Prey (19 page)

Afterward, dry and dressed in clean clothes, I stared at my ruined shirt and jeans, wondering what to do with them. I’d never be able to wear them again, even if the blood came out by some miracle. Still, I couldn’t bring myself to send them to the incinerator. In a weird way, they were the only part of Ethan I had left, and I wasn’t ready to destroy that. Not yet.

So in the end, I left them where they lay, fully aware that I’d have to do something with them soon.

On my way back to the living room, I stopped to check on Kaci. She lay on the bed, on top of the quilted purple-and-pink comforter, her chest rising and falling rhythmically. Shallowly. At a glance, I thought she was simply sleeping. Then I realized she was still unconscious. Her socks and one remaining shoe lay on the floor at the foot of the bed, a heartbreaking reminder of how she’d lost the other one.

“How did it happen?”

I jumped, and looked up to find my mother standing
beside me, in Kaci’s doorway. I hadn’t heard her approach. She wore a clean apron, and though her eyes were glazed, like she couldn’t quite bring the world into focus, she sounded…okay.

I sighed, reluctant to talk about it so soon. But she had a right to hear how her son had died. “Jace said they were attacked a quarter mile from the stream by four of Malone’s toms, including Alex in human form. The others were furry. Kaci passed out, which is no surprise. They probably scared the crap out of her, and she was already weak to start with.”

“Damn that man,” my mother muttered sharply beneath her breath, and I blinked at her in surprise. But then, I suppose if she’d ever had reason to use profanity, this was it. “He won’t be happy until he pushes the whole council into full-scale war. And this may have done just that.” She shook her head, then stepped into Kaci’s room to take up a post in the chair beside the bed.

“How is she?” I followed her for a better look.

“Dr. Carver says she’s okay, considering. Her pulse is weak, but no more so than it was last night. I think Jace is right, she just fainted.”

Relieved, I exhaled slowly. I wasn’t ready to really think about Ethan yet. Nowhere near ready. Focusing on Kaci was easier.

“She needs to Shift, Faythe,” my mother said softly, arranging the tabby’s hair over one shoulder.

“I know.” That’s why I had come home. But now life—and death—had gotten in the way.

I was in the kitchen starting another pot of coffee when my dad started shouting. “What I
want?
I want to know who the
hell
authorized an invasion of the south-central territory!”

We’d all heard my father yell before, of course. Usually at me. But I rarely heard him swear, and
never
with so much raw anger.

I rushed across the hall in my socks and hovered in the office doorway in shock, my mouth actually hanging open. My father stood behind his desk with the office phone pressed to his right ear. His face was scarlet with rage, his left fist pressed into the leather desk blotter. His eyes were dry, and his expression had shifted from insufferable pain to unquenchable anger.

“Surely you’re exaggerating, Greg,” a coarse, elderly voice said from the other end of the line, so soft I could barely make the words out. “I hardly think a diplomatic envoy could be considered an invasion.”

“Envoy my
ass!
” my father shouted, and I almost choked on my own tongue. “Diplomatic envoys don’t sneak onto private property in feline form. In fact, it’s pretty damn
hard
to be diplomatic without the use of
speech.
It most certainly
was
an invasion, Paul, and I want to know how the hell this happened. Were you in on this? Did Malone call for a vote, or did he simply drop his men off at the border and send you a memo after the fact?”

Oh, shit.
He was talking to Paul Blackwell. As the oldest member of the council, Blackwell had been
chosen to lead it until either my father was reinstated or someone else was appointed to take his place.

So far, Malone was the front-runner. But for the moment, Councilman Blackwell was in charge, and it was never wise to piss off the head of the Territorial Council. Even the
temporary
head.

But then again, it was never wise to piss off Greg Sanders, either.

A door opened down the hall, and Owen and Dan appeared, both looking every bit as surprised and wary as I felt. They came toward me silently, and though Dan hung back, Owen and I hunched together to peer through the doorway at my father, as I’d never seen or heard him before.

“Of course there was a vote,” Blackwell insisted evenly. “Did you think the council would fall apart without you here to run things?”

