He wasn’t.
“I’m going throw this in the wash and sulk over the premature end of my date.” I gestured toward the laundry room with my folded blanket.
“Fair enough.” Marc glanced at the time on his cell phone as Faythe appeared in her office doorway, one hand on her hip. “Just sulk quietly, please. Greg’s asleep.”
“I know.” Just like I knew the little monster would be up at dawn, and Marc would be up with him, so Faythe could try to get four or five hours of sleep in a row. She looked like she was ready to fall over as it was.
The new baby slept soundly, when he did sleep, but he ate around the clock.
“Kaci,” Faythe said before I could make a break for the laundry room. “Let’s talk.” She waved me into her office, then she closed the door. “Another playdate in the barn?” She glanced pointedly at the blanket still tucked beneath my arm as she sank onto the leather couch.
“Nothing happened.” I flopped onto the sofa across the rug from her and tucked my feet beneath me with the blanket on my lap.
“And what if Marc stops showing up? What’s your plan?”
“I’m an adult, Faythe.”
“That’s why I’m asking. Adults have to be prepared.”
“I have condoms, if that’s what you’re getting at,” I said, and to her credit, she didn’t even flinch. Marc would’ve been hyperventilating. Or faking a heart attack to escape the conversation.
“That’s part of what I’m getting at.” She exhaled heavily, and my gaze settled on the thin white scar bisecting her left cheek, from the outer edge of her eye to the corner of her mouth. She’d slaughtered the bastard who’d cut her, and rather than a reminder of what he’d done, the scar had become a testament to how thoroughly fierce Faythe was—a tabby kicking ass in a tom’s world. Even eight weeks postpartum. “I just want to make sure you understand what could happen if one of these boys decides he’s entitled to more than you’re willing to give him.”
I sat a little straighter. “I understand that I’d break every bone in his hand and send him home to his mommy in tears.” That, I’d learned from Faythe.
But she only frowned. “Unless Marc hears him screaming and comes running, in which case we’ll have to fire up the industrial incinerator.” The only part of a cattle ranch that was actually functioning at the Lazy S. Its intended use was to dispose of dead livestock, but we always seemed to find alternative applications. “So maybe just keep that in mind while you’re exploring your sexuality.”
“Acknowledged. Would you rather that I explore off the premises?”
“No. This is your home, and you should feel comfortable here. But Marc’s right about at least one thing—no tabby has ever brought home a string of human men before. Not even me. I know you don’t think the enforcers care, but I promise you they’ve noticed.”
I rolled my eyes at her. “It’s their job to notice everyone who comes onto the property.”
“Yes. But eventually one of them is going to notice you.”
I shrugged. I wouldn’t mind being noticed, but it wasn’t any of the enforcers I kept hoping to find in the barn, ready to terrify my latest human date. Nor was it Marc.
Her gaze narrowed on me, and my heart began to beat harder. My face had given too much away. “There’s no hurry, Kaci. But if you like one of them, I could set something up…”
“No!” I could feel my cheeks flush. “I don’t need you to make some poor guy go out with me!”
“That’s not what I—”
“I’m not a social charity case.” Except that wasn’t true. I was an orphan—for all practical purposes—that the South-Central Pride had taken in as a kid. And no one had forgotten where I’d come from. What I’d done…
“Of course not—” Faythe’s phone rang, and she glanced at the bassinet against one wall while she dug her cell from her pocket. “It’s Rick Wade. Can you sit tight for a minute, Kaci? This is about Justus’s trial.”
Justus Alexander. My pulse rushed a little faster when his face appeared behind my closed eyelids, and if she weren’t preoccupied with the baby and an incoming call from the Chairman of the Territorial Council, she might have noticed my reaction.
Justus was a stray Faythe and Marc had accepted as a member of the Pride back in February, to make sure he’d get an actual trial—as opposed to a simple order of execution—for the murder and infection he’d allegedly committed in the free zone.
