Alpha (3 page)

We were a motley bunch at best—even compared to most other Prides—and we were a lot for a human to take in at once. Especially a newly pregnant college student, whose boyfriend had just died.

This was as hard for her as it was for us.

Sympathy for Angela flooded me, and I gave Jace a little shove. He raised one brow at me but moved over, and I edged past Angela into the living room to make the introductions. To represent my family and try to bridge the gap between worlds.

All the men had stood when we'd entered the room, and every last one of them stared straight at her. I sighed in frustration and rolled my eyes at several of them.
Way to look normal, guys.
I forced a laugh and turned back to her. “Did Ethan tell you we have a big extended family?”

She nodded hesitantly.

“I know it's kind of overwhelming, but everyone really wanted to meet you.” Though in retrospect, introducing her to the entire household at once seemed like an extraordinarily
bad
plan.

She nodded again, mute.

I led her to the right and we worked our way around the room. She shook hands, and I made brief introductions and explanations. My fellow enforcers were first.
“Angela, this is Brian, Vic, and Marc. They work for my father.”

“On the ranch? Like Jace?” Her eyes lit up; she was pleased to have found some logic to cling to in the sea of confusion we'd tossed her into.

“Um, yeah.” They each shook her hand and welcomed her, but Marc eyed Jace as he followed us around the room.

Next came Kaci. “This is my cousin Karli.” The identity under which she would attend school, once everything had calmed down. Assuming that ever happened.

“Hi, Karli,” Angela said, obviously more at ease with a young girl than with a room full of strange men.

“Hey. So, you're gonna have Ethan's baby?” Kaci said, after a frank, curious glance at Angela's flat belly. “Well, I guess it's your baby, too. But I hope it looks like him, at least a little bit.”

Angela smiled. “Me, too.” And just like that, she'd won Kaci over.

While we crossed the rug toward Owen, he bent to help Manx up, with Des in her arms. Her hands were carefully arranged beneath the folds of the baby's blankets, so that her fingers—the nails ruined from her recent declawing—wouldn't show. “And this is my brother Owen.”

Owen shot her a friendly, lopsided grin, and stuck out one calloused hand for hers, his other arm around Manx. “Pleased to meet you. I'm just sorry Ethan isn't here to make the introductions.”

“So am I.” Angela shook his hand warmly, then her gaze was drawn to Des's face as he yawned and stretched
one chubby arm from beneath his blanket. “And who's this? Ethan didn't mention a nephew.”

Owen flushed, but stroked the baby's face with one long finger. “Mercedes is a friend of the family, and this is her son, Desiderio.”

“How beautiful!” Angela said, when Manx tilted her bundle forward so her child could be admired.

“Please forgive me for not shaking,” she said, and Angela smiled at her exotic accent.

“Don't worry about it. You've got your hands full.”

Manx smiled in relief and glanced at Owen, who beamed back at her. She'd been nervous about hiding her hands, no matter how many times he'd assured her that it wouldn't be an issue.

“Dad?” I said, and my father stepped forward in his usual suit, minus the jacket. “This is my father, Greg Sanders.” It felt weird not to add his title after the basic introduction, but Angela wouldn't even know what an Alpha was, and telling her—exposing our existence to a human—would only get me brought up on more charges.

She held out her hand and my father shook it formally, studying her face like he'd be tested on it later. “It's so good to finally meet you. I see now why Ethan tried to keep you all to himself.”

Angela blushed, and I stared at my father in surprise. Who'd have known he could be charming, when he wasn't barking out orders?

“And this is my mother,” I said, as my mom clasped her hands in front of her own perfectly pressed slacks. “Karen Sanders.”

Angela took a deep breath, and I almost laughed out loud at the sudden realization that in a room full of
large, strange men, she was more nervous to meet my mom than anyone else. What the hell had Ethan told her about our mother? Or was there some sort of ritualistic meet-the-mom nerves I'd been spared by virtue of the fact that Marc—an orphan—was my only long-term relationship?

Angela held out one shaking hand, and Mom took it in both of hers. “I'm so very happy to meet you,” my mother said, looking directly into her eyes. “And I want you to know that you—and your child—are always welcome here. We hope you'll bring him to see us often.”

I frowned. Mom was a little over the top, but she couldn't help it. She'd been dreaming of grandchildren for years, and this one in particular was such an unexpected blessing.

Angela burst into tears. Her hands flew up to wipe her cheeks, and she sucked in a great, hiccupping breath, trying to stop the flow.

