But on the other hand, even though she wasn’t scratched or bitten, her entry into our secret world was heralded by violence, and I wasn’t eager to remind her of what she’d done. She needed to move past that if she was ever going to truly settle into her new existence.

  “Were they werecats?” she asked, as I shoved the shirts into the bag.

  “Yeah.” But the real question was whether any of the men who’d attacked Marc this time were in on the ambush two days earlier.

  From the bathroom, I grabbed my hair dryer, toiletries, and what little makeup I wore on a semiregular basis. Kaci watched as I dropped it all into the duffel bag, the dryer cord dangling over one side.

  “Were they in cat form?” she whispered, and dread sifted through me at the quiet horror in her voice. She wound the cord around my hair dryer, then tucked it neatly into one end of the duffel, nestled between my shampoo and makeup bag.

  “No.” I started to zip the bag, but stopped when I noticed that her eyes were shinier than usual. They were standing in tears. “Kaci, no, honey, they were in human form. This had nothing to do with what form they were in. These are bad men, and they’d be bad on either four legs or two. Just like you’d be good in either form.”

  “But I wasn’t good as a cat!” she insisted, and the silent tears began to fall.

  Well, hell… Sympathy squeezed my heart to the point of pain, but her timing could not have been worse. I’d been waiting months for an opening into her psyche—to get her to talk about what she’d gone through during and after her first transformation—and when the breakthrough finally came, I didn’t have time to stay and listen. To help her work through it.

  But she was crying. I’d have to find a minute with Kaci, then make up for it on the drive to the free zone.

  I shoved my duffel aside and climbed over the footboard onto the end of the mattress, as close to her as I could get. Werecats are very physically demonstrative, and I was hoping the contact might help calm her.

  “Kaci, you were great as a cat!” I put one arm around her shoulders and squeezed, pulling her even closer. “You’re so strong. So amazing. What happened when you first Shifted, that wasn’t your fault. Not Kaci-the-person’s fault, and not Kaci-the-cat’s fault.”

  I let go of her shoulders and gently turned her face toward mine, staring into big hazel eyes magnified by tears. “That wasn’t anyone’s fault. It was just a tragedy. A horrible, devastating tragedy, and I know you’re dealing with it the only way you know how, but we have to figure out some other way for you to handle this, or you’re going to wind up hurting yourself. You’re nearly there now.”

  “I know.” She wiped tears from her cheeks with both hands, then clenched my punching pillow as if it alone anchored her to her human form. “But I don’t think I can do it. I don’t think I can control it.”

  “Yes, you can.” I twisted on the comforter to face her more directly, hoping my conviction was contagious. “Kaci, when I first met you, you were in cat form, and you didn’t hurt me. You didn’t even come near me. And that’s when you were terrified and in a strange place. It will be different this time. We can do it in the barn. Just you and me, if you want. And if you’re worried about losing control, I’ll close the doors so you can’t get out. All you need is one good Shift to prove to yourself that you can do this. That your inner cat isn’t some rabid tiger looking for its next meal. It’s just another part of you. A part you’re going to have to come to terms with.”

  Her forehead crinkled. “But what if I hurt you?”

  I laughed out loud, letting her see my genuine amusement. “Honey, you couldn’t hurt me if you tried. I’ve faced down bigger and badder cats than you under much worse circumstances. That’s my job, and I’m pretty damn good at it. You’ll be fine. I won’t let anything happen to either of us.”

  For the first time, I saw belief in her eyes. And trust. She was coming around. And if I didn’t have to leave immediately, she might have been willing to give it a try right then.

  But I had to go. I had to find Marc, and each minute I spent on the ranch when I should have been out looking for him weighed on my mind like a pile of bricks, threatening to crush me.

  “I tell you what.” I swung my legs over the side of the bed. “You think about it for the next couple of days. Get yourself ready mentally. Then, when I get back, we’ll do it together. It’ll be fine, and you’ll feel so much better. And then you can go to school—finally get out of this house. Okay?”

  She nodded, but looked unconvinced, and I knew I might have to repeat my little pep talk when I got back.

  I gave her another reassuring smile as I dug through my bag to make sure I wasn’t forgetting anything. And I was. Pants.

  Groaning over my own oversight, I whirled toward the dresser and pulled a pair of jeans from the bottom drawer.

  “I probably already know what you’re gonna to say, but can I come with you?” Kaci held the duffel open while I shoved my pants inside, then tugged the zipper shut. “I wouldn’t get in the way. And I could help look for Marc.”

  I smiled to soften the coming blow. “I’m sorry, Kaci, but this is way too dangerous.”

  The frustration and disappointment in her eyes were achingly familiar. Even with my father’s liberal stance on a woman’s place in the Pride, I’d spent much of my childhood being left out of things for my own safety. I’d even heard that line a time or two since becoming an enforcer, though staying behind had yet to actually keep me out of the action. But that didn’t change anything for Kaci. At the moment, she wasn’t well enough for a brisk walk through the woods, much less a risky trip across two states and a desperate hunt…wherever Marc’s trail should lead us.