The former free zone, also known as the Lion’s Den. Soon it would officially be recognized as the Mississippi Valley Territory, if Faythe and Marc could muster a couple more votes on the council.
For the past four months, Justus had been sleeping on the couch in the guest house, where the enforcers lived, waiting for his trial. His older brother Titus was Alpha of the new territory—the only stray Alpha in the country, other than Marc. Maybe in the world. But Titus’s efforts to get his territory officially recognized had been complicated even beyond the council’s hesitance to let strays play in the purebred sandbox by the fact that he’d accidentally taken Robyn Sheffield, the only known female stray, from the territory—and refused to send her back against her will.
And by the fact that his younger brother had committed several crimes that could have exposed the existence of our species to the rest of the world.
Like Titus, Justus was yummy in an I-would-eat-him-for-dessert kind of way. Unlike his brother, Justus was only a couple of years older than I was, which meant that it would totally not be creepy if I—hypothetically—had a huge crush on him.
Unfortunately, he was also TROUBLE in all caps.
If enforcers were the shifter version of cops, Justus was a felon, because unlike in the human justice system, in shifter society there was no pre-trial presumption of innocence. Especially considering that we all knew damn well that he’d done it.
Justus Alexander was the last tom I should have been interested in. So naturally, I turned into a mumbling, sweaty puddle of drool every time he came around. Unfortunately—or fortunately?—I was stuck firmly in the friend zone. The totally platonic, “one of the guys” zone. The “watch old TV shows together without even brushing hands in the popcorn bowl” zone. It was like he couldn’t even tell I was a girl.
I shook that thought off as I stood, before Faythe could see it on my face. “Don’t worry about it. I’m just going to go to bed.”
She glanced at her phone with a frown. “Wait just a minute, please, Kaci. There’s one more thing.” But as polite as it sounded, her request was actually an order.
I wandered toward the bassinet as she accepted the call from the council chairman. “Hi, Rick. What did they say?”
Baby Ethan was out cold, and he was a surprisingly deep sleeper, for a two-month-old. I’d seen Karen Sanders—Faythe’s mother—push the vacuum cleaner right under his bed without disturbing him. But the minute the food gauge on his tiny belly tilted toward EMPTY, he would wake up screaming.
“Dr. Carver gave you a clean postpartum bill of health,” Rick Wade said over the phone, and I heard him as if he were in the room with us, thanks to my shifter’s enhanced auditory senses. “So…one week.”
“From today?” Faythe sank onto one of the couches, seeming to deflate with the news.
“Yes. I’m sorry, but they weren’t willing to put the trial off any longer.”
“And I can’t ask them to without validating their belief that I can’t be a good mother and a good Alpha at the same time.” Faythe sighed. “Sexist bastards. If you asked for a delay in order to catch up on sleep with a newborn, they’d commend you for your commitment to your family.”
Wade chuckled. “If I had a newborn, we’d be having a very different conversation. Can you make it in a week?”
“Looks like I’ll have to. But I’m bringing the whole family.”
“Good. I’m looking forward to meeting the latest addition to the Sanders-Ramos clan.”
“Thanks, Rick. We’ll see you then.” Faythe hung up her phone and set it o
n the end table to her left.
I gave baby Ethan’s head a pat—his mop of thick, dark hair reminded me of his namesake—then wandered back toward the couch. “So, the trial’s next week?”
“Looks like. And that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” Faythe leaned forward, watching me carefully, which told me I wasn’t going to like whatever she was about to say. “We’d like you to come.”
“To Montana?” The hairs on the back of my neck stood up.
Justus’s trial would be held in the same remote cabin complex where Faythe, Marc, and Jace stood trial a lifetime ago. Twice, in Faythe’s case.
Okay, it had only been four and a half years before, but that was a lifetime ago for me, because that’s where they’d found me, in the woods, stuck in cat form after my first-ever shift. Alone and terrified.
And completely feral.
If not for Faythe’s trial, I might have wandered out there for the rest of my life. I might still be out there living like a cat, having completely forgotten that I’d ever been anything else.