“Oh, come sit,” my mother insisted, already guiding Angela toward the couch.

“I'm sorry,” she sobbed, blotting beneath her eyes with the tissue my mother plucked from a box on the end table. “This has just all happened so fast, and I was afraid you guys would be mad, or think I was a…But you're so
nice….
” The tears started again. “Thank you.”

My mom sank onto the couch next to Angela and wrapped an arm around her shoulders while the rest of us stared, speechless. “We're just so glad you want to involve us in the baby's life.”

After a couple of minutes, Angela had herself under control, and my mom fixed her a plate of tiny sandwiches and sliced fruit.

“So, how far along are you?” my mother asked. “And have you seen a doctor yet?”

“Yes, just for the initial visit. He says I'm thirteen weeks along.”

My mom's eyes widened. “Three months. Wow. There's so much to do!” I could practically see the gears spinning behind her eyes. But my father was more practical.

“We'd like to help with the cost either way, of course,” he began, and Angela's forehead furrowed. “But if you're interested, we have a family physician who would be glad to see you.”

Dr. Carver, of course.

“Um, sure,” she said. “I'll meet him.”

While she and my mother chatted softly, the guys all filled plates, then stood around the room snacking, and almost reverently observing the miracle that Angela and her child represented for us. It was the single most peaceful, optimistic moment we'd experienced since Ethan's death, and I never wanted it to end.

Unfortunately, Angela's introduction into our family felt very much to me like the calm before the inevitable storm. And I could already feel the clouds gathering…

M
ontana. Again. Because the last visit worked out so well…

I hauled my duffel from the rear floorboard of the rental car and glanced up at the cabin as phantom pain in my side heralded an avalanche of memories. I'd shed blood and spilled blood here. I'd loved Marc and let him go. I'd found Kaci, killed bad guys, and narrowly avoided execution.

That cabin and I had a love-hate relationship, almost as complicated as my history with Marc. But Montana was an appropriate setting for this particular council meeting. Calvin Malone should be ousted where he'd first begun his quest for werecat world domination.

Malone would try to prevent the council—the majority of which harbored no fondness for my Pride—from hearing our evidence, I had no doubt. But I was prepared to shout the list of his crimes from the nearest mountain top, if need be. And to shove the bloody evidence of his guilt down the other Alphas' throats, if it would help.

“You okay?” Jace lifted the duffel strap from my
shoulder. If he could relieve my emotional burden so simply, he would. Jace was no longer as easy to understand as he'd been a month earlier.

“Yeah. I'm good.” That was an outright lie, but it was one I clung to. Survival had become a game of bluffing. Of putting on my game face and pretending I wasn't worried. That I didn't have everything in the world riding on this meeting.

But I did.

If Calvin Malone were voted into power, we would have to remove him by force. Otherwise, he would make life hell for the south-central Pride and our allies, because we were everything he hated. Everything that threatened his tunnel vision of werecat society as his own personal autocracy. In Malone's paradise, membership would be by invitation only. Not open to those lacking purebred pedigrees. Inaccessible to those without a Y chromosome, unless they bent to his will.

My temper spiked just thinking about it, and some dark voice deep inside me insisted that if our evidence against him failed, we should simply screw the vote and bring on the pain. We'd been ready—even eager—to fight for weeks,

But Paul Blackwell, the elderly interim head of the Territorial Council, had convinced my father to give peace a chance, as cheesy as it sounded. If we could possibly avert full-out civil war and the inevitable casualties on either side, we owed it to the entire werecat population to try. Even I couldn't argue with that. In theory.

However, in my experience, the concept of peace had a lot in common with the Loch Ness monster—I found
both elusive and difficult to believe in. So, I would hope for the best, but prepare for the worst.

Marc popped the trunk, then slammed the driver's-side door and I jumped, startled from my own thoughts. “Jace, run up to the lodge and get the key.”

Jace went stiff, and I spoke up before he could growl. “I'll get it.” As tired as I was of standing between them, it was safer to play peacekeeper than to break up the fight that would result if I didn't. Safer physically and politically. The whole world would know about me and Jace soon enough—two of Malone's men had figured it out and would surely disseminate the information whenever it would most damage our cause—and I wasn't eager to clue anyone in early via a Marc-Jace death match.

“You can't go by yourself,” Marc insisted. “Malone and his men might already be here.” And they were gunning for all three of us, after the trespassing/kidnapping/assault crime trifecta we'd pulled off the week before. Not that we'd had any other options.

