Alpha

by Rachel Vincent

  He exhaled slowly and looked resolute in the dim glow of the overhead bulb. “I can’t let that happen.”

  “Neither can I.” Di Carlo looked as grave as I’d ever seen him, and he seemed to have aged ten years in the past few hours.

  “Thank you.” I swallowed the lump in my throat and blinked back grateful tears. “Thank you both so much.” Marc’s arm tightened around me and I wondered if it was okay for an Alpha to snuggle. “What about Aaron Taylor? Do you think there’s any chance he’ll fight with us?”

  Di Carlo nodded. “Every chance in the world.”

  “He may not think you’re ready to run the Pride on your own just yet…” My uncle began. “But there’s no way he’ll stand by and let Malone put someone else in charge of it. I’ll talk to him and call you to confirm that he’s in.”

  “Thanks.” I closed my eyes, going over the preliminary plan for weak spots and faulty logic. “Am I missing anything? Any suggestions?”

  “How are you going to make Malone believe the funeral’s set for Friday?” Di Carlo asked. “If you just tell him that, he’ll know you’re lying.”

  My uncle nodded and leaned back in his chair. “I think your best bet would be to avoid all contact with the Appalachian Pride, because if you start feeding him false information directly he’s going to know it.”

  “Yeah, I figure the only way to make him believe what we want is to make him work for the false information.” I stood and had paced halfway across the room before I realized what I was doing—or that my father had often done the same thing. “So we’ll actually invite everyone for a Friday funeral, including Paul Blackwell. He’s the one Malone will go to for information, since none of his own allies will be invited. Blackwell won’t go out of his way to help Malone, but he won’t outright lie to him, either, and Malone knows that. So when Blackwell tells him the funeral is scheduled for Friday, Malone will believe it.”

  Marc twisted on the bed to face me. “The only problem I see with that is the rumor mill. How are you going to keep Malone from hearing about it when people leave home for the funeral a full day early? Someone, somewhere, will mention something to a friend, brother, or cousin working for Malone, and then our timeline is busted.”

  I shook my head slowly and turned to cross the room again before answering. “Malone won’t hear about people leaving early for the funeral, because no one will be coming.” I glanced from Uncle Rick to Bert Di Carlo, then back, already regretting what I would say next. “Including you guys.”

  “Wait, we’re not invited to the funeral?” My uncle looked like I’d just slapped him, but I shook my head firmly.

  “No one is—at least, not to the real one on Wednesday. Marc’s right. There’s no way to keep Malone from hearing about people coming from all over the country…hell, all over the world—” because my father knew many international Alphas “—for the funeral. Our only real option is a quiet, ranch-residents-only burial. Then, when all this is over, we’ll have a proper memorial.”

  Uncle Rick sighed, his jaw firmly set. “Well, I can’t say I like it, but if it works, I guess the ends justify the means.”

  Di Carlo nodded and crossed his arms over his chest. “Of course, we’ll have to tell our men something, or else they’ll walk into a fight expecting a funeral.”

  I glanced at Marc. “Yeah, we’ll have to do the same for our men.” The nonenforcer Pride members, all of whom would be called in for the fight.

  “Don’t tell them until Thursday night,” Marc said, looking from me to Di Carlo, then to my uncle. “That way they’ll have all night to mentally prepare for war in Appalachia instead of a funeral in Texas, but hopefully not long enough for the inevitable rumors to spread to Malone.”

  And those rumors were inevitable, in a society where everyone had friends or family members in another Pride.

  “Well, it’s far from flawless, but it’s certainly a plan,” Di Carlo said, as my uncle rose from his chair. “I’m sorry about how all this has turned out, Faythe.”

  I stood and extended my hand for him to shake, but Di Carlo pulled me close instead, and kissed me on the forehead—another unusual act for two Alphas. But frankly, the way things were shaping up, history would label my term as Alpha with much stronger adjectives than unusual.

