Kevin forced my cat’s paw to the floor. His free hand clenched harder around my throat. I gagged, and on the
edge of my vision, Yarnell’s hammer thumped to the carpet. He made a horrible, wet, gurgling sound, and I froze, Kevin straddling me. I’d know that sound anywhere, though I’d only heard it once.
I jabbed Kevin in the throat with my free hand, gritting through the pain in my wrist. He gagged and let me go. I twisted my head as far as it would go, just in time to see Marc shove Yarnell off of him. Yarnell hit the carpet on his back, with a crowbar protruding from both sides of his neck, blood soaking both him and the carpet.
Dan stood over them both, his hand still raised from the death blow.
Kevin punched me in the gut. Paralyzing agony clamped around my abdomen. He scrambled off me and across the room, scooping up the hammer Yarnell had dropped. Dan never saw him coming. Kevin swung the hammer in a broad arc. It shattered Dan’s skull with a revolting crunch. Gray matter splattered one of Yarnell’s suede armchairs.
Dan went down like a felled tree. He was dead before he hit the ground.
Marc was on Kevin before Dan’s body even hit the floor. He put one hand on each side of Kevin’s face, and one last, sickening crack later, Kevin hit the ground on his knees, then fell onto his stomach, without uttering a sound.
I sank to the carpet in consuming pain and overwhelming relief, clutching my fractured wrist to my chest. The world was rendered one big blur by encroaching shock. Soft grunts and eerie bone crunches
played over and over in my head as I forced my bloody paw to Shift back into the left hand I desperately needed, now that the right one was out of commission.
“Faythe?” Marc said, and my head swiveled toward him on its own. He stood over Kevin’s body, splattered with blood from head to toe. “Are you okay?”
“Broken arm. Bruised ribs. Sore throat. Busted lip. But I’ll live.” I tried to force a smile, but his reaction said it looked more like a grimace. “You?”
“Bruised ribs and a hell of a headache. And I suspect a concussion.”
“And probably a fractured skull,” I added. “You were gone for two days. They thought you were dead.” I pushed myself to my feet and limped toward him, eyeing the gash over his ear in the light from the fan fixture overhead.
“I almost was. I passed out in a storage shed at a ranger’s station.”
I reached out for him, and he folded me into his arms, careful of my broken one, his heart racing. “You probably would have frozen otherwise.”
He nodded, and wiped blood from my face gently with the hem of his shirt, which wasn’t much cleaner. “I almost did anyway. I’ve never been so cold in my life.”
“How much do you remember?”
“Nothing, from the time I passed out until I woke up with my mouth taped shut, when Kevin and that other asshole threw me into his trunk.”
“Bastards.”
He grinned, but then his smile faded abruptly as concern wrinkled his forehead. “But that’s not all. They have some kind of tracker. I found one implanted in the tom who tried to bury me alive. And I think Dan has one.”
I nodded, and put one finger over his lips. “I know. They’re GPS chips, and we never would have known a thing about them if you hadn’t left that body with a hole in his back.”
“You found him?”
I smiled. “Yeah, and for the record, I never doubted you were alive. But once he figured that out, Kevin found you by tracking the chip you took from Adam Eckard. Dan
did
have one, but Dr. Carver removed it. And there’s a lot more.” I closed my eyes, and he pulled me closer, rubbing my back with both hands while I tried to figure out how to best explain everything he’d missed. But there was no easy way.
“Marc, Ethan’s dead.” I blinked and wiped away the fresh tears with my good hand. “Malone’s men breached the border to take Kaci, and Ethan was killed defending her.”
His heartbeat hitched, and he closed his eyes as his arms tightened around me. “We’ll get them.”
“I know. You’re coming back home. Screw the council.”
Marc started to protest—or maybe to agree—but then froze when a thump sounded from behind the living room wall. “Shit…”
“Wait!” I grabbed his arm when he reached down for
the bloody hammer at our feet. “It’s Jace and Carver. One of them woke up.” His brows arched in surprise, and he dropped the hammer, then followed me down the hall. “Can you get the doc? He’s in the bathroom. And have him look at your head. And his own. He took a pretty good hit with your tire iron.”
He nodded and jogged down the hall while I opened Jace’s door, warning him with a single look to stay quiet. I peeled the tape from his wrists, then leaned in to whisper in his ear, ignoring the hitch in my pulse as I inhaled his scent.