“Blackwell came down yesterday, so even if Malone's here, he's not alone,” I responded. “And he's not going to make trouble just hours before the vote.” But the truth was that both Jace and Marc had more to fear from the Appalachian Pride than I did. Malone still needed me alive, but since the council had yet to officially recognize Marc's readmission into our Pride, he technically had no rights within our society. Which meant that his word alone would not stand against his attacker's, should it come down to that.

And Malone was just looking for an excuse to get rid of Jace—his stepson—without witnesses.

“You guys stay and wait for my dad. Please.” Our
Alpha had ridden from the airport with Umberto Di Carlo and his men, so they could talk strategy on the way. “I'll be right back.” Then, before either of them could argue, I shoved my bare hands into my coat pockets and took off at a brisk walk with them both staring after me.

We could all three have gone together, but frankly, after hours spent on the plane, then in the car with both Jace and Marc and the choking amounts of testosterone they were dumping into the air, I really needed a little time to myself, to clear my head.

To think about my decision. And the fact that I didn't want to choose. Or tell anyone else what was going on. But the expiration date on that option was rapidly approaching, even if Alex Malone and Colin Dean hadn't been telling stories yet.

My father was definitely suspicious. If we weren't in the middle of the biggest series of catastrophes ever to hit the south-central Pride in a single month, he'd have already figured it out. We'd delayed telling him before to keep from adding to his stress level, but now our time was up. I'd planned to tell him on the drive from the airport, but I lost that chance when he rode with Di Carlo instead, so now I'd have to make time to get him alone and try to explain.
Before
he heard from anyone else.

Jace was sure my dad would throw him out. Marc was worried about the same thing. Or rather, he was worried that if Jace got thrown out before I'd come to a decision, my father would pressure me to choose him in Jace's absence, even if that wasn't what I really wanted. Marc didn't want to win by default. He wanted to win for real. Forever.

But my dad wouldn't kick Jace out. Not now. Not with everything else going on. Probably not ever. Jace was a part of our family and, like Marc, he had nowhere else to go.

“Damn, somebody sure did a number on your face,” a familiar voice called, drawing me from my thoughts.

My hand flew to my left cheek and my pulse raced so fast my heart felt stressed by the effort. I looked up to see a tall form in the shadow of the cabin ahead. His clothes were a dark blur, but his height and shockingly white hair were unmistakable. As was his voice. Colin Dean.

Damn, damn, damn.

“I was gonna say the same to you.” I forced my hand back into my pocket without letting my fingers trace the thin, straight scar running from my left cheekbone to the corner of my mouth. Dean had put it there. He'd carved up my face slowly while I'd stood frozen, afraid to breathe too deeply for fear of pushing the blade farther into my skin. But in the end, he'd gotten the worst of our little exchange—I'd buried the knife in his gut and left him bleeding. But not before Marc had broken his nose and one cheekbone, and Jace had sliced the side of Dean's face wide-open.

Surely his scars were worse than mine.

Dean stepped into the light, and for the first time since we'd met, his face made me smile. His scar was thick and knotty, and unlike mine, he could trace it from the inside with his tongue. His nose had healed straight, but was still kind of swollen, even after a full week and ample time to speed his recovery by Shifting. But the faded yellow bruises around his eyes and the
darker one on his cheek only made Dean look scarier and more pissed off than I'd ever seen him.

Maybe my father was right. Maybe we should have killed him.

For a moment, I regretted my decision to come by myself. I'd assumed Malone and his men were staying in the cabin on the other side of the main lodge, where they'd stayed last time, in which case I wouldn't have run into any of them alone.

Either I was wrong, or Dean had come looking for me.

He stalked toward me, and my options raced through my head. I could run, but then he'd chase me, either for fun, or because he truly couldn't control his cat's instinct to pounce on anything resembling prey. Or because he didn't want to control it.

I could stand up to him and fight. But that would be stupid with the vote coming up. I couldn't risk doing anything that would make my father look bad.

I could yell for Marc and Jace, but that would label me even more a coward than running would.

Or I could keep walking and hope Dean had orders not to touch me—surely Malone wouldn't want to get his hands dirty, either, this close to the election.

I walked on, and Dean altered his course to intercept me. “How many stitches did it take to hold your guts in?” I asked, clenching my fists in my coat pockets as he fell into step beside me, like we were old friends.

“Nowhere near what it'll take to sew you back together when I'm done with you.”