  “You can handle this,” Di Carlo said, when he stepped back to look down at me. “We can handle this together, just the way your father would have wanted it.”

  “Thank you,” I said, and my throat felt thick again from holding back more tears.

  Di Carlo nodded, then turned suddenly and headed into the living room. I had the distinct impression that he was resisting tears, too.

  “Give me a call when you guys get home,” my uncle said, shaking Marc’s hand. Then he turned to me. “I was only about five years older than you are when I became an Alpha, and I remember how scared I was, even with my father-in-law still around to help when I needed him. So I can’t imagine how much pressure you must be under right now. But I know this—your father wouldn’t have left you in charge if he wasn’t completely sure you could do this. And I wouldn’t be backing you up if I weren’t completely sure he was right.”

  I couldn’t stop the tears that time; the best I could do was to wipe them on my sleeve before they could fall. “Is it okay for one Alpha to hug another?”

  Uncle Rick gave me a sad, slow smile. “It is now.” He pulled me into a hug and squeezed me so tight I couldn’t move. “You’re a different kind of Alpha, Faythe. A new breed. And that difference is part of your strength. Don’t try to be like the rest of us. Not even like your father. Malone’s never understood you, so he doesn’t know how to deal with you. And he won’t know how to fight you. So long as you stay true to yourself.”

  I nodded, because that felt like good advice. And it might have been even more valuable, if I had any clue who the hell I really was.

  We said a heartfelt, apologetic goodbye to Elias Keller, then left him Brian’s phone and an extra battery. Malone and his allies were planning to stay at the complex for a couple more days, and Keller promised to let us know if they started any more trouble, or if he had a chance to destroy the rest of their guns.

  The drive from Montana to the Lazy S took just over thirty hours, including bathroom breaks. We ate greasy convenience-store food in the van and took turns behind the wheel and sleeping in the back row, so we could drive without stopping for the night.

  Dr. Carver’s flight landed two hours before we left, so he rode back with us, next to Brian in the third row.

  It was the single worst road trip of my entire life, and I spent a good six hours of it curled up in the second row, using Vic’s thigh as a pillow, so that neither Marc nor Jace would feel neglected in favor of the other. But the closer we got to Texas, the harder it became for me to sleep. I couldn’t stop thinking about my mother, and what I was going to say to her. Or my dad wrapped in plastic in the cargo area—such an undignified position for the most dignified person I’d ever known.

  When Marc finally turned the van onto our quarter-mile-long gravel driveway on Tuesday afternoon, I was numb, inside and out. Nothing felt real anymore. My entire world had been reduced to highway sounds and the scents of grease and exhaust. And in spite of spending more than a day in the car with nothing to do, when we arrived home I realized there was nowhere near enough time to accomplish everything that needed to be done.

  I was out of the van before Marc shut off the engine, and the front door opened before I made it up the steps. My mother lurched onto the porch with Michael on her heels, and she collapsed into my arms before I’d even realized her intent.

  She clung to me, sobbing, and her tears soaked through the shoulder of my wrinkled blouse.

  “Mom…” I glanced at Michael over her shoulder, but he only shrugged and leaned against the door facing. His glasses sat crooked on his nose, his hair stood up funny on one side, like he’d been sleeping on it, and his eyes were ringed in dark, dark circles.

>   “Mom…” I tried again, and this time held her at arm’s length so she’d have to look at me.

  My mother looked like hell. Her slacks were wrinkled, her blouse was stained with coffee, and her straight, chin-length gray hair was tangled like she’d tried to pull it out a handful at a time. Her face was red and swollen from crying, and her gaze searched mine desperately when she stared back at me. “Is it true?”

  “I’m sorry. Mom, I’m so, so sorry.” I blinked through fresh tears and pushed hair back from her face, trying to find some semblance of the mother I knew. She was in there somewhere, buried beneath soul-shredding grief and denial.

  “I want to see him. Bring him in—I need to see him.”