Just the thought gave me chills.
“No, thanks,” I told her. “You don’t need me there.” And I couldn’t stand to see Justus on trial.
“You could help with the kids. No one’s as good with little Greg as you are, and baby Ethan…” Faythe shrugged.
A low blow. She knew how much I loved those kids. But… “I can’t go back there, Faythe. Too much…happened.”
“I know. But maybe that’s why you should go back. You know, exorcize those ghosts. Put the past behind you. Just tell me you’ll think about it.”
“I’ll think about it,” I told her. But that promise held about the same chance of coming true as my promises to Karen that I’d unload the dishwasher. “Can I go to bed now?”
“Yes. And try to sleep for both of us, if you don’t mind,” Faythe said with a glance at the bassinet, where baby Ethan was already starting to make fussy, hungry sounds.
“Night.” I picked up my blanket and headed into the laundry room to throw it in the washer, but I hesitated with my hand on the doorknob when I noticed light peeking from beneath the door.
Little Greg had a bad habit of curling up in the dryer when the clothes inside are warm. He liked to make a nest for himself to sleep in, like a little kitten in a box. It was the cutest thing in the world. And the most dangerous. I was kind of terrified that someone would decide the towels needed another cycle and turn the dryer on without noticing him.
I twisted the knob and pushed the door open, expecting to find the dryer standing open with a sweet little face resting on top of a load of clothes.
Instead I found one of the guys going through the pockets of his pants.
He turned, and I found myself staring into the gorgeous gray eyes of Justus Alexander.
Two
Justus
They’re going to convict.
Eavesdropping probably wasn’t what Victor Di Carlo had in mind when he’d told me to practice using my heightened shifter senses—just one of the challenges for any newly-infected stray. And, of course, I hadn’t expected to overhear my own fate when I’d loitered at the top of the staircase that afternoon, frozen in place by the whispered mention of my own name.
We don’t have the votes.
Though he’d said them hours ago, Vic’s words still echoed in my mind with the impact of a judge’s gavel. Not that there would be a judge at my trial. Or a jury. There would only be a tribunal made up of three Alphas chosen by the venerable short straw method to determine whether I would be found innocent or guilty.
Whether I would live or die.
With that truth weighing on me, I knelt in the tiny second-floor laundry room of the guest house and set my backpack in the bottom of an empty laundry basket, then I piled my dirty clothes on top of it.
Until tonight, I’d been naive enough to assume I’d at least get to testify before the votes were cast, but through the shifter grapevine—a backchannel of high-level conversations overheard by and recounted to enforcers across the country—I’d learned that the Alphas had already made their decision, though a date for the trial had yet to be officially set.
I was screwed. As good as dead.
Joining the South-Central Territory was supposed to guarantee me a fair trial, rather than the simple order of execution most strays would have gotten, but it did not guarantee me a favorable verdict. Or even, evidently, the chance to explain my actions before the votes were counted.
The “civilization” of the US territories had turned out to be a facade—a smiling mask worn over the snarling muzzle of a beast hell-bent on devouring me for the sin of being born human. Well, for that, and for the crimes I’d been manipulated into committing as a terrified, disoriented, newly infected stray.
But I would not stick around to be devoured.
I stood with my laundry basket and took several deep breaths, because if I went downstairs in a panic, the guys would know something was wrong. They’d hear my racing pulse without even consciously listening for it. They’d smell fear in the scent of my sweat.
Vic had taken me under his wing over the past four months, but all I’d really learned was how to flee the ranch, right under his nose. Guilt hovered at the edge of my mind at the thought of betraying him, but I shoved it back. I’d rather live with smudged honor than die with my integrity intact.
My pulse under control, I headed downstairs.
“Kaci’s back.” Brian Taylor paused his video game, freezing the car race on the sixty-four-inch screen, and stared out the front window of the guest house.
