None of our opponents had to fight on so many fronts simultaneously.
“No problem.” Jace’s voice cracked on the first words he’d spoken since we’d…been summoned to the office. “I’d be glad to take her.”
Startled by the double entendre I hoped no one else had caught, I glanced at him before I could stop myself, and I found him watching me intently. His tortured gaze held mine captive, and my heart thumped harder in response to such boldly intimate contact in the midst of an official Pride gathering.
I struggled to slow my pulse before my father heard it. Fortunately, my dad was so devastated and distracted by the recent tragedy that he hadn’t noticed the sudden tension in the room, or the physical signs of stress I was waving like white flags.
But Owen noticed. He shot me questioning glances, but I avoided his eyes. Carver thought he understood what had happened between me and Jace, but Owen wouldn’t even come close. And as much as I loved him, as much as I wanted to be physically close to him to mourn our brother together, I couldn’t explain it to him. Not then.
Maybe not ever.
I’d just lost the one brother who might have understood.
My father cleared his throat and blinked, as if refocusing his uncharacteristically scattered thoughts. “I need to start making calls.” He motioned to Dr. Carver with one arm extended, hand open. “Bring me the phone.” The doctor complied, and as my father dialed, he glanced at me again. “I called Michael first, about an hour ago. He’s as upset as the rest of us, but insists he’s okay to drive. But he’d already dropped Vic off with Parker. Would you mind telling them about…all of this?”
I nodded reluctantly, my chest tightening as I dug my phone from my pocket. I was not a very good bearer of bad news.
“Hi, Rick,” my father said into his phone, and I scrolled through the names in my own call list while he spoke to my maternal uncle. “I’m sorry to call so early, but I, uh…I have some bad news.” My dad paused and forced an awkward laugh, rubbing his forehead as if he were trying to wear the skin from his skull. “That’s probably the biggest understatement I’ve ever uttered.”
Another pause, and distantly I heard my uncle ask if my father was okay.
“No, I’m not,” Daddy said. “Ethan’s dead, Rick.”
And that was all I could take. I hurried into the hall, ostensibly to make my call in private. But mostly to avoid hearing that horrible sentence uttered again.
“Hello?” Vic said into my ear, his voice crackly from the poor reception and hoarse with fatigue. He was still out in the woods, looking for Marc.
I passed Kaci’s room on the way to my own and saw my mother in an armchair next to the bed, asleep with her head fallen to one side. Her face was still red and swollen from recent tears. “Hey, Vic, it’s me,” I whispered as I passed, hoping not to wake my mom.
Over the line, leaves crunched and a twig snapped, and his next words sounded much more alert. “What’s wrong? Is it Kaci?”
“No.” I stepped into my room and closed the door, then leaned against it. “It’s Ethan.” I sniffled and closed my eyes, determined not to cry again. I’d never get through the phone call once the tears started.
The crunching footsteps stopped, and a heavy quiet settled over the line. “How did it happen?” I heard comprehension in his voice. Vic may not have known the specifics, but he knew the outcome.
“He and Jace took Kaci for a walk in the woods,” I said, and the tears came anyway. “They were attacked by four of Malone’s toms. Jace made it back with Kaci, but Ethan stayed to hold them off.” By the end, even I could barely understand what I was saying, but Vic seemed to have no trouble.
For a moment after I finished speaking, there was only silence, broken by the occasional sound of nature over the line. Then Vic sighed, a sound pregnant with grief, and anger, and finally acceptance. It irritated me that he experienced no obvious denial. I wasn’t mad at Vic himself, of course. I was angry that he—that we—lived lives in which violence and death were so common that we accepted them with a weary sigh and a grim frown.
Brutal death shouldn’t be so easily accepted. It should still be an occasion for tears and hysteria and, at the very least, an interruption of daily life. Routine should not continue in the face of such a loss. It should be shattered like silence before gunfire. It should shake everyone it touches, and we should demand an end to it.