  “No, Mom, you don’t want to…”

  “Katherine Faythe Sanders, you will not argue with me.” She stood up straight and tugged her blouse into place, as if that would restore her usually flawless composure and appearance. “He’s my husband, and I want to see him.”

  “Okay, Mom…” Michael stepped forward to put his arm around her and led us both away from the door so the guys could bring the bags in. “But we can’t bring him inside.” He looked at me then, his expression half exhaustion, half apology. “Holly’s here. She thinks it was a car wreck, so the gunshot wound is going to be hard to explain.”

  Great. I had to unclench my jaw to speak. “What the hell is she doing here?”

  “She’s trying to help,” Michael snapped, while our mother stared at the van, silent tears rolling down her cheeks. “What was I supposed to do, tell her she wasn’t welcome at my father’s funeral?”

  “You’re right. I’m sorry.” I closed my eyes and sucked in a deep breath before making eye contact again. “It’s just that this is a colossally bad time to have a human wandering around the ranch.”

  He sighed. “I know.”

  But he didn’t really know. I hadn’t told any of them about Malone’s threat to replace me as Alpha, because I wanted to deliver the extrabad news in person, so I’d only have to say it once.

  “I need to talk to you. I need to talk to everyone who isn’t Holly, actually. In the office. It’s…it’s bad, Michael.”

  He held my gaze for a moment, apparently trying to judge our placement on the disaster scale by my expression alone. Then he nodded and left our mother with me while he went to gather the rest of the household.

  “Mom?” I said, and she turned away from the van to look at me. The tears had stopped and she’d composed herself. Now she just looked exhausted, and wrung out, and…old. “I need to talk to you, and it’s important. Are you… Are you going to be able to listen?” And understand…? Because I knew as well as anyone what havoc grief could play on a person’s comprehension.

  “I’ll be fine once I’ve seen him. I just… I have to see for myself.”

  “Okay. If you’re sure.”

  She nodded and crossed her arms over her wrinkled blouse. “I’m sure.”

  “Just a minute.” I jogged down the steps and met Marc by the van. “Hey, could you guys drive to the barn and lay him out in there? Mom wants to see him, and I can’t talk her out of it.” And honestly, the sooner she saw him, the sooner she could start to accept his death.

  “No problem.” Marc slid in behind the wheel while Vic climbed into the passenger seat, and they headed for the barn in the east field.

  My mother started down the steps to follow them, but I stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Mom.” I looked pointedly at her bare feet, and she followed my gaze. “Shoes.”

  She nodded absently and headed into the house, brushing past Jace on his way out.

  “How you holdin’ up?” he asked, and I let him fold me into a hug. A chaste, comforting hug, with my cheek on his shoulder, because we hadn’t told those who’d missed the floor show in Montana about our relationship yet.

  “My head’s spinning, and there’s a little nausea,” I admitted softly. “There’s so much to do. So much to say. It’s too much all at once, for them and for me. And I honestly have no idea where to begin.”

  “Start with your mom,” Jace suggested. “She needs you, and she shouldn’t have to hear about all of this with everyone else there.” I nodded, and he pulled away so he could see my face. “And as much as I hate to say it, maybe the part about you and me shouldn’t be a broadcast announcement. It’s not really anyone else’s business, and they have more important things to focus on right now.”

  I scrounged up a smile. “Mr. Hammond, I believe you’re getting wise in your advanced age.”

  He chuckled softly. “Twenty-six doesn’t feel as young today as it did last month.”

  “Neither does twenty-three and three-quarters.”

  “Faythe?” my mother called, and we both looked up, startled. I stepped away from Jace and realized that if we hadn’t looked suspicious before, we did then.

  Smooth. So much for not telling anyone yet…

  “Are you ready?” I asked, and she nodded. “I’ll go with you. Jace, could you check on Kaci? Tell her I’ll be there in a minute?”

  He nodded and ducked into the house, pushing the door closed behind him.

