Alpha (23 page)

“No one who isn't already here,” I qualified. “But once this is all over, we'll have a true memorial. He
will
be properly remembered.”

“But not inviting people seems so…cold,” Brian said, from the couch where he sat with Parker and Marc.

“Quite the opposite, really.” My mother spoke softly, but had no trouble capturing everyone's attention from her perch on the love seat next to Manx. “It will be intimate. A small, closed burial will give us a chance to mourn him in private before we have to put our grief on display for everyone else he ever knew.”

And just like that, it was settled.
Thank goodness
. I was in awe of my mother.

“Then we fight?” Eagerness bled through Vic's voice like spilled wine through silk.

“Yes, and we don't leave the Appalachian territory until I personally verify that Calvin Malone is no longer breathing. Colin Dean is the secondary objective, and while I'd love the chance to give him a slow, agonizing death for what he did to our Alpha, we can't afford to be that picky. I'll take him dead if taking him alive doesn't look possible.” And if I knew Dean, he'd make us kill him rather than be taken prisoner.

“Is there a specific plan, beyond kill, maim, and capture?” Parker asked, looking grimmer than I'd ever seen him. He was taking the news about his father very badly, and I could smell the whiskey on his breath even from across the room. I'd have to talk to him about that.

“Yes, actually. Obviously, Patricia and Melody
Malone are completely off-limits, though you have permission to protect yourselves from them as necessary.” And I was living proof that an angry tabby could be just as hard to handle as a tomcat. “As for everyone else, kill only if you have to. We're trying to whack off the enemy's head, not hack him into a million pieces, and a little mercy can go a long way.”

“It can also get you killed,” Parker said.

“Yeah. Let's try not to let that happen.” I blinked and forced my eyes to refocus as I glanced around the room at all the faces watching me. “In addition to all that, we'll have backup from the East Coast, the Midwest, and the southeast Prides.” Uncle Rick, Aaron Taylor, and Bert Di Carlo's men, of course. “As well as air support from a Flight of thunderbirds. At least, that's the plan.” Though we had yet to actually secure their help, because they could only be contacted in person.

When the mumbles of surprise subsided, I continued, unable to completely bury my grim smile. “I'm hoping all of that turns out to be major overkill, but this is our last good shot at taking Malone out, and we are
not
going to mess it up.”

That time, the general sentiment was approval, and a palpable surge of bloodlust-tinged anticipation.

When I'd answered the rest of the questions and outlined the basics of the private burial, I dismissed the meeting with a suggestion that everyone get some sleep. There'd be little time to rest after the funeral the next day.

“Well done,” Marc said, as the last of the toms filed into the hallway.

I was exhausted, mentally and physically, and I really wanted to sit. I glanced down at my dad's chair, and Jace
chuckled. “You can sit there, you know. I don't think he'd mind.”

I shook my head. “I'm not ready. It feels weird.” And there was nowhere else in the room to sit without looking like I was taking sides; Marc sat on the couch, and Jace sat on the love seat.

“So, are you going to stand up for every meeting?” Marc grinned like he was joking, but he wasn't. And what he really wanted to ask was if I intended to stand, rather than choose between the two of them.

“Maybe. At least until I figure out…what works best.”

“Are you hungry?” Jace asked, and Marc scowled.

“No. I'm fine. Listen, guys…” I released a long exhale and finally sank onto the arm of my father's chair, one foot on the ground for balance. “You don't need to wait on me. I don't want you to. I can cook my own food and get my own coffee.”

Marc actually laughed. “Faythe, you don't cook worth a damn.”

“Okay, you've got me there.” However, unless we were talking frozen pizza or hamburgers, neither did either of them. “But my point is that I can't be my dad, and you don't need to treat me like him. I'm still trying to figure all this out—figure out who I need to be, to be Alpha—and the last thing I need is for you two to start acting weird around me.”

Jace chuckled. “At the risk of pissing Marc off, I don't think either of us has any intention of treating you like your dad.”

Marc scowled again, but he couldn't argue. “I just want to take care of you, Faythe.”

“I know. And I really do appreciate it. I just… I have
a lot to sort out right now. I'll get it figured out. I swear. But right now, I have to talk to Kaci.”