Yet even as those thoughts flew through my mind—so fast I could hardly catch them, so bitter my lip curled in distaste—I knew that the reality was somewhat different. Violence was as old as our existence, and we could not stop it. The best we could do was harness it for our own use. For justice for Ethan.
And we would have justice.
“Why would Malone breach the boundary?” Vic asked, and I heard no disbelief in his words. Only bewilderment and anger.
“They wanted Kaci, and we refused to turn her over.” Of course, we suspected Malone was after much more than just the tabby, but I didn’t want to be the one to bring up the topic of war.
“Why does he want her?” Then, before I could answer the question, he answered it himself. “Because he who controls the tabbies controls the toms.”
I pulled out my desk chair and dropped into it. “That’s much prettier than I would have said it, but basically, yes.”
“That’s repugnant,” Vic spat.
“Welcome to my world.”
“Damn, Faythe, I’m so, so sorry. I can’t believe this.” He paused, and I filled the silence with more sniffling. “How’s your dad holding up?”
“He’s ready to mount Malone’s head on his wall.” I twirled a novelty pen on my desktop, absently watching the feather-topped lid swirl against my palm. “He’s speaking in terms of revenge rather than justice, and that just isn’t like him.”
“Not that I can blame him.” Vic sighed. “What about your mom?”
“She’s upset, but I think dealing with Kaci is helping her deal with Ethan.”
Distant footsteps crunched over the line—probably other toms combing the forest. “So…we’re going to retaliate?”
“Yeah. Jace is taking me and Dan to Mississippi to continue the search for Marc, and you and Parker can ride back with him, if you want. My dad hasn’t mentioned any specifics yet, but I’m sure he’ll need you both for whatever he’s planning.”
“Okay. Wow.”
“Can you tell Parker? But don’t spread the word, other than that. We don’t need the rest of the world catching wind of our vulnerability.”
“No problem.”
“And, Vic?” I already knew the answer, but I had to ask. “Any luck yet?”
He exhaled slowly, and the sound was frustration given voice. “Not so far. But we’ll find him.”
“I know. We will.” Yet when I hung up, tears blurred my vision. I folded my arms on my desk and let my forehead rest on them, wishing I could close my mind as easily as I’d closed my eyes. But there was no way to turn off the doubt settling into my stomach like stones weighing me down, or the fear burning through my heart like acid.
“You okay?”
I jerked upright to find Jace standing in my doorway, his good hand still on the knob. Damned sneaky tomcats…
“Not even a little bit. You?”
“About the same.” Jace’s ubiquitous smile was gone, and I could not get used to the sight of him without dimples.
I turned in my chair to watch him as he crossed the room to sit on the end of my bed, carefully distancing himself from me physically. Not that it mattered. Just seeing him sent a jolt of adrenaline straight into my heart, and I couldn’t decide whether that was due to guilt, genuine heartache from the very real connection we’d established, or some involuntary, eager muscle-memory from my traitorous body.
“Will it get any easier?” I asked, my hands clenching around the back of my chair.
“You mean Marc, or Ethan?”
“Either. Both.”
“I don’t think so. Not
until we find him, anyway.” Meaning Marc, of course.
“Dr. Carver thinks he’s dead.”
Jace’s frown tightened instantly, miserably, and I can’t explain my relief upon seeing that. He truly wanted Marc found alive, even after what had happened between us. How could things possibly be so complicated? Was there any way to untangle the threads without breaking any of the ties?
Jace’s good hand clenched around the post at the foot of my bed, his injured arm lying carefully still on his lap. From his posture, I decided he’d sacrificed comfort for clarity and had refused more painkillers. “Did he say that?”
“He didn’t have to. And he’d know better than anyone, right? About Marc’s chances?”
“No.” Jace started to get up to comfort me, then thought better of it and sank back down on the edge of the mattress. “You’d know better than anyone. You know his strength and spirit, and his determination to get back to you. Carver doesn’t know any of that.”
“Thank you.” I smiled in gratitude, but my heart throbbed harder when my gaze met his. And though I tried, I could not stop my pulse from racing. I couldn’t fend off the memory of his hands on me, his lips on mine.