  My mother and I walked in silence for almost a minute, our shoes crunching first on gravel, then on the frozen, well-worn path through the east field. The main house lay behind us, long and squat, a one-story ranch house my father had designed before I was born. The barn stood ahead, much older than the house and picturesque with its peeling red paint and tall gables. I’d lived most of my life in and around those two buildings, but I’d never once imagined myself living there without my father.

  I hadn’t even been in the house yet, but already home didn’t feel entirely like home without him. I felt like I was playing pretend, or like I’d wake up any moment from a nightmare.

  “So…you and Jace?” my mother said, and I froze, then had to jog to catch up with her.

  “Was it that obvious?”

  “Subtlety was never your strong suit, Faythe.” She stopped to look at me, and I searched her eyes for disapproval or reproach, but I found nothing I recognized, other than the fact that she was searching for something in my eyes, too. “You love him.” It wasn’t a question; it was a statement uttered with the confidence of long-held authority on the subject.

  “Yeah. But we don’t have to talk about this now. It’s not really the time….”

  “Faythe, there’s never going to be a good time for this discussion, and I think you know that.”

  I nodded. Whether because she had advice to offer or because she wanted to distract herself from a reality she soon wouldn’t be able to avoid, she obviously wanted to talk about my screwed-up love life. And I would have done anything she wanted in that moment, if it would help her deal with our mutual loss.

  “What about Marc?”

  I sighed and absently kicked a rock at my feet. “I still love Marc so much it hurts to turn around and not see him next to me. Jace is something…different. Something separate, but strong.”

  My mother frowned, then finally nodded. “You have to choose.”

  Why does everyone keep saying that? “I know.”

  “Marc is Alpha material, Faythe, and if Jace ever starts to show any Alpha tendencies…this could get very bad.”

  “He already has tendencies,” I said, and she nodded again, as if I’d just confirmed her suspicion. “How did you know?”

  “I knew because I know you. You’re strong, Faythe. Too strong for most toms. Most tomcats will either expect you to obey them, because you’re a woman, or to lead them, because you’re an Alpha now. But you’re only ever going to love men who will be led by you, yet can hold their own with you. Men who challenge you.”

  I shook my head hesitantly. “But Jace doesn’t challenge me.” Not yet, anyway…

  Her sad smile spoke volumes, and her eyes seemed to peer right into my head, and maybe my heart. “Yes, he does, or you wouldn’t be interested in him. My guess is that he challenges you to be true to yourself. That he d
ares you to take risks you’re secretly dying to take, and to feel things you’re afraid to let yourself feel.” She closed her eyes, and when they opened again, they shined with aching wistfulness, and some spark of excitement I couldn’t comprehend. “He makes you feel alive, doesn’t he? Like the entire world is one dangling live wire, just waiting for you to grab on and ride the current.”

  I stared at her like she’d suddenly started speaking Russian—and I understood it. “How on earth do you know that?”

  Her smile grew wistful with distant memory. “I know because your father was my live wire.”

  Twenty

  The barn doors were closed, and knowing my father’s body lay beyond them made his death feel somehow even more real—more devastating—than when I’d witnessed his last breath.

  “Mom, you don’t have to do this.” I slid one arm around her shoulders while we stared at the doors, neither of us moving to open them.

  “Yes, I do.” She swallowed thickly, and that spark of memory—my father as her live wire—was gone, replaced with pain and dread so thick and heavy I could practically taste them on the air. “If I don’t see him, I’m never going to really believe it, because he’s alive in here.” She laid one trembling, gloveless hand over her chest. “He’s so alive inside me that I can still hear him.”

  “What is he saying?” I asked, as her face blurred beneath my tears. I’d failed her more than anyone.

  “He’s calling me a coward.” Her voice broke on the last word, and she sniffled in the cold, the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes suddenly more defined than I’d ever seen them.

  “No, Mom, he would never call you a coward.” Not even if it were true. He would never intentionally hurt her, and he’d never forgive himself for doing it unintentionally. “You’re hearing yourself.” She was the source of my frank tongue, if not the coarse language that often fell from it.