Pride

by Rachel Vincent

  Marc bent close to the detainee and gripped his chin in one hand, and the stray tried to shrink backward. Marc tended to have that effect on people. “I’m gonna take this off your mouth, but that does not mean you get to talk. Got it?”

  The stray hesitated, and Marc’s expression hardened, his gold-flecked eyes darkening, beautiful lips thinning in anger. It was the face he saved for trespassers. The one that said he’d broken plenty of skulls before, and wouldn’t hesitate to do so again at the slightest provocation. That face was how he got his job done so quickly and so thoroughly. Along with those fists.

  Sometimes it was hard for me to reconcile the angry fists clenched at his sides with the gentle hands that touched me. That used to touch me, anyway.

  “Got it?” Marc repeated, and the stray nodded hesitantly. Marc scratched at one corner of the tape to loosen it, then ripped it off in one quick motion. The stray screamed around whatever was in his mouth, and I got the distinct impression that in this case, ripping the Band-Aid off quickly wasn’t so much a mercy as a brutal warning.

  The stray’s jaw worked, muscles flexing behind the furious red skin of his cheek as he tried to spit out his gag. Marc and Lucas watched with cold detachment born of years of training. Half a minute later, the stray finally spit a damp white cloth onto the floor at his knees, and I noticed with a jolt of alarm that it was spotted with blood.

  Straining forward in spite of the pain in my stomach, I studied what I could see of the stray’s face and decided he had a fat lip, no doubt the source of the blood. Someone had roughed him up pretty good, hopefully in response to some resistance he’d offered after waking.

  My father stepped into sight beside Marc. “I miss my basement already,” he mumbled. “Take him outside.”

  “No!” I shouted, and all heads turned my way. I threw back the comforter, mildly surprised to find my legs bare. Pressing one hand to my stomach, I shifted my left leg onto the floor in spite of the pain ripping through my middle with each movement.

  “What are you doing?” Jace demanded. “Get back in the bed.” He cradled my calf gently in both hands—as if the damn thing might break—and firmly guided it back onto the mattress.

  “Let go, Jace.” My voice came out calm and commanding, and I must not have been the only one impressed by that fact, because he paused in midmotion. Evidently I was actually learning something in my training…

  “What’s wrong?” Marc asked, and I looked up to find him taking up most of the doorway. My father shot me a questioning look over his shoulder.

  I scowled at them both. “I helped catch this stray