“We’ll deal with this later,” I said, and he knew what I meant. “This isn’t the time.”
Jace nodded, either in compliance or agreement, and unwound the tape from his feet. Moments later, Marc appeared in the doorway, behind Dr. Carver, who looked disheveled and pale, rubbing a big lump on the side of his head. But he was alive. We all were.
But as we waited for Vic and Parker to arrive, I looked around the living room in horror. We’d won this fight, but at what cost? How many more had to die before Malone gave up his bid for control of the council? And would one of us be next?
Because the truth was that though we’d won this battle, the real war was still to come, and I couldn’t begin to imagine the cost of such a victory, for either side.
Much less a loss.
“P
eople are starting to ask about you. Are you ready?” Marc asked, and I looked up to find him watching me from my doorway, just like old times. Except that the old times were gone for good, as was the golden sparkle in his eyes, at least for now. With Ethan gone and war on the horizon, things would never be the same again, and at the moment, finding happiness in my new reality looked about as likely as werewolves making a miraculous comeback from extinction in the early twenty-first century.
My only option for moving forward was to patch together my future as best I could with the scraps of my past. Which were looking rattier and less substantial with each passing day.
I smiled sadly at Marc and shook my head. I would
never
be ready for this.
We’d buried Ethan an hour earlier, and now we had to put on stoic faces for our guests, in the aftermath of
the most devastating tragedy my Pride—as well as my family—had ever faced.
“Come on.” Marc took my good hand, pulling me gently out of the desk chair, and my pulse jumped the moment he touched me. He’d come back to the ranch with us two days earlier, after we’d spent the remaining hours of darkness cleaning up the mess at Pete Yarnell’s house. Even with Vic and Parker there to help, it was a big job, and had to be performed very carefully and quietly to avoid waking the neighbors, or being spotted carrying corpses across the suburban backyard.
Since Kevin Mitchell had acted like a criminal, we’d interred him like one. Jace and Carver had buried him in the dark, in the woods, in an unmarked hole in the ground more than a mile from where Vic and Parker buried Peter Yarnell. Which was more than a mile from where Marc and I buried Dan, so that if one of the bodies was ever discovered, its connection to the others would remain buried.
Dan Painter’s grave was the hardest one I’d ever had to dig, and filling it in was even more difficult. Yes, he’d made some really bad decisions, and yes, those decisions had nearly gotten several of us killed. But in the end, he’d saved Marc’s life, and I couldn’t help but attribute that to my certainty that he’d genuinely liked Marc and treasured their friendship, as well as my conviction that he was a fundamentally good person.
Then, of course, there was the fact that I’d made more than my own fair share of mistakes in the past,
which had also cost at least one life, and nearly cost several more. Knowing that, and that Dan had died making an important stand, I couldn’t help the tears I shed as we tossed dirt in on top of him. And I could have sworn I saw Marc’s eyes glisten, too, in the mottled moonlight shining between the bare branches overhead.
At my father’s insistence, Marc had agreed to stay through Ethan’s funeral. We hadn’t bothered to clear the visit with the other Alphas, because anyone who supported my dad would approve, and anyone who didn’t would disapprove. In short, telling them would change nothing, so we’d exercised our right to remain silent.
Marc must have known how I felt. He must have seen that I was near my breaking point, because after he pulled me from my chair, he held me close. He was careful of my right arm and its cast, already covered in signatures and inappropriate jokes from every tom I knew. And from Kaci, who’d written her name in flowery letters in a pink Sharpie, in one of her latelyrare moments of levity. When I groaned over the color, she’d even smiled. For nearly five seconds.
I hugged Marc back with my good arm, and fresh tears fell on his shoulder and my black dress, in spite of my best effort to hold them back.
I’d been fine during the service. We’d buried Ethan beneath the apple tree in the east field, with an arched granite headstone. I’d held it together for the entire burial, and had even spoken at the graveside. I’d said the things everyone expected to hear from the dead tom’s sister: Ethan was loyal and funny and protective.
When we were little, he was the brother most likely to make me cry—and mostly likely to wipe away my tears. He died doing what he loved to do, and we couldn’t honor him more than to remember him at his best and lift a glass in his memory.