I left them in the office, but I stopped to listen just outside the door when I heard Marc speak. “You're not making this any easier on her,” he snapped, and I could practically feel Jace bristle, even with a wall separating us. “
I'm
not making it easier on her? You're the one brooding and pouting and…”

I cleared my throat where they could hear, then headed toward the kitchen to rescue Kaci from Holly.

“Y
ou're a cousin, right, Karli?” Holly said, and I pressed my back to the wall to eavesdrop for the second time in as many minutes. I'd asked Kaci to keep Michael's human wife occupied during the Shifter-only meeting in the office.

“Um… Yeah.” Kaci hadn't actually had to use the identity my father had created for her with anyone but Holly so far, and I mentally crossed my fingers that she would remember it. “Why?”

“Are the other branches of this family so…weird?”

“What do you mean?” Kaci asked, and I cringed. We all knew exactly what Holly meant.

“Private funerals. Practically weekly family emergencies, usually in the middle of the night. Closed-door family meetings that include the employees, but not the daughter-in-law. Farmhands who live on the property, even though there's no livestock at all, and in the winter there isn't even any hay.”

“I don't know about any of that,” Kaci hedged. “My family didn't have a farm.”

I almost laughed out loud.

“So, where is your family?” Holly asked, with all the sensitivity of a drunken frat boy. “Why do you live with your cousins instead of your parents?”

Aaaand, there's my cue…

I rounded the corner into the kitchen to save Kaci from having to reply, trying to look like I hadn't been listening in. Kaci sat at the breakfast bar, her long, thick brown waves pulled into a tight braid. Holly stood opposite her, measuring cocoa powder to dump into a saucepan of milk. She wore only eye makeup and had pulled her hair into a simple ponytail at the base of her skull. In jeans and a snug tee, she looked nothing like the pictures I'd seen of her on the runway, but she was still beautiful, even without all the professional hair and cosmetic artists molding her into the guise of perfection. She looked…clean and honest, if more than a little confused.

“Hey, Faythe, we're making hot chocolate.” Her smile was sincere, even as her concerned gaze studied me for clues about how I was taking my father's untimely death. “You want some?”

Hot chocolate, the old-fashioned way, and unassisted beauty. No wonder Michael loved her, in spite of the obvious Shifting handicap.

“Um, sure.” I slid onto the bar stool beside Kaci and gave her a subtle nod to tell her that everything was okay—as okay as it could be, considering—and that I'd fill her in soon.

“Do you have any mint extract? It's really good with chocolate….”

“Check my mom's baking cabinet.” I gestured to the cabinet doors behind her, and the only human Sanders turned to look.

I probably would have liked Holly, too, if I wasn't always so busy trying to keep secrets from her. We couldn't tell her what we really were because disclosure of our existence to a human was a capital offense. Punishable by execution. Not that the Territorial Council was in any shape to enforce such a sentence at the moment, but as much of a pain as she could be at times, none of us wanted to expose either Holly or Michael to any unnecessary danger.

“Is everything okay?” Holly glanced toward the hall to indicate the meeting I'd just concluded without actually mentioning it in front of Kaci. Her intent was sweet—protect the child from all mention of tragedy—but a bit ironic, considering that Kaci knew much more about my father's death—not to mention his life—than she did.

“As okay as can be expected, considering.” I ran my hand down the length of Kaci's braid, and she gave me a sad smile, accepting physical comfort on instinct, the strongest werecat impulse I'd seen in her yet.

“Good.” Holly poured two drops of mint extract from the lid of the bottle into the saucepan, then opened a five-pound bag of granulated sugar and picked up a measuring cup. “I was just asking the munchkin here about her family.”

Kaci went stiff, but Holly didn't notice. I rubbed Kaci's back, then started to step in for the official redirect, but Kaci beat me to it, her face caught somewhere between a scowl and a gloat. “She said we're weird.”

Holly flushed instantly, and her eyes went wide. “I didn't… That's not what I meant.”

“I know.” I tossed my head toward the hall and Holly
frowned, then nodded and followed me with a promise to “Karli” that we'd be right back.