Our Alpha ignored that jab from the elderly councilman—whom my father himself had once called the most impartial man on the council—and when he responded, his voice had gone soft with hidden danger. “Why would anyone vote in favor of breaching a territorial boundary?” He paused for a moment, frowning in thought, then continued before Blackwell could answer. “Rick would never vote for such an injustice. Neither would Bert Di Carlo.”

He was right. Neither Uncle Rick nor Vic’s father would ever have voted to let Malone breach our boundaries and attack us. Beyond that, neither of them would have kept such a plot secret from my father.

“No…” Blackwell said, and even over the line I heard the reluctance in his voice. “Neither of them was called to session. It was a closed vote.”

Oh hell.

A closed vote meant Malone and his men were openly positioning themselves in opposition not only to my father, but to all of the south-central Pride’s potential allies. It was as close as we’d get to a declaration of war until the first blow actually fell.

Or until my father declared himself out for Malone’s blood.

“A
closed vote?” My father’s voice was as cold and hard as steel. His rage charged the air like an electrical current, and I half expected to see his fingers spark where they held the phone.

“What’s a closed vote?” Owen whispered, and I glanced at him in surprise. Then I realized he had no reason to be familiar with such an unusual political maneuver. I only understood because our father had been training me to take over for him my whole life—though I’d had no idea that’s what he was doing until recently.

Since Dan was obviously also clueless, I addressed my whispered answer to them both, backing away from the door a bit to keep from being overheard by my father, who hadn’t noticed us yet. Normally I wouldn’t have revealed the inner workings of the Territorial Council to a stray, but Dan had already witnessed a lot of private happenings, and keeping a secret in a house full of werecats is next to impossible.

And, in my opinion, he’d already earned our trust, by fighting alongside us, and from all he’d done to help us find Marc.

“The council needs a simple majority vote in favor of a motion before it can be approved.” Which even Dan probably already knew. “A closed vote is a way to get approval for something important without alerting certain members of the council. What you’d do is call for a vote only from those Alphas you’re sure will vote in your favor. But it only works if there are enough of those to overrule the nays, assuming everyone not called would vote in the negative.”

Dan looked confused, and if Owen had understood the concept before I started talking, he didn’t now.

I took a deep breath and approached it from another angle. “In this case, Malone probably only called on the Alphas who are siding with him against Dad. Since Dad can’t vote in a matter concerning himself, there were only nine possible votes, which makes five a simple majority. Malone obviously called on Paul Blackwell, and he probably also snagged Wes Gardner and Milo Mitchell. After that, he’d only need one more.”

“So, if he can get enough surefire votes in his favor, he never even has to
tell
the Alphas who woulda voted against him?” Dan asked, brows raised in question.

“Exactly.”

He frowned and shoved both hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Doesn’t sound fair to me.”

“Me, neither.” In fact, I was getting angrier just
thinking about it. “In an open vote, those who vote nay would have a chance to make their case, possibly convincing others to change their minds. But you don’t get that in a closed vote. Which is exactly what Malone was counting on.”

“So, who’s the fifth vote?” Owen asked.

I shrugged. I hadn’t heard another name mentioned, though we’d very possibly missed that, thanks to my bumbling explanation of Malone’s slimy political tactics.

“Don’t care what he
said
he was going to do. What he
actually
did was send four cats—three armed with claws and canines—onto the back of our property to try to take that poor, traumatized kitten by force. And when my son fought to protect her, they killed him.”

Whatever Blackwell said next was too soft for me to hear, but his tone came through loud and clear. He sounded shocked and dismayed. Maybe even a little disillusioned, which struck me as a strange emotion coming from a man well into his seventies. At twenty-three, I wasn’t sure I had many illusions left to lose, and I couldn’t imagine how Blackwell could have attained such an advanced age with even a shred of naiveté still in place.

While Blackwell was speaking, my father’s eye caught mine briefly and I stepped into the office, pulling Owen in with me. Dan followed—hesitantly, until I waved him in—and we all sat on the couch in a row, hardly daring to breathe for fear of interrupting.

“Ethan,” my father said, answering a question I
hadn’t heard. He sank wearily into his chair, as if the act of speaking his dead son’s name drained some vital bit of energy from him. “And no, it could
not
have been an accident. I was there. Malone’s tom pounced on him from above and slashed him right across the throat.” His voice broke on the last word, and my hand clenched around the arm of the couch.