My voice only cracked once, when I caught sight of my three remaining brothers, all lined up across the grave from me. Michael stood with Holly on his right—a rare appearance at the ranch, and one we’d all been briefed on—and Owen on his left, his formal black cowboy hat held over his chest, his eyes rimmed in red and magnified by tears. Ryan flanked Owen’s other side, after a surprise appearance that morning.
Only my mother had looked more relieved than truly surprised.
My father was just as upset as the rest of us, but not too upset to notice that his prodigal son had returned. Again. I had no doubt he would soon find out exactly how Ryan had gotten out of the cage—and how he’d known about Ethan.
After
the funeral.
“Let’s get it over with.” Marc kissed my forehead, then guided me gently but firmly toward the hallway. We passed my mirror on the way out of my room, and I noticed that the blue bruise-bloom on my cheek was finally fading, and with it, the memory of my fight for my life. And for Marc’s, and Jace’s, and Dr. Carver’s.
Marc looked pretty good, considering how long he’d spent outside in below-freezing temperatures, with no food or water. And that his skull
had
turned out to be fractured. He’d been Shifting at least once a day to
accelerate the healing of his head and too many bruises to count.
We stopped in the living room first and said hi to Bert Di Carlo and my uncle Rick, my father’s strongest supporters. They stood near the front window, sipping whiskey from short, thick glasses, and the sight of them gave me a nauseating moment of déjà vu. They’d stood in that same spot the day we found out Sara Di Carlo had been murdered.
Of course today’s crowd was much smaller than the gathering that day, because thanks to the current Grand Canyon-size division in the council, nearly half of the Alphas had not been invited. But Paul Blackwell, the acting chairman, had made an official visit, and true to character, he’d remained professional and impartial. And unfailingly polite, especially to my mother.
After brief words with my uncle and Vic’s father, Marc and I circled the room somberly, greeting the congregated toms in dark suits, then made our way to one corner of the room, where Michael stood with Holly. I could tell from his posture and the tense line of his mouth that something was wrong.
“It’s because they’re all in mourning,” he was saying as we approached. “It has nothing to do with you.”
“I don’t know, Michael,” Holly insisted. Her voice was like honey: smooth, and almost too sweet to stomach. “I don’t think they like me. Everyone looks at me like I come from another planet.”
Michael smiled tightly and tucked a golden strand
of hair behind her ear. “They just don’t know how to act around a famous model.”
Or a human woman at a werecat funeral,
I thought, smiling at him from behind his tall, twig-thin wife.
“Hi, Holly, thanks for coming.” I rested one hand briefly on the tan shoulder exposed by her sleeveless black dress.
“Of course. I’m so sorry about Ethan. He seemed so full of life, and twenty-five is so young to die. What was he doing in that tree, anyway?”
“He was just messing around. Just being Ethan.”
We’d told Holly that he’d fallen out of our apple tree and broken his neck. We said he’d died instantly, and that there was no obvious pain or fear. The truth was somewhat different, of course, but everyone who really knew Ethan knew he’d died a hero, and that was all that really mattered.
He would be remembered.
“Faythe, what did you do to your arm?” Holly eyed my cast in obvious horror, and I wasn’t sure if she was more upset by the thought of a broken bone, or by the fact that my scribbled-all-over cast didn’t match my funeral dress.
“I tripped and fell on a hike a couple of days ago. Sucks, ‘cause I’m right-handed.”
“I’m sure. So, how do you put on makeup…?” Her question faded into awkward silence as her focus moved from my cast to my bruised face, which was bare in comparison. “Oh.” Holly wisely brought her cup up to her mouth, likely to avoid shoving her foot back in, and
Marc rescued me—or maybe
her
—by claiming we had to check on Kaci.
As we walked away, Holly’s latest question followed us. “These men are your father’s colleagues? They don’t
look
like architects….”
I chuckled at Michael’s weary sigh, then followed Marc down the hall and into my dad’s office. Kaci sat at one end of the couch, playing a silent game of chess with Jace. She was beating him. Badly. But then, that was no surprise.
“Hey.” She looked up from the board briefly when we entered the room.
“Hey, Whiskers.” Marc scuffed the top of her head and leaned against the couch at her side. To my surprise, when we’d returned to the ranch, Kaci had greeted us in cat form, rubbing her whiskers against my leg in welcome. Marc had rarely used her real name since.