  “This is a job for enforcers, Kaci. You’re not old enough, and you don’t have any training.”

  “Can I be an enforcer someday?” she asked, as I dropped my bag on the carpet near the door.

  I couldn’t resist a grin. “Absolutely. You can do anything you want. But first, you have to get healthy. And enforcers do a lot of their work in cat form, so you have to get used to Shifting. We’ll work on that when I get back, ’kay?”

  This time when she nodded, she didn’t look quite as hesitant, and I took that as a very good sign.

  “Okay, I have to go, but I hear my mom messing around in the kitchen.” Pots clanged together at the front of the house, as if to punctuate my claim. “Why don’t you go see what she’s making for lunch.”

  Kaci went reluctantly, and I changed quickly into a fresh pair of jeans and a dark green sweater with a cowl neck and too-long sleeves, then hurried outside to throw my bag in the backseat of Parker’s car. When I came back in, Kaci sat at the bar in the kitchen, sipping the broth from my mother’s homemade chicken soup. I ignored the rumble of my own stomach and headed into my father’s office to tell him Parker and I were ready to go.

  The office door was
closed, but I barely noticed in my hurry to get on the road. I twisted the knob and walked in. My father stood in front of his desk, facing the glass display case against the wall. He clutched the phone to his ear, face flaming in rage so consuming he hadn’t even noticed my entrance. Which he probably hadn’t heard over his own shouting.

  “…a child, and I will not hand her over just to satisfy some scheming, underhanded Alpha’s selfish political ambitions!”

  Whoa…

  My hand tightened on the doorknob in surprise, and my father heard the creak. He whirled to face me fully, one hand on the edge of his desk, and slammed the cordless phone onto the receiver. “Didn’t I ever teach you to knock?” he demanded, eyes flashing in fury.

  I should have apologized and meekly backed out of the room. But the sick feeling twisting my stomach wouldn’t let me. “What was that about?” I asked from the doorway, not daring to come any farther into the office.

  If my father had taken his phone call in any other room of the house, we all would have heard his side of the conversation, and likely most of the other side. But the office was a special room, designed for privacy in a house whose occupants all had supernatural hearing. The walls were solid concrete, without so much as a window for sound to leak through. The door was a panel of solid oak, and while not as soundproof as the walls themselves, it held a definite advantage over the hollow interior doors in the rest of the house.

  My father sighed, and in that moment he looked a decade past his fifty-six years. “Come in and close the door.” He propped one hip on the corner of his desk next to the phone and waved me inside, lowering his voice to a weary whisper. “I’m going to tell you what happened, before your imagination kicks into overdrive. But you will not tell anyone else. I’ll make the announcement myself, when the time is right.”

  Nodding, I hesitated a moment—I really needed to go after Marc—then stepped into the office and pushed the door shut, twisting the lock to keep someone else from walking in, like I had. I had no doubt that if my father had been expecting the call he’d just fielded, the door would have been locked before.

  The flimsy twist-lock wouldn’t stop a werecat who really wanted in, but it wasn’t supposed to. It was merely a signal that my father required a little privacy, and the lock would be respected for its intent rather than its strength.

  “Who was that?” I sank onto the edge of the couch nearest the desk, acutely aware that every passing second was another one-second delay in getting to Marc. But I had to know…

  My father gripped the edge of the desk he sat on. “That was Milo Mitchell.” Kevin Mitchell’s father, who was currently in Georgia for Manx’s trial. Kevin had been expelled from the south-central Pride for accepting bribes to sneak a stray into New Orleans. “Milo claims he represents a ‘concerned faction’ of the Territorial Council, but I have no doubt he’s working with Calvin Malone.”

  “And they want Kaci?” That sick feeling in my stomach grew to encompass most of the rest of me, and I was suddenly sure I would be violently ill right there on my father’s Oriental rug.

  “Yes. Mitchell says several of the Alphas are worried, in light of Malone’s claims, that I’m acting against the best interest of the council. They want me to relinquish custody of Kaci to the council at large, which will then appoint a guardian for her. But you know exactly where she’ll wind up.”

  “With Malone.” I scowled so hard my face hurt. The bastard was scheming to get control of both Kaci and Manx, just like we’d feared he would.

  My father nodded solemnly and rose from the desk to sink into his armchair on my left.

  “So, what are you going to do?” Even if I hadn’t just heard him refuse to give up Kaci, I knew my dad would never bow to threats from another Alpha. Much less hand over a mostly innocent child to be used as a political pawn.

  Malone wanted control of Kaci for the same reason he’d tried to strong-arm me into marrying one of his sons—to put more territory under his misogynistic, bigoted, politically ambitious metaphorical thumb.

  My father shrugged. “At this point it’s a simple request, and I’m within my rights to refuse. But they’ll come back with a formal demand, and our response at that time will have to be much more…civil.”

