I was sure I would need it. The local was already wearing off, and just holding my head up made my stomach feel like flaming knives were being driven through it. I’d had no idea I used those particular muscles so often, but I made a mental note never to take them for granted again.
“I don’t want to leave you alone,” Dr. Carver said, looking at my father, even though he seemed to be speaking to me. “At least until we rule out internal bleeding. Let me know immediately if you feel dizzy or nauseated, or if there’s blood in your urine. And someone will need to watch you for swelling, tenderness, or bruising.”
My father nodded, but Marc was the first to speak. “I’ll stay with her.”
Daddy frowned, and looked as if he might argue for a moment. But then his face went carefully blank, and he simply nodded. “Fine. I’ll send someone to relieve you if the stray wakes up before she does.” Because Marc was in charge of interrogations. He was really good at convincing people to talk.
Apparently satisfied, Dr. Carver nodded at Marc, already moving toward the door. “I’ll be back to take care of your arm in a few minutes.”
My eyes were already getting heavy, probably as much from exhaustion and shock as from the pills, which couldn’t have kicked in so quickly. Either way, the very thought of being sucked into sleep against my will was starting to panic me. I hate being left out of things, and if the stray woke before I did, I wouldn’t even get to hear what he had to say, much less ask him my own questions. No fair.
“Wait, I want to talk to him,” I insisted as my father bent over me, studying my eyes, as if to determine my awareness. “I want to ask him—”
“Believe it or not, we can handle it without you.” But his gentle smile softened the blow to my ego. “You get some sleep and let us worry about the stray.”
“I’m not worried…” I started to protest, but he was already looking at Marc, his expression now hard and angry. Whatever that was about, I didn’t want to miss it, either.
“Step outside with me for a moment,” our Alpha ordered. Then, before Marc could answer, my father turned to me again, and his eyes had gone soft, which irritated me because it meant he was treating me like a daughter instead of like an enforcer. Smiling, he planted a soft kiss on my forehead, which I couldn’t remember him doing since the morning of my tenth birthday. “Good night, kitten. We’ll be here when you wake up.”
“I’m not a kitten!” I snapped, but no one was listening. My father ushered Marc into the living room and shut the door behind them, as if that would block out their conversation. But I could still hear them arguing about me, and surprise registered even through the thick sleeping-pill fog rapidly enveloping my brain. I couldn’t recall Marc ever arguing with his Alpha before. But then I understood: My father wasn’t acting like an Alpha. He was acting like a father, and Marc was calling him on it.
“…could you leave her unsupervised? She could have been killed!”
“Yes, she could have.” Marc’s voice was calm, with an undercurrent of quiet confidence, which sent a silent thrill through me. He sounded like an Alpha. “Any one of us could be killed on any given day of the year, Greg. We’re enforcers. Risk comes with the job.”
“And that’s why you work in pairs. To watch each other’s backs.”
“In a perfect world, yes,” Marc admitted. “But our world is far from perfect, and sometimes things come up. Opportunities present themselves, and that’s what happened here. Faythe saw an opportunity, and she took it. The whole thing was her idea. She said she’d make better bait than either one of us, and she was right. He would never have shown himself with me and Jace hanging around.”
“No rogue is worth her life.”
“I agree. But if you really expect her to take over for you, you have to let her learn how. And you have to let her know you trust her. Especially now, when no one else seems to. This was her idea, and it was a good one. She’s stubborn as hell, and if we hadn’t played along, she would have taken off on her own, anyway. We both know that. I did what I thought was best at the time, and so did she. But no one feels worse about her getting hurt than I do.”
“I know.”
I swallowed thickly, discomforted by my father’s acknowledgment of Marc’s feelings for me, in spite of the pain and frustration my presence put him through on a daily basis. Privacy was nonexistent in our world, and most of us saw no reason to pretend not to know something everyone else knew anyway. The only person I pretended with was Jace, and that was only because he seemed to prefer it that way.
“This is about more than that, though, Greg.”