“Greg, I’m terribly sorry for your loss,” Blackwell said, but I could hear the
but
coming. “But if you had cooperated when you were asked to turn Kaci over, none of this would have happened. We had her best interest in mind.”

“Bullshit!
” my father roared, shooting up from his chair, and I actually jumped. “If you’d had
her
interests in mind, you would have asked me personally to give her up, rather than delegating that responsibility to Milo Mitchell, who’s already declared his opposition to me.”

Ahh, so he’d been talking to Kevin’s father when he refused to give Kaci up…. Small world.

“You could have chosen to place Kaci with a neutral third party, rather than with Calvin Malone,” my father continued, acid practically dripping from his words. “You can’t tell me you actually thought I’d turn her over to him without a struggle. And I’d bet my future on the council that
he
never expected me to. He was counting on a fight. He probably already had his men in place and ready to move before I ever even got the call about Kaci.

“Hell, if you
really
cared about her, and if you were
really
convinced she’s in danger here, you’d have
arranged to take her in some manner that wouldn’t put her at further risk. Malone’s men frightened her so badly she lost consciousness. So don’t try to tell me this is my fault. I’ve
been
in your position, Paul. I’ve been head of the council for nearly fifteen years, and I have never
once
let my own ambition get in the way of the common goal.” Survival of the species, of course. “And that’s
exactly
what Calvin Malone is doing.”

For a moment, there was only silence but for the anxious heartbeats and shallow breathing around the room, and I wondered if the other Alpha had hung up.

“No, you would never let ambition impede us,” Blackwell replied finally, sounding so calm and collected that I wanted to grab the old man’s cane and beat him with it. “I have little doubt of that. But you
would
let your
daughter
get in the way of the common goal. Did you really think we’d let you raise another young woman to turn her nose up at her duty?”

That wrinkled old bastard!
I was actually on my feet for nearly a second before Owen pulled me back down.

My father turned around so fast his chair rolled backward to smack the display cabinet behind him, rattling the glass in its frame. “My daughter is
none
of your business!” he roared, so loud I could swear I saw pencils shake in the marble jar on his desk. On my right, Owen was breathing hard, and Dan’s pulse was racing. Our Alpha was throwing large doses of anger and aggression into the air, and we were breathing it in like secondhand smoke. The buzz was just as addictive, and every bit as dangerous.

And if it didn’t stop soon, our high would end in a serious case of community bloodlust.

But even with his face violently flushed and his fists clenched, my father seemed unaware of the tension building in the room. “And you know damn well that if it weren’t for Faythe, both Abby Wade and Carissa Taylor would be dead by now. Or worse.”

Was I the only one who felt like applauding?

“That may be,” Blackwell conceded softly. “And I’m sure I speak for everyone when I say how grateful we are for the tabbies’ well-being. But that doesn’t change any of this, Greg.”

My dad inhaled slowly, obviously trying to regain his composure as his colleague continued.

“The fact remains that two days ago, five members of the Territorial Council met and decided unanimously to remove Kaci Dillon from your care. That decision was based on your own most recent report on her deteriorating health. We sent her with you in the first place because she seemed to have bonded with your daughter, but if that bond cannot keep her healthy, we would rather see the kitten placed with an Alpha who can be counted on to raise her in accordance with the ideals of the council.”

My father’s next words were menacingly soft, and I recognized the current of danger running through them. “Kaci is getting the best
possible
care here, Paul. Faythe is sure she will Shift very soon—
today
—and Dr. Carver assures us that once she has, her health problems will clear up almost immediately.”

Blackwell sighed. “I’m sorry, Greg, but that’s too little, too late. We’ve already voted to remove her.”

“Did you vote to kill my son in the process?” our Alpha demanded, and the tension in his office ratcheted up another notch. I couldn’t help wondering if Councilman Blackwell could feel it from his end of the line.

“Of course not. And Calvin will be reprimanded for his entire approach.”

“Reprimanded?”
I squeezed Owen’s hand when he took mine to quiet me.
“Ouch,”
I whispered furiously, half hoping Blackwell could hear me. “Careful you don’t slice him open with your sharp
words!
”

“Don’t bother!” my father snapped into the phone. “I’ll deal with Calvin Malone myself. And let me tell you something else,
Councilman
…” Daddy’s words dripped with venom, and as badly as I’d wanted to see him confront the other Alphas over the past few months, I couldn’t shake the certainty that threatening the current head of the council wasn’t the best way to go about that.