I stopped on the lower landing and listened, my laundry basket clasped under one arm. After a second of concentration, I heard what he’d detected: the soft rumble of an engine all the way at the front of the property.
“You want me to check it out?” Brian asked, and Vic looked up from his seat at the bar, where he was rapidly demolishing a twelve-inch meatball sub and an entire party-sized bag of Doritos.
“I got it.” I dropped my laundry by the door. It would be my distinct pleasure to run off Kaci’s latest boyfriend. She’d been just as good to me as the guys had, and chasing off the human loser would give me a chance to say goodbye—even if she didn’t know that’s what I was doing. “They’re probably in the barn?”
Vic glanced at his cell as it began to vibrate on the counter. “Don’t worry about it. Marc says he’s on it.”
“Awesome.” Brian went back to his game, and his on-screen car leapt into motion again, barreling over a bridge onto a highway below, where he swerved to avoid a firetruck screeching as its red lights flashed.
“I don’t get it.” The only duty any of the enforcers ever seemed to shirk was making sure Kaci’s dates left the property in a timely fashion. “What’s so hard about scaring off one human asshole?”
“The date’s not the problem.” Brian leaned to the right as he turned his car, as if he were actually in the vehicle he was controlling. “Kaci creeps me out.”
“Taylor,” Vic warned, dropping his sandwich onto its wrapper.
I frowned at Brian. “What am I not getting?” According to my brother, tabbies were rare and coveted. They were supposed to have their pick of any tomcat in the country, and most enforcers were desperate to catch their attention. Which was why the council had lost its collective shit when Robyn had decided she’d rather live with Titus in the untamed free zone than even consider any of the “natural-born” tomcats in the US territories.
Titus had told me to stay away from Kaci for exactly that reason—because the council would not be happy if another of their few eligible women fell for a stray. Especially, a stray charged with two capital offenses.
Yet most of the South-Central enforcers treated Kaci like she had the plague.
Brian shrugged. “She’s a man-eater.”
Vic stood, and his barstool fell onto the tile floor. “Faythe fired the last guy who said that. Should I tell her to start writing another want-ad?”
“No, man.” Brian paused his game again. “I mean no disrespect. I don’t hang out with her or anything, so for all I know, she turned out perfectly nice. And psychologically sound. But…it’s true.” He turned back to me. “She literally ate a human being. If anyone else had done that, they’d have been executed. Cannibalism is unnatural, and it’s fucking creepy as hell.”
“Brian…” Vic warned.
“Don’t get me wrong,” Taylor continued, hands held in front of him in a defensive gesture. “I wish I didn’t know what I know about Kaci, because someone’s gotta make a mom out of her. But it would take me a while to get past the thought of her eating human flesh in order to…rise to the occasion. Even if she is hot enough to make a man sweat.”
“Fortunately, no one’s asking you to rise to shit, so get over it, or get out.” Vic wiped his mouth with a paper napkin, then wadded it up and dropped it on the counter. “She was a starving, traumatized kid who had no idea what she was doing. And she’s more of a survivor than you’ll ever be, so if I hear one more word from you about Kaci, I’ll kick your ass myself.”
“Sorry, man.” Brian turned back to his game.
“And turn that shit down.” Vic picked up his bar stool as I pulled a carton of laundry detergent from beneath the kitchen cabinet. “Where are you going?”
“Will’s using the washer,” I told him. “Faythe said I could use the one in the main house.”
“Don’t forget to clean out the lint filter, or she’ll take your head right off.” He sank onto his stool again and took another bite of his sub.
“Thanks, man.” I clapped one hand on his shoulder. “I really appreciate that.”
Vic gave me a strange look, and I pretended not to notice as I dropped the detergent on top of my laundry and picked up the basket. He had no way of knowing my gratitude was for more than just the lint filter advice. Or that I would be gone for much longer than the duration of a spin cycle.
“Okay. I’ll be back,” I said as I opened the door, half-convinced someone would see through my lie and try to stop me.
Wild Card: Wildcats Book 3 Page 2