“That sounds like a threat.” My voice came out cool and confident, and I hoped my racing heartbeat didn't ruin the impression. Yes, I was a damn good fighter, but
Dean outweighed me by more than a hundred pounds and had been training at least as long as I had. Probably much longer. And his grudge against me had moved far beyond the desire to see me dead—he wanted me broken and humiliated first. If he wasn't under orders to play nice, we were both going to walk away from this one with new scars. Assuming we walked away at all.

“Caught that, did you?” His shadow stretched past mine on the brown grass crunching beneath our feet. “Sooner or later, you're gonna find yourself alone with me, and I'm gonna find out what it takes to make you scream like the bitch you are.”

I shrugged without pulling my fists from my pockets, relieved to see that we were now within sight of the main lodge. “We're alone now. What's stopping you?” Aside from the dozen or so enforcers in the lodge ahead, well within hearing range, should one of us shout.

“Formalities…” Dean growled, stepping in front of me to block my path. “But after the vote, the council's gonna put you in your place, and I'm one of the toms who's gonna keep you there.”

I raised both brows in silent challenge, confident now that if he was going to throw a punch, he'd already have done it. “You have no authority over me, and the council can't change that.” Even if Malone became council chair, he couldn't reassign me to his own Pride, nor could he make my father hire Dean as one of our enforcers. No council chair had ever even tried anything like that. There was no precedent to support it.

“In case you haven't noticed, things are changing around here, and Cal knows exactly how to purge the impurities your Pride breeds so the rest of us can live clean.”

Impurities?
Motherfucker was talking about
Marc!
I pulled my fists from my pockets, but before I could act on my rash impulse, Dean was talking again.

“Cal has plans, including consequences for little girls who step beyond their boundaries. And I just might be one of those consequences.”

I laughed out loud. I couldn't help it.

Dean's eyes flashed in anger and suddenly I realized his fury was completely impotent. He was goading me because Malone had him on a tight leash, at least for the moment.

My fists relaxed. I propped my hands on my hips and looked up at him. “Can I see it?”

He blinked, still scowling. “See what?”

“Your scar.” His expression darkened like a sudden eclipse, and I let my gaze grow cold. “You want to hear me scream? Give it your best shot. But until then, every time you take off your shirt, you may as well be handing out my business card. I shoved my blade deep inside you and loved
every single inch
of it. When I can't sleep at night, the memory of you screaming like a little bitch is my lullaby. And everybody knows exactly what that scar means—that you got your ass handed to you by a
little girl
. Again.”

“You fucking bitch…” Dean picked me up by both arms, and my toes barely brushed the ground. It took every ounce of self-control I had to let myself hang there, instead of kicking.

“Do it,” I said, staring straight into his eyes. Daring him. “Hit me. Throw me. Pick a fight, hours before the vote. I'm sure Malone will understand.”

Dean growled. His hands tightened around my arms, and my fingers twitched when he squeezed a nerve.

“You fucking moron, put her down!”

I couldn't see the speaker—couldn't make myself look away from Dean while he held me like a rag doll—but I'd know Alex Malone's voice anywhere.

“You put a single bruise on her, and my dad will find new ways to skin a cat.”

Dean dropped me, but his furious glare never left mine. I landed with my knees bent and barely resisted the urge to rub my arms where he'd held them. “He won't get the chance. Touch me again, and I'll gut you. And I don't need a knife to do it.” Thanks to the partial Shift of one arm.

Alex stepped around the Nordic-looking giant and sneered at me, then whirled on Dean. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Before Dean could answer, movement over his shoulder caught my eye. “Faythe?” Marc called, jogging toward us with Jace on his heels.

“I'm fine,” I insisted, as they barreled to a stop on either side of me. “Dean and I were just comparing war wounds. He won. Someone cut him up pretty badly, huh, Colin?”

Dean growled again. “Stay out of my way, bitch. Or I'll make that scratch on your face look like a mercy.” He and Alex stomped back toward their cabin.

“What the hell was that?” Marc demanded once they were gone.

I shrugged. “Dean's playing games, so I tried to draw a foul.”

Jace frowned. “You wanted him to hit you?”

I tossed my head toward the main lodge, where several forms were now visible in the windows. “With an
audience to see him throw the first punch? Hell, yeah. We need every advantage we can get over Malone.”

“Well, let's aim for advantages that don't involve any more stitches or bruises for you, okay?” Jace smiled, and Marc scowled, and as had become my habit, I stood between them. Alone, among company. Untouched, and frankly missing the easy physical contact most werecats thrive on.