“Hmm?” my father said, and I smiled to realize he was avoiding something. Could there actually be something the great Greg Sanders wasn’t comfortable admitting to himself?
“The tribunal is probably going to convict her on both charges. We all know that. What they need now is a reason to let her live. An excuse that will let her walk away without making them look like weak fools. They need to know she’s useful to them—to all of us—as something other than a dam. Saving Brett and bringing in the stray will show them that. Yes, she was hurt in the process, but she’s going to be fine. The ends justified the means, Greg, and she believes that just as much as I do. If you don’t believe me, go ask her yourself.”
Silence spoke for my father. Marc was right, and he damn well knew it. But he couldn’t truly ease a father’s fears. “Fine. As soon as the tribunal hands down a verdict, she’s back on the clock, and back at work for real. But until then, she takes it easy. Especially now that she’s hurt. Keep an eye on her.”
“Of course.”
The Alpha’s distinctive smooth-but-heavy footsteps moved away from the door, and I called out to him in spite of the pain in my stomach, just to let him know I’d been listening. “’Night, Daddy!”
His steps paused, and he chuckled softly. “Good night, kitten.”
“I’m not a kitten!” I shouted as Marc pulled the door open. “I’m fully grown!”
“You two are going to butt heads on that one for the rest of your life,” he said, smiling. “You’ll always be his little girl.”
“And he’ll always be an overprotective, know-it-all pain in my ass,” I snapped.
Marc nodded, still smiling as he sat on the side of my bed. “Like father like daughter.”
I couldn’t quite pull off a frown. He could call me whatever he wanted, because that meant he was talking to me. “So why are you being so nice to me all of a sudden. Because I’m hurt?”
“Maybe.”
“You mean, all I had to do was spill a little blood?”
“Or maybe a little kindness.”
Ouch. That was hardly fair; I was rarely mean to him. But I didn’t say it out loud, because that was one of the things we could never agree on. He thought it was cruel of me to refuse to marry him, and I thought it was cruel of him to make me choose between marrying him and losing him completely.
Marc’s world was defined by bold streaks of black and white, and mine was consumed by shades of gray. He saw good and bad, but all too often I saw only the lesser of two evils. Oddly enough, however, we seemed to have reversed our usual positions on this whole me-standing-trial thing.
“I’m sorry,” he said, stroking my hair again.
“Don’t be. I deserved it.”
Before he could disagree—and he would have disagreed—the bedroom door opened again.
“Okay, Marc, let’s get a look at that arm.” Dr. Carver sat on the chair between the beds and waved him over, gesturing for him to sit on the empty bed. Marc did as directed, and Dr. Carver carefully extended the injured arm toward the lamp to inspect it.
“Well, the scratches are clean, and they aren’t very deep. Looks like you got lucky, too.”
The only reason Marc still had his arm, not to mention full use of it, was because he was a damn good enforcer. His reflexes were the fastest I’d ever seen, and he was always on alert. Marc made his own luck in life.
A
ll I ever seemed to make was mistakes.
As my eyelids grew heavy, I watched Dr. Carver sew Marc up, making one small, hypnotically even stitch after another. He actually wound up with more than I did, because his scratches were longer than mine, if not as deep.
“I want you to Shift in the morning,” Dr. Carver said to Marc as my eyes started to close. “It’ll shorten your healing time considerably, and it sounds like they’re going to need you in top shape around here.”
I opened my eyes one last time to see Marc nod, and to realize he was still watching me over the doctor’s shoulder. The last thing I saw before succumbing to drug-induced slumber was his mouth quirking up at me in an achingly familiar half smile.
Nine
When I woke, Marc was gone. My room was dark, and the red alarm-clock numbers on the nightstand said it was 3:13, but I was too disoriented from the sleeping pills to know whether that meant a.m. or p.m. I twisted to my right, intending to glance at the window, but I didn’t make it that far, because pain sliced through my stomach at the first movement.