There was nothing Kaci liked to talk about less than the fact that she'd accidentally killed her mother and sister during her first, completely unexpected Shift. Kaci was what the experts were calling a “double recessive.” She was our miracle tabby, born to two human parents who had no idea they both carried the recessive werecat “gene.” Though it's actually quite a bit more complicated than the simplistic phrasing I clung to.

Kaci's human father assumed she'd died in the “animal attack” that killed his wife and older daughter in Canada, and he'd only recently given up the search for her body. But as far as I was concerned, Kaci got the worse end of the deal. She'd had no idea what was happening to her during her first Shift and she was forever haunted by the role she unintentionally played in her mother's and sister's deaths. And unlike her father, she could never achieve closure because while he could mourn her and eventually move on, she knew he was still alive, but out of reach. Because we couldn't send a teenage Shifter back to live with a human father, even if she wouldn't have had to explain her absence and her family's deaths.

In the hall, I whispered. I knew perfectly well that Kaci could hear us, but Holly did not.

“She doesn't like to talk about her family,” I began, glancing into the kitchen once, as if to make sure that Kaci wasn't listening. “They died a few months ago, and we're all she has left, so she's with us for good now.”

“Oh, how horrible for her!” Holly whispered, pale brows drawing low on her lineless forehead. Then she cringed, as what she'd actually said sank in. “The death
part, not the part about being with you guys.” She shook her head as if to reset her train of thought, while I stifled a smile. “Was it another accident?”

“Sort of. It was actually a bizarre animal attack.” The key to lying effectively is to stick as close to the truth as possible. I don't
like
to lie, but when I have to do it, I want to get away with it.

On the edge of my vision, I saw Kaci stiffen again, but again Holly missed it.

“You guys have had the worst run of luck! First Karli's family, then Ethan, and now your dad… Fortunately, I don't have anywhere to be for the next two weeks, so I'm completely at your disposal. Just tell me what I can do to help.”

I swallowed a groan of frustration and forced my lips into a halfhearted smile, trying to keep in mind that she had no idea she was making my job harder. Or even that I had a job. “Thanks. I'm gonna steal her away for a few minutes, but we'll be back for hot chocolate.”

“Sure…” Holly went back to her cocoa and I gestured for Kaci to follow me to my room. Then I thought better of it and redirected us toward the office, which Marc and Jace had left empty. Holly didn't have supernatural hearing, but I didn't want to risk her overhearing anything, just in case.

I closed the door behind Kaci and we sat on opposite ends of the couch, facing each other with our feet tucked beneath us. “Thanks for keeping Holly occupied,” I began, suddenly wishing I already had that mug of cocoa. Or better yet, coffee.

“She seems to think she was babysitting me. Are you sure she's not right?”

“I swear on my best pair of boots. I just needed an
excuse to keep her out of the meeting. I have no intention of hiding anything from you.”

“Does that mean I get the boots if you're lying?”

I raised both brows at her, hoping she was kidding. “They won't fit you. And I'm not lying.”

“Good,” she said, and a tiny bit of the tension inside me eased. “I'd rather have my own boots, anyway.” She pulled her braid over one shoulder and fingered the end of it like the bristles of a paintbrush. “So…Owen says you're the Alpha now. Does that mean you got smarter?”

I waited for some sign that she was kidding, but none came.

I sighed. “Unfortunately, no. And I'm not any older, faster, or scarier. Nor have I suddenly developed an increase in testosterone or a decrease in ovaries. In fact, just between you and me, I may be the least qualified Alpha in history.”

She thought about that, then frowned. “I don't think so. I've met Calvin Malone, remember?”

“Thanks. It helps to know that, in the opinion of a thirteen-year-old, I'm better qualified than a complete megalomaniac.”

She frowned. “A mega what?”

“Never mind. I just meant that Malone's a big, power-hungry nutjob.”

“No arguments there.”

 

“Mom, come on. It's too cold for you to stay out here.” She'd spent most of the last day in the barn, trying to say goodbye to my father, and I was starting to worry about her physical health, as well as her emotional well-being.

“I'm not ready to go.” She wiped her red, dripping nose on a tissue already soaked with tears, but didn't even look at me. “Not until it's over. All of it.”