I sank onto the love seat next to Kaci, eyeing the pieces on the board. “I think you’ll have him in—”
“Three more moves. I know.” She moved her rook into place with no hint of a smile. Kaci had sniffled all through the service, then had refused lunch, claiming an upset stomach. But the truth was that she’d seen enough of death in her short life but hadn’t yet learned how to deal with it.
Hell, neither had I. Unfortunately, I was fairly certain we’d get plenty of practice in the near future.
Jace watched me while Kaci contemplated her next move, his eyes red from both tears and exhaustion, and the intimacy in that look jarred the breath from my
lungs. But he’d kept his word; he hadn’t so much as hugged me since we’d found Marc. Not even when they’d lowered Ethan into the ground and covered him with earth, though I know his heart was breaking just as surely as mine was.
He’d stood beside the coffin, jaw clenched, fists curled tightly at his sides, eyes shining with unshed tears. Then he’d met my gaze from across the grave, and the misery in his eyes took hold of my heart with a grip of iron. For several seconds I couldn’t breathe. I was stunned by the depth of his need, and scared witless by the knowledge that I could ease the ache in his heart. And that he could return the favor.
Fresh tears formed in his eyes as he watched me across the chessboard. But his grief hid something new. A very
changed
Jace, just waiting to take the stage.
When Ethan died, he’d taken part of Jace with him. The tolerant, even-tempered, jovial part that had made him easy to love but hard to take seriously. What was left was raw emotion and a steel glint of determination in his eyes worthy of any Alpha. Jace wanted only two things out of life now, and I understood that once he’d regained his equilibrium, he’d do whatever it took to attain them.
One was revenge for Ethan’s death, which went hand in hand with my father’s plans.
The other was
me,
which went in direct opposition to
Marc’s
plans.
Marc saw the change, too, and though he couldn’t know what it meant for him, I could tell from his grim
sympathy that he understood that he and Jace were in much the same position. They had no home to go back to, other than the Lazy S, and no real family to lean on, other than me and mine.
Having both Jace and Marc on the ranch made me feel like I was standing on a smoldering rope bridge over a lake of lava, and no matter which way I turned, I would eventually fall in and get fried.
And we’d just buried the brother I would normally turn to for comfort.
“You’re too late,” Ryan said, drawing me from my thoughts, and I looked up to find him standing in the office doorway, a frosty can of Coke in one hand. “I’m playing the winner.”
I nodded and gestured toward the board. “Be my guest.”
Ryan rounded the couch and leaned down to whisper into my ear. “You missed it. Milo Mitchell just called to express his
sympathies.
Can you believe it?”
Unfortunately, I
could.
That’s just the kind of prick he was.
As expected, Milo Mitchell denied any knowledge of his son’s activities in the free zone, and we expected him to file formal charges against Marc for Kevin’s death any day. In fact I looked forward to testifying on his behalf, armed with the invoice Michael had found. As did Jace. As a non-Pride member, Marc wouldn’t even be allowed to testify on his own behalf, and neither would Ben Feldman, though he volunteered to verify what we’d found in Kevin’s house.
“Where are Mom and Dad?” I asked as Ryan settled onto the love seat across from me.
“Having tea in the kitchen.”
My parents had taken Ethan’s death harder than anyone, except maybe Jace. My mother had all new lines around her eyes and the silver spots at my father’s temples had actually broadened. He’d always said Ethan would eventually make him go gray, and apparently my brother still wielded that power from beyond the grave.
Although now he was attributing a few of those new gray hairs to me, too. My father was
furious
with me for going after Kevin without permission—without even telling him where we were—and though he was grateful for the outcome, his relief did nothing to lessen his anger, indignation, and outright fear over what could have happened.
I was in serious trouble. After all the years of training me, of grooming me to take over from him, when he’d found out what I’d done, he told me—in no uncertain terms—that if I ever disobeyed an order again, I would never sit on the council as Alpha of the south-central Pride. He would name Marc as his heir, whether or not I married him, consequences be damned.
I believed him. And so did Marc.
And for the first time in my life, I realized how badly I really did want to take over from him. I could lead this Pride. I could protect the cats under my supervision. And I could change things, for Kaci, and for Manx, and for myself.
I would not screw up again.
Ever.
I’d play it by the book from then on.
At least until I was in the position to rewrite the rules.
Kaci captured Jace’s queen and set it on her side of the board, while he shot her a distracted scowl. I leaned forward to tell him how best to take her remaining knight, but my words were cut off by a sudden high-pitched squalling from across the house.