But as usual, my opinion was unsolicited.

“Malone has obviously decided that full-scale war is the most expedient way to put himself in charge of the council. Maybe he’s hoping the threat alone will be enough to make me bow out, or maybe he truly believes the rest of you will fight with him. I’d like to think you all understand that fighting amongst the North American Prides will only show our neighbors to the south that we have neither the time nor the resources to deal with the threat they represent.”

My father sucked in a deep breath and closed his eyes briefly before continuing. “But if I’m wrong, if you’ve bought into Malone’s propaganda—his vision of the council as his own person kingdom, with him on the throne—then heaven help us all.”

He paused, rubbing his forehead as if to stave off a headache. “The time for diplomacy has ended, Paul. Now is the time for
action,
and if a war is what you want, the south-central Pride can
damn well
deliver.”

With that, my father hung up on Paul Blackwell, dropped the phone back into its cradle, and sank into his chair so wearily he seemed to have no bones left to support his weight.

“Damn…” I whispered, watching as our Alpha wheeled his chair forward and propped both elbows on his desk, burying his head in his hands. He sat like that for several seconds, and I was about to ask if he was okay when he suddenly launched himself from his chair. His hand shot out almost faster than I could track its movement, and a moment later his marble pencil holder slammed into the concrete wall above the bar.

The jar broke into three uneven chunks, raining pens and pencils all over the bar. One piece of marble shattered the glass in which it landed. Another knocked a half-empty bottle of Scotch to the floor, where it remained miraculously unbroken.

Owen rose to clean up the mess, but I couldn’t tear my gaze from my father. Until my mother spoke.

“Greg?”

I turned to find her standing in the doorway, wearing
a fresh blouse and pair of slacks, as if it were two in the afternoon, rather than seven-thirty in the morning. She stared at my father for a moment, and when his eyes met hers, something passed between them. Something I couldn’t understand. Something born of thirty-three years of marriage and more shared crises than I could remember, or even imagine.

“Could we have a moment please?” she asked in as reasonable a tone as I’d ever heard, yet there was no question she expected to be obeyed. I headed across the hall into the kitchen, and Owen and Dan followed me. The office door closed softly behind us as I settled into a chair at the breakfast table, suddenly hating the floral-print tablecloth for no reason other than that it was cheerful when I wanted to cry. Or break something.

Owen sat next to me, and Dan took the seat across from him. “Damn,” Dan whispered, rubbing one hand through his thick brown hair. “Do your Alphas always fight like that?”

“Lately? Yeah.”

Owen sighed and set his cowboy hat on the table, which he would never have done in front of our mother. “You think he was serious?”

“Without a doubt.” I was starting to wish I’d snagged a bottle of something strong on my way into the kitchen.

“So…what happened to Ethan? That had nothing to do with Kevin Mitchell, and Marc being missing. Right?” Dan’s eyes pleaded with me to confirm his assumption, as if a connection between the two tragedies
would have made the whole thing entirely too complicated to deal with.

“Not that I know of. I think this was just about Pride politics. Calvin Malone trying to gain control of as many tabbies as he can.”

Five minutes later, my mother emerged from the office, leaving silence in her wake. She crossed directly into the kitchen and pulled the teapot from the stove. I thought I was the only one who noticed her hand shaking until Owen rose to take the pot from her, dropping his hat in his chair on the way.

“I’m sorry, hon,” she whispered, stroking his arm as he set the pot on the tile countertop. I think she just wanted to touch him. To reassure herself that he was real. Because Owen was now her youngest son.

When she stopped shaking, my mother served us tea in tiny china cups that looked like toys in the guys’ huge hands. I sipped something spiced with cinnamon, but the ten minutes it took for me to drain my cup were pure torture. Dan kept glancing at the doorway, as if he wanted to leave but didn’t want to be rude. And didn’t know where to go. And it occurred to me then that he was stuck there with us, an outsider in our private hell.

My mother and Owen stared at the tabletop, occasionally wiping their eyes with a tissue from the box she’d put in the middle of the table, apparently content to suffer quietly.