Sleeping with Jace hadn’t changed my feelings for Marc. Nothing could have done that. I still loved Marc desperately and couldn’t imagine life without him. Jace was…something else. Something I could feel but couldn’t articulate. Something I wanted, and hadn’t been able to resist in my grief-weakened state.
He was something that would have to wait. I couldn’t handle that kind of drama with everything else going on. So I forced my eyes away from his, to keep him from recognizing his part in the heartache currently defining my existence.
“I can’t believe Cal did this.” Jace wiped the back of his unbandaged arm across damp, reddened eyes, bringing us back to the topic at hand. “I know he’s ambitious, but what the hell was he trying to accomplish, other than pissing us off?”
“He wants a war.” I snatched a tissue from the box on my desk and wiped my face. “And when Daddy refused to hand Kaci over, Calvin thought he’d picked a fight the council would approve of. The real bitch is that he may be right. He called for a closed vote and snagged enough Alphas to get permission to breach the boundary.”
“Well, if war is what he’s after, he got what he wanted.” Jace’s gaze intensified, as if he were searching my face for something specific. “Greg’s sending us in tomorrow—”
“No!” I moaned, and he looked oddly relieved by my reaction. “If Malone was looking for a war he’ll already have his plan in place and his players in motion.”
Jace nodded bleakly. “We’ll definitely be without the element of surprise. And we don’t have our full forces available.”
I closed my eyes and took a deep, slow breath before meeting his gaze again. “It’ll be a slaughter.”
“Well, it certainly won’t be pretty.” He fidgeted with the edge of the wrapping around his right arm. “But we still outnumber them, even without the toms looking for Marc.”
“Oh, yeah? There’s no way—” I stopped when footsteps from the kitchen reminded me that privacy was nonexistent in a werecat household. Standing, I closed the door softly, then continued in a whisper as I crossed the room. “There’s no way Malone would have picked this fight without at least a couple of allies at his back. Mitchell and Gardner, I’m guessing. And they’ll have sent men in support. If Dad sends us into Kentucky, Malone’s toms and allies will be there waiting for us.”
He nodded again as I sank cross-legged onto the bed opposite him. “And the ranch—and Kaci—will be completely undefended.”
Fuck.
I ran a hand through my hair, studying one possible solution after another as they ran through my head. But only one offered hope, without sacrificing our stand in the name of justice. “Before he sends us in, Dad needs to find out who’s willing to stand with us in this. You can’t fight a war without allies.”
“I know. Don’t get me wrong—” Jace’s eyes widened in earnestness “—I’d rip Calvin’s throat out myself, if he were here right now. But sending more toms to their deaths wouldn’t be avenging Ethan. It would be failing him. We can’t afford to go in there armed with nothing more than righteous anger.”
I stared at Jace in surprise. Where had that come from? I was devastated and confused by my brother’s death, but his best friend was stepping up. Finding courage and purpose in his determination to avenge Ethan—the right way.
The quiet intensity in Jace’s gaze swelled as his eyes held mine, and suddenly it occurred to me that we were sitting a foot apart, alone in my room. On my bed. I dropped my eyes and picked at a ball of fuzz on the comforter between us, dragging my thoughts back on topic. “Daddy would never act this rashly if he were thinking clearly.”
“You have to talk him out of it, Faythe.” He ducked to catch my eye. “Get him to think it through first.”
“Talk him out of it?” I leaned back against the headboard and let my head fall so that I stared at the ceiling. “When was the last time anyone talked my father out of anything? He rarely listens to me on the best of days, and this certainly isn’t one of those.”
“So make him listen to you. He’s still planning to turn the Pride over to you someday, right?” Jace edged forward and took my hand, and though his face was all business—from the sad crinkles around his eyes to the firm line of his mouth—my fingers tingled like I’d just stuck one of them in an outlet.