“Oh, shit,” I moaned, and laughter floated to me out of the dark.
“Did you think that would feel good?”
Jace.
I fell back onto the pillow, relieved that I wasn’t alone and that Marc had been replaced by Jace, rather than by…well, anyone else. “I didn’t think at all, actually. I forgot how much moving hurt.”
“It’ll get better soon.” And he should know. In the last six months alone, in addition to the usual scrapes and bruises accrued in the line of duty, Jace’d had the living shit beat out of him by Marc and been shot by Manx. He’d spent so much time in my mother’s sickroom that she’d offered to let him redecorate it.
“I certainly hope so. Could you turn on the light?”
“Sure.” Chair springs creaked and footsteps shuffled across the floor. A muffled click echoed through the dark room, and light flared to life from the lamp near my bed to illuminate Jace, one hand still on the switch.
“Thanks.” Squinting, I slid one hand beneath my head, trying to prop it up without moving my stomach.
“No problem. You want some water?”
“I would, actually. My mouth’s pretty dry.” And my tongue tasted bitter too.
“That’s from the sleeping pills.” Jace handed me a plastic cup of water from the nightstand, drawing my attention back to the clock.
“That’s a.m.?” I asked, having finally decided there wasn’t enough natural light in the room for it to be afternoon. And surely I hadn’t slept that long…
“Yeah. You’ve been out for nearly five hours. Doc says you can have whatever you want to eat.”
I smiled as he sank into the chair by my bed, holding the cup near my face, straw bent toward my mouth. “Pizza. I want pizza.”
He chuckled. “Except that.”
Of course. The Alphas would never let a pizza driver on the premises.
I sipped from the straw, and my throat felt better immediately. When I’d had enough, Jace replaced the cup. “Want me to help you sit up? The doc left some pain pills for you, but you’ll probably choke on them if you try it lying down.”
“Yeah, thanks.”
Jace bent over the bed and hooked his hands under my arms, supporting my weight as I slowly pushed myself into a sitting position, leaning on a pillow propped against the headboard. My abdomen screamed in protest, and my skin seemed to pull tight around the stitches. I couldn’t squelch the fear that if I moved too suddenly the threads would rip through my flesh and I’d have to be sewn up again.
Fortunately that didn’t happen. The worst of it was finding a comfortable position once I was upright. I squeezed my eyes shut and clenched the blanket in both fists as the first wave of pain washed over me.
“Here, take these. They’ll help.” Jace poured three round white pills from a bottle beside the nightstand, and my eyes widened in surprise over the size of the bottle. He smiled. “You’ll be thankful for that soon. You’re supposed to take these for the first twenty-four hours, then try Shifting to speed things along.”
I stared at the pills on my open palm. “Three of them?”
He shrugged. “I took four every four hours after Manx shot me. They wear off fast. Anyway, your dad told the doc to make sure you feel good. I think he’s afraid to put the hearing off any more than necessary.”
He wasn’t the only one. I was more than ready to have it over with, even if I had to hear the verdict flat on my back. I washed the pills down with another gulp of the water he held for me.
“Where’s Marc?” I asked, suddenly concerned by the silence from the rest of the cabin. A frown flitted across Jace’s face, and I immediately felt guilty. Like everyone else, he knew Marc and I had broken up, and he probably knew why. Secrets were hard to keep in a werecat household, because everyone could hear through the walls.
But Jace had to know I wanted Marc back, so I tried not to talk about one in front of the other. And to move on quickly when I forgot. “They’re not questioning the stray without me, are they?”
“Not yet. He woke up about an hour ago, but the Alphas are still talking to Marc. They called him in after me, to question him about what happened out there.” His sweeping gesture took in my entire body, and a second pang of guilt followed hot on the heels of the first.
“They’re not blaming you guys for this, are they?”
Jace glanced away and gave me a noncommittal shrug. “Calvin would love to, but your dad’s running interference.” Since the rogues in the forest technically had nothing to do with my hearing, my father would lead the inquiry. Thank goodness.