“Please, Mom.” I crossed my arms over my chest, trying to stop my own shivering, but there was little point in even trying. The homemade, half-full grave at my feet was the cause of my chattering teeth and shaking limbs, rather than the cold.

Everyone else had already gone inside to mourn in quiet solitude or in somber groups. Except for Marc, Jace, Vic, and Parker, who had dug the grave, and were now refilling it in their funeral clothes, because changing into work clothes felt somehow disrespectful.

“I'm not ready, Faythe.” My mother looked up that time, and great beads of moisture clung to her bare lashes and cheeks. “I need…a little more…time.”

“Okay.” The only real difference between my mother's mourning process and mine was that I had something important to distract me from the cold chasm growing within me with each glance at his grave, and she did not. I would lose myself in plans for the invasion of the Appalachian territory. I would focus on the burn of bloodlust in my veins rather than the agony of loss. I would pour every last drop of my pain and rage into the details, and the resulting carnage would be my father's true memorial, infinitely more heartfelt than the headstone still on order.

Shovel in hand, Marc shot me a look of sympathy that melted into concern when he saw my face. Was it that obvious?

He stabbed his shovel into the soil hard enough to make it stand up on its own. I flinched at the raw thunk, then ground my teeth in irritation over my own
squeamishness. That would have to go. If it wouldn't help us beat Malone, it had no business in my head until he'd joined my father in the ground.

I took off my coat and draped it over my mother's shoulders, on top of her own, as Marc veered toward me from the side of the grave. I met him several feet away from my mom.

“You okay?” He brushed his palms together and grave dirt fell from them. The tiny clumps hit the ground and seemed to echo within my head, much louder than should have been impossible.

“I'm fine. I just need to go iron out the last few details. I have to verify the time and the number of men my uncle's bringing, then I need to leave for the airport.” I was taking Vic with me to recruit the thunderbirds, because I couldn't justify taking both Marc and Jace away from the Pride when it was most in need of protection, but I couldn't choose between them.

“Maybe you should take a couple of hours off. Try to relax. Help your mom.”

I shook my head slowly, trying not to stare at the ground and remember that my father was now in it. “She wants to be alone, and I don't want to relax. I want to stay pissed off, so I can finish putting this thing together with a clear head.”

His frown deepened and he crossed dirty arms over the front of his dress shirt. “Anger gives you a clear head?”

I nodded. “It gives me clarity like twisting the focus knobs on a microscope.”

Marc blinked, and for an instant, I read confusion in his eyes. Or maybe something darker. The hair rose
on the back of my neck, though I couldn't have said precisely why.

“I take it that doesn't work for you?”

He shook his head. “Anger makes me see red, and I lose all perspective. You may recall past fits of irrationality, followed by an excess of broken stuff.”

“Yeah.” I frowned up at him. “That's kind of what we're going for, with Malone and Dean.” And anyone who gets in the way.

“I know. Just…try to take it easy, okay?” He glanced over one shoulder and I looked up to find Jace watching us, while Parker and Vic still dug.

“There will be time to take it easy when Malone and Dean are dead.”

Marc exhaled heavily. “Let's hope.”

I glanced past him to the fresh, unfinished grave, and my throat suddenly felt thicker. “Thanks for…doing that.”

He followed my line of sight. “It's the very least that we owe him. Seriously.”

“I know.” I couldn't even begin to quantify what I owed my father. My independence. The ability to defend myself. The certainty that doing the right thing was always worth it, no matter what it cost. “Come see me when you get in?”

He nodded. “Of course.” Then he went back to the most hateful hole I'd ever seen, and I headed for the main house, with one more look at my mother.

Halfway there, I heard footsteps and had to drag my gaze from the ground and my thoughts out of my own head to identify the form walking toward me.

Ryan
.

He hesitated when he saw me coming, then started
walking again, like he could prove his backbone by simply not running away. But it was far too late for that. He had no backbone left, and no Pride. Ryan walked in deep shadows of shame these days, and he only walked at all because in the end he'd given us the information we'd needed to capture two of his partners. Not out of the goodness of his heart, but to save his own rotten hide.