“Yes. As far as I know.” Damn, damn, damn. My heart ached, and my pulse pounded, and I was sure he could hear at least one of those. Fear and dread and confusion, and a tiny spark of excitement all raged within me, threatening to blow me off my foundation. And something told me that once that happened, I’d never regain my balance.
“Then he’ll have to respect your opinion, if you stand firm,” Jace said, oblivious to my inner chaos as his warm fingers tightened around mine. “If he’s planning to go in there with nothing but brute strength, he’s not thinking clearly, and he’s putting everyone in danger. You have to say something. But privately.”
Because to question my Alpha’s decision any other way would be disrespectful. Even if he didn’t listen to us, my father would lose face in front of his other enforcers, and that would be disastrous to morale. Especially in the middle of the current crises.
So I would tell my Alpha—and father—that he was making a huge mistake. No big deal, right? After all, I’d argued with him thousands of times in my twenty-three years. Of course, he’d rarely taken me seriously in the past.
But this time, he couldn’t afford not to.
Twenty-One
I snuck into the office quietly, hoping to avoid my father’s notice. I shouldn’t have bothered. The Alpha was pacing back and forth between the far wall and the love seat, the living room phone pressed to his ear. He was completely absorbed in his call, but to my relief, he looked somewhat calmer than when he’d spoken to Paul Blackwell.
Dr. Carver sat hunched over behind my father’s desk, digging through the bottom filing cabinet drawer and occasionally swearing beneath his breath, evidently confident that in his current state of agitation, the Alpha would never notice.
He was right.
I had let Jace go on ahead, and he now sat on the love seat, watching me closely, feeding me courage with the confidence in his gaze. Dan sat straight on the cushion next to him, watching everything that happened around him, obviously surprised to find himself in the middle of our Pride crisis. Owen was on the couch opposite them, his cowboy hat on the end table, beside a short glass still damp with whiskey. He sat with his elbows on his knees, his head cradled in both hands. He looked lost and alone.
I sank onto the cushion beside my third brother and he looked up, his face swollen and red with tears. He spread his arms, welcoming me not with a smile, but with an expression I understood much better: shared anguish.
I turned sideways on the couch and scooted back until my spine touched
his side. His left arm wrapped around me, and my head found his shoulder. He smelled like clean sweat, earth, and the mild aftershave he’d used since he was seventeen. They were familiar smells, and I loved them. But beneath them all was Owen’s personal scent, at once comforting and heartbreaking for its similarity to Ethan’s.
As if he knew what I was thinking, Owen squeezed me tighter, and I settled against him, closing my eyes for a moment.
When I opened them, they fell on Jace. He glanced at my father, then nodded at me encouragingly. I nodded back. I would talk to him as soon as he got off the phone. But first, I’d listen in on his call and try to get caught up. “What’d I miss?” I whispered to Owen.
“He’s talking to Uncle Rick.”
“Still?” It felt like I’d been in my room for an hour, but a glance at my watch told me it had been less than a third of that.
“Yeah. Uncle Rick’s bringing Abby, Aunt Melissa, and most of the guys for the funeral, on Saturday.”
Ethan’s funeral. In three days.
Of course there would be a funeral. I’d known that. I’d even thought of it in passing moments earlier. But I hadn’t really considered what that would mean. Dozens of people, Alphas, dams, toms, even the occasional tabby or child. All there to comfort us, to mourn, and to say goodbye to Ethan.
But I didn’t want to say goodbye to Ethan. I wasn’t ready, and deep down, I knew I never would be.
“What’s he doing?” I nodded toward Dr. Carver, still searching for something in the filing cabinet.
“He was getting the Pride phone directory, but I think he found that a few minutes ago,” Jace said, twisting to glance at the doc. “Now he’s trying to find Ryan.”
Of course. Because Mom would be crushed—possibly beyond repair—if Ryan didn’t make it to Ethan’s funeral. I didn’t know that Ryan was actually her favorite, though that’s probably the easiest way to explain their relationship. But my mother had a soft spot for her second-born, probably because he’d seemed to need her longer than any of the rest of us had, either for encouragement, comfort, or money.
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