“I’ll set them straight,” I promised, frowning in anger. “It was my idea, and neither of you could have stopped me if you’d tried.”
Jace smiled as his hand settled over mine. “That’s exactly what your dad said.”
I grinned, pleased to hear that my father was coming around. That he was thinking of me as an enforcer again, instead of as a child to be protected. Now if I could only make the tribunal see things my way…
“What happened to you guys out there anyway?” I asked, remembering the screech of an unfamiliar cat and the fresh claw marks on Marc’s arm.
Jace leaned against my headboard and rubbed his forehead, then met my eyes with regret shining in his. “Damn, Faythe, I am so sorry about that. We heard someone thrashing through the forest. It was so loud and obvious, we thought it had to be you baiting the stray.” He shrugged. “Obviously it wasn’t, but by the time we figured out it was another of the strays, he’d circled behind us.
“Marc must have heard him pounce, because he dodged just in time, but the bastard still got in one good swipe before I could get there. He ran off when I arrived, but by then we’d lost you. If you hadn’t shouted, we might not have found you in time.” He shook his head again, and his face held so much shame and guilt I could hardly stand to look into it. “I’m so sorry.”
I waved off his apology. “Hey, I’m a big girl. I got myself into this mess.” Fortunately, it all worked out in the end. Except for these damn stitches.
I reached for the water on the nightstand, and the blanket whispered against my legs as I moved. Jace tried to get the cup for me when I winced in pain, but I shook my head. Being babied wouldn’t get me out of bed any faster. Determined to get up and going, I drained the cup in several long gulps.
“Want some more?” Jace asked.
I set the cup down and sat straighter in the bed, ignoring the tugging sensation in my stomach. “Think you could snag me a Coke instead?”
“Absolutely.” Jace carried my cup through the living room and into the kitchen. He left the bedroom door open, and I was surprised to realize that the stray was visible through the gap.
He lay nude on the floor in front of the couch, on his stomach, with his head turned away from me. Thick coils of duct tape secured his wrists behind his back, and matching strips bound his legs at the ankles and again just below the knees.
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A booted foot sat in front of the armchair next to my bedroom door, its owner no doubt guarding the stray while everyone else was busy with me or answering questions for the Alphas.
I couldn’t see the prisoner’s face, but a quick sniff of the air verified his identity. He had nondescript straight brown hair, tousled from his run in the woods. Or maybe from trying to wrestle free from his bonds. He was thin but obviously strong, lean muscles standing out from slim arms and legs. I considered calling out so he’d turn his head, because I was curious to know if his eyes were that same greenish-brown color in human form. And I was even more curious to hear what he had to say for himself.
But before I could act on my curiosity, the cabin’s front door opened. I couldn’t see the door from my bed, but another sniff told me who had entered: Marc, my father and Michael. The gang’s all here.
“He’s awake,” Marc said, and the stray’s head jerked up at the sound. He struggled against his bindings, thrashing on the floor and kicking his legs as best he could with them bound together. From the muffled sound of his cries, I was guessing the stray’s mouth was taped shut, probably over a gag of some sort.
“Pick him up.” My father’s distinctive footsteps headed away from my room. “Faythe’s awake, too?” The new echo of his voice said he was in the kitchen now, where soda fizzed as Jace filled my cup.
Jace must have nodded, because I didn’t hear his answer, but a moment later, my father stepped into my room, cup in hand. “How do you feel?” he asked as Jace followed him in.
Like crap. “Fine. Much better.” I smiled and accepted the soda he held out.
“Good. After I take care of our guest, I’ll give you an update,” my father said. I nodded, and he returned to the living room while Jace sat in the chair by my bed.
Framed by my doorway now, Marc and my cousin Lucas—the owner of the boot I’d seen—lifted the thrashing stray, each gripping one of his arms. They set him on his knees in the middle of the bare floor, and I could see his profile, a long, crooked nose and a single thick brown eyebrow.
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