Pride

by Rachel Vincent

  Facing me now, Marc closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. When he opened them a second later, his face was carefully blank, his hands open at his sides instead of curled into fists. He turned slowly, ready for another round of questions. “Where do you live, Radley?”

  “Nearby, for the moment.”

  “On this mountain?” Marc swung one hand toward the window to indicate the swath of forest barely visible in the dark. Radley sighed and nodded, so Marc continued. “A cabin? A house? What?”

  “Anyplace that will keep me warm for a few hours. I don’t have the deed, if you know what I mean.”

  We knew what he meant. He was a drifter.

  While most strays used the stability of an established human lifestyle to balance out the volatility of life as a stray, some new werecats never readjusted to a normal human existence after being infected. Drifters roamed from place to place, hunting when they were hungry, sniffing out water when they were thirsty, sleeping wherever they found warmth, and only venturing into human society when they were too lonely to think straight. However, attempts at socialization rarely lasted long for a drifter, because he would soon come to realize all over again that he had little in common with the human world, and thus no real place in it. And back to the woods he would go.

  But Radley didn’t strike me as a typical drifter. His hair was trimmed and his teeth were in good shape, both of which are hard to accomplish in an existence with no scissors or toothbrushes.

  “Where are you from?” Marc asked.

  “My birthplace.” Radley smirked.

  “Specifically…?” Marc rolled his shoulders, making it clear that he was ready for more persuasion, should it prove necessary.

  Radley licked blood from his lips in a slow, deliberate motion. Then he closed his mouth and met Marc’s eyes boldly.

  Marc shrugged. “I wouldn’t want to lose my canines. But that’s your call.” He uncrossed his arms, elbows bent, fists clenched. He dropped one hip and leaned in for a kick, no doubt aimed at the stray’s jaw.

  My father went completely still. Jace’s hand tightened on my shoulder in anticipation. My breath caught in my throat. My brother Ethan told me once that Marc could throw a kick with enough precision to knock out a single tooth. But I had no desire to see it happen.

  “All right!” Radley shouted, wincing back from the blow before Marc could release it. “Vancouver! I’m from Vancouver, but I moved closer to the mountains several years ago.”

  Most strays eventually wound up living near large forested regions of land, where they could roam in cat form without too much risk of being spotted.

  Marc nodded and relaxed his stance. “Better.” He glanced over his shoulder at my father, brows raised in question. Daddy nodded for him to continue, his satisfaction with the progress evidenced only in the relaxed line of his forehead.

  Marc turned back to the job at hand. “Canada, huh? You wandered a good way from home, Radley. What the hell are you doing here? Other than searching for aliens among us.”

  “I needed a change of scenery.”

  “Why?” Lucas jerked back on the stray’s wrists, so that he almost lost his balance. “Things get too hot for you up there?”

  Radley opened his mouth to answer, but Marc cut him off. “Think carefully before you speak. It’ll only take one phone call to verify whatever you tell us.” With the Canadian Territorial Council, of course. If he’d ever caused trouble in his homeland, they’d have a record of it.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Radley glanced from face to face in apparent confusion. “I just needed a change. How many times can you sniff the same trees and hills before dropping dead of boredom?”

  Either he was telling the truth, or he was a really good liar. And it irked me that I couldn’t tell which it was.

  “So, what, you wanted to sniff different trees and hills?” Marc sighed and shook his head. “Never mind. How long have you been here?”

  Radley shrugged. “In the U.S.? Or on this mountain?”

  “Both.”

  “I crossed the border a few weeks ago. Why? What’s all this about, anyway? You guys set me up, knock me out, drag me up here, and I wake up with my hands and feet taped together in human form. How the hell did I even get hands, anyway? I have no memory of Shifting. And what the hell do you people want?” Radley sat on his heels and stared up at Marc defiantly. “I’m not answering any more of your questions until you’ve answered a few of mine.”

  “If you like your face intact, you’ll do whatever you’re told,” Lucas said.