  Ha! I’d show them civil. I would tell the council exactly where it could shove its “civil” requests. Which my badass Alpha had just done.

  “Daddy, I’m this close to talking Kaci into Shifting.” I held my thumb and forefinger less than an inch apart. “I think I could get her to do it today, if I had the time. But she’s never going to Shift for someone she doesn’t know and trust, and she hates Calvin Malone almost as much as she hates her own cat form.” Which was partly my fault. She’d heard everything Jace and I had to say about his abusive, narrow-minded, ass-wipe of a stepfather and now the tabby was firmly aligned with our Pride against him.

  “I know.” My father sighed and suddenly looked very tired. “I won’t let this happen.”

  The last time he’d said that, he’d been talking about my possible execution, and he’d been as good as his word. Unfortunately, to take the death penalty off the table, he’d had to exile Marc.

  I couldn’t help but wonder what we’d have to give up to keep Kaci.

  “So, what’s the plan?” I fingered a figurine on the end table on my left—a pewter cat reared to pounce. Then I forced my hands into my lap when I realized I was betraying my extreme impatience.

  “You’re going to find Marc. I can handle Kaci, and I don’t want you worrying about this until he’s back and healthy. There’s nothing you can do about it, anyway. This is my battle, Faythe. I may not be young anymore, but there’s a fight or two left in me still. Don’t count your father out just yet.”

  “I haven’t, Daddy.” And I never would. But Kaci was as much my responsibility now as I ever was his. We’d both fight for her.

  Just as soon as I was sure Marc was okay.

  “I’m calling in reinforcements from the rest of the Pride, so we’ll have some extra bodies on patrol.” He went to the desk and pulled open the top drawer and removed a bulging three-ring binder, which he dropped on the blotter with a thunk. “With all that stray activity going on so close to the border, we need to know immediately if they try to cross over.”

  “Good.” With Michael, Brian and Vic still in Georgia, and me and Parker off looking for Marc, my father would need all three of his remaining enforcers to protect the home and hearth. But he could hardly ignore the threat posed by our suddenly aggressive neighbors.

  I hated that we were so crippled by circumstance, but incredibly grateful that we had resources to call on in our time of need. The other members of our Pride would be called into active duty, a possibility they’d agreed to upon joining the south-central Pride. And if I knew my father, he’d pair the less experienced toms with those who’d once served as enforcers.

  They’d take sick days, vacation days, unpaid workdays, or whatever it took to get off work when they were called. And in a matter of hours the Mississippi border would be crawling with south-central cats. They would patrol in human form until dusk, then on four paws once darkness descended to blend with their fur.

  “With any luck, by the time you get there, several toms will be within an hour’s drive should you need them,” my father continued. “Do not hesitate to call them in. There are no bonus points for bravery on this one, Faythe. The only way to win is to get Marc back then get all three of you home in one piece. Understand?”

  “Of course, Daddy.” I didn’t even roll my eyes, because for once I was pretty sure he wasn’t being overprotective just because I was a girl. He was being regular-protective, because I was one of his enforcers, and that felt good. Really good. Almost as good as him letting me go in the first place.

  Nine

  Four and a half hours later, Parker and I turned onto a long, tree-lined gravel driveway beside a house I knew without a doubt to be Marc’s, though I’d never been there or seen any pic
tures. And though Painter’s directions had been about as clear as swamp water.

  The setting sun shone on a large lot, open in front and wooded in the back. The house was isolated; Marc’s nearest neighbor was two and a half miles down a dirt road—and a good six miles from Rosetta proper. And if the Homo-chitto National Forest didn’t actually adjoin the property, it came damn close.

  The only detraction I could see was the house itself, which had to be at least eighty years old and had definitely seen better days. But in my opinion, and no doubt in Marc’s, the benefits far outweighed any material discomfort caused by outdated wiring, insufficient insulation, or peeling paint and crooked shutters.

  I was out of the car the instant it stopped, long before Parker actually shut down the engine, and for a moment, the below-freezing windchill—a relative rarity for the South—stole my breath from my lungs. My boots crunched across gravel briefly before landing on dead, brittle grass. Relieved to see that the ice had melted in Mississippi, I raced over the lawn—then skidded to a halt about a foot from an ominous, dark trail slicing across one corner of Marc’s front yard. The stain was dry, and no longer bright red as it must have been hours earlier, but it stood out starkly against the dull, colorless lawn.

  And the scent was unmistakable.

  Blood. Marc’s blood. He’d been dragged over the very spot where I now stood.

  At my side, my hands clenched into fists so tight my fingers cramped instantly, and only when ice crystals formed on my cheeks did I realize I was crying.

  My jaws clenched, I wiped frigid tears from my face and forced myself to step over the trail of Marc’s blood. Then my gaze followed it up the stairs and across the uncovered concrete stoop to where it disappeared beneath the scuffed front door.