  My father studied Radley with his eyes narrowed in thought. “We forced your Shift,” he said finally. “The process was overseen by my personal physician. You were perfectly safe, I assure you.”

  I frowned at my father, confounded by his sudden—and much more thorough than necessary—explanation. But he was still watching the stray, his face now deliberately blank.

  Radley’s eyes grew wide, his expression eager. “How? How did you force my Shift? Some kind of drug?”

  “Yes.” Daddy nodded once, adopting a stronger-than-usual appearance of authority. “But that’s all you need to know about it.”

  Radley frowned. “Why?” He ignored Marc now in favor of the Alpha, whom he’d finally identified as the one in charge. “What do you want with me?”

  “You’re being held by our Territorial Council, headed by me, on the charge of attempted murder. Of my daughter.”

  Surprise tingled up my spine. That was news to me, and based on Lucas’s expression, he hadn’t known, either. Evidently that’s what the Alphas were talking to Marc and Jace about for so long.

  Yet in spite of my obvious surprise, the stray showed no fear. He showed nothing but confusion, balanced by a hint of righteous anger. He clearly had no idea how serious his predicament had just become.

  My father continued, without even glancing my way. “Officially, you’re facing a probable death sentence, Mr. Radley. Unofficially, however, we want information from you. If we get it, and if you can convince us that what you did to my daughter was an accident, the charge will be amended to assault, which carries a much lighter sentence.”

  Radley’s brow furrowed, and his shoulders tensed. “Sentence? Wait, you’re serious?”

  “Perfectly,” Michael said from my right.

  Radley glanced from him to our father, then briefly at me. “What the hell does that mean? You guys are like…what? Werecat law enforcement?”

  Jace chuckled. “We can’t be the first Pride cats you’ve ever run across.”

  “No. I know what a Pride is. Elitist pricks won’t let anyone else play their reindeer games.” Though a flicker of doubt crossed his face as he glanced at Marc, who was clearly a stray and yet a Pride cat. “What I don’t understand is where you get off bringing me up on some kind of bullshit charge. You’re not the police. The police don’t even know you fuckers exist.”

  “Watch your mouth,” Marc said, the warning rumbling from his chest like a growl. “Or I’ll watch it for you.”

  Radley barely glanced at him, having obviously decided there were bigger things to worry about than Marc. But what he didn’t realize was that if the council sentenced him to death, that death would come in the form of a certain six-foot-two, tall-dark-and-scary enforcer who had absolutely no incentive so far to administer a merciful demise.

  Michael stepped up to our father’s side. “Werecat business doesn’t fall under any police department’s jurisdiction, Radley. State and local law enforcement aren’t even in the same galaxy as the Territorial Council, and right now you’re in our world. Until we decide to either let you go or put you in the ground, you live, breathe and speak on our collective whim. At the moment, you exist only to please the Territorial Council, and if you cease to please them, you’ll cease to be. Period. You get it now?”

  Aaaand here comes the panic…

  Okay, Radley didn’t exactly panic. But he did look like he was about to spew his guts all ove
r the floor, which was already splattered with his blood.

  I could totally sympathize.

  “What do you want?” he demanded, bolstering his floundering courage with a heavy dose of anger. “You bastards are crazy, and I just want to get—”

  Marc exploded into motion, moving almost too fast to see. His fist slammed into the stray’s cheek. Radley’s words ended in a surprised oof of pain, and his head rocked to one side. For a moment, his eyes fluttered as if he might lose consciousness, and only Lucas’s grip on his shoulders kept him upright.

  My father made a harsh, disapproving sound in the back of his throat, and Marc stepped back, accepting his wordless rebuke with his hands still clenched into tension-white fists. He’d forgotten the cardinal rule of interrogation: an unconscious cat can’t answer questions.

  Daddy did not look pleased. But then, neither did Marc. He lost his temper fairly regularly in his personal life, but I’d never heard of him losing it at work before. Something else had to be wrong with him. Something unrelated to Radley. Or at least unrelated to Radley’s foul language.

  For several seconds no one breathed, waiting to see whether or not Radley would pass out. But then he blinked to clear his vision, and his eyes focused slowly on Marc, whose penitent expression was now gone.

  “I told you to watch your mouth. Consider that your last warning.”

  Radley cleared his throat and spat more blood on the floor. This time when he looked up, his eyes were filled with a cold, detached fury. “What do you want?”

  Marc crossed his arms over his chest, hiding his fists. He stood several feet back from Radley, removing himself from the temptation to strike out again. “What do you know about the two human hikers who went missing on the mountain several days ago?”

  “Nothing.” That was it. No further explanation or questions. Radley was going to give us exactly what we asked for, and no more. Marc’s temper had just erased any progress my father had made toward convincing our informant to cooperate by choice.

  “What about the human cop mauled yesterday afternoon? Know anything about that?”

  “No.” Radley glared at Michael now, pointedly ignoring Marc completely. So, at my father’s silent signal, Michael took over, stepping forward as Marc slunk back to lean against the wall by the door, the fury in his expression rivaling Radley’s.

  Michael slid his hands into the pockets of his slacks, still sharply creased even in the middle of the night. “Have you seen any other strays on the mountain in the last week?”

  “Yes.”

  “How many?”

  Radley thought for a moment, ducking his head to wipe blood from his face onto his bare shoulder. “Three. Maybe four?” he said finally, shuffling backward to lean with his left arm against the front of the couch. “I didn’t know I was supposed to be counting.”

  Michael pushed his glasses higher on the bridge of his nose, peering down at Radley through lenses he didn’t even need. He wore them because he thought they made him look more like a lawyer. He was right, especially in that moment. “Do you know their names and current whereabouts?”

  “No.”

  “Do you have any knowledge of their activities on the mountain?”

  “No.”

  Sighing dramatically, Michael dropped into a limber squat in front of Zeke Radley, looking into the stray’s eyes from an equal height. His tone became friendly, confidential, as if they were the only two people in the room. “Mr. Radley, I want to help you. I believe you didn’t mean to hurt my sister. I think you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time, but I have to be honest with you—that was a very wrong place to be at that particular wrong time. We’re looking for murderers, Mr. Radley, and we came across you instead. Can you see how that looks? You being all alone on the mountain, less than a mile from where a police officer was slaughtered only hours earlier?”

  Radley frowned and nodded reluctantly.

  “If you want us to help you, you have to help us first. Help yourself. Someone on that mountain is murdering humans, and I think you’ve seen something. Or know something. You may not have seen it happen, but you’ve seen the other cats. Right? Smelled them, maybe?”

  Radley nodded hesitantly, and my heart thumped in surprise and suspense. Michael was doing it. His good-cop routine was breaking through where Marc’s bad cop had gone horribly wrong. This was no ordinary drifter, accustomed to being threatened and coerced into cooperation. Radley was smart, and he was proud. He could not be pushed past the point defined by his self-respect.

  There was more to this stray than we were seeing. I would have bet my life on it.

  “Can you help us?” Michael paused before adding the final touch—that last nugget of respect he knew Radley couldn’t resist. “Please?”

  Radley stared at the blood-splattered hardwood, as if mentally trying to talk himself out of whatever he was about to do. When he looked up, he met only Michael’s eyes, as if that would block the rest of us from hearing him. We hadn’t respected him—hadn’t earned his cooperation. Michael had.

  “Look, I mind my business and try to stay out of trouble.” He shrugged. “But I might have seen these cats you’re talking about.”

  Michael nodded, playing his part while the rest of us watched in tense silence. “Where?”

  Radley sighed, resigned. “There’s this cabin on the other side of that hill.” He tossed his head toward the window, and the mountain I could barely see past the inky predawn darkness. “Ten, maybe twelve miles to the northwest. There were several cats staying there a couple of days ago. They may be gone now. I don’t know. But that’s the last place I saw them.”

  “Who are they?”

  “I told you, I don’t know.” Of course, he’d also told us he didn’t know where they were, but no one seemed inclined to mention that and risk him bottling up. “They’re just cats. All toms, of course. And all strays from what I can tell.”

  Which made me wonder how Radley had become a stray. I didn’t recognize the scent of his infector.

  “Can you show us this cabin?” Michael asked, rocking slowly back and forth on his feet.

  Radley shook his head vehemently. “No. Hell no. In one breath you tell me these jokers are killing people, and in the next you want me to take you there? No.” Blood-matted brown hair slapped his brow as his head whipped back and forth.

  “You seem to be under the mistaken impression you have a choice in the matter,” Lucas growled, jerking him back sharply. One curt shake of my father’s head, and Lucas shoved him forward in frustration.

  Without his hands free, Radley fell forward and would have tipped over if not for the hand Michael steadied him with. “Please.” My brother held the stray’s gaze. “You could save us hours of stomping through the woods.”

  Radley hesitated, and I could practically taste temptation in the scent pouring from his body. “Can you get them to drop this bogus charge?”

  Michael closed his eyes, as if the stray were asking for the impossible, and I bit my lip to keep from smiling. This was where they’d been heading all along with the whole attempted-murder bit. If Radley had wanted me dead, he could easily have killed me. We all knew that.

  Not that I believed his wholesome and gallant act either, though…

  Exhaling audibly, Michael glanced over his shoulder at our Alpha, who’d retreated to the edge of the room, next to Marc. My father nodded, arms crossed over his chest.

  “I’ll see what I can do.” Michael stood as he faced the stray who’d just agreed to help us in exchange for his life, which probably hadn’t been in much danger anyway.

  He should have bargained for his freedom, I thought, barely stifling the smug smile stealing over my face. That’s what he’s really in danger of losing. Then a sudden chill washed over me as I realized that the stray who’d practically ripped open my stomach in front of two witnesses was facing a lighter sentence than I was.

  Michael gathered his legal pad and pen from the end table and was alr
eady scribbling furiously when he glanced at our father. “Think we can do anything to make Mr. Radley more comfortable?” And with that, my brother’s status as good cop was firmly established.

  “Of course.” The Alpha stepped into the dim light from the dusty bulb overhead and made a slicing gesture to Lucas with one hand. Lucas nodded and pulled a pocketknife—nowhere near as nice as the one I’d lost for him—from his back pocket. As my cousin worked his blade between Radley’s wrists and the first band of duct tape, my father turned his attention to Jace. “You and Lucas see that Mr. Radley gets a shower and something to wear. I’ll put together a team to find the cabin, and you can all leave after our guest has had something to eat.”

  What? The bastard nearly cut me in half, and my father was practically rolling out the red carpet for him.

  Jace nodded and offered Radley a hand up as Lucas jerked the last wad of tape from the stray’s bare ankles, accompanied by his hiss of pain. Then they each took one of his arms and escorted him down the hall toward the bathroom, his toes barely brushing the floor with each step.

  As soon as the door clicked shut behind them, I twisted to face my father, encouraged by how dull the bolt of pain in my stomach now felt. “You’re giving him a shower? And a meal?” I demanded. “Why don’t you just lay me out on the floor and let him finish the job?”

  “Faythe, stop—”

  “Shut up, Michael,” I snapped, one hand gripping the back of my chair in preparation to stand. “When there’s nothing but twenty stitches standing between your guts and the motherfucking floor, then you get to talk. Until then—”

  I stood, anger pushing me past growing pain and the fear of ripped stitches. And suddenly the whole damn room went black. Those must be some pills, I thought, just before my legs buckled beneath me.

  Eleven

  “—many did she take?” My father’s voice sounded oddly hollow, as if he were speaking into one of those tin-can telephones Ethan and I played with as kids. And everything was dark, but with a weird sort of backlit glow—light shining through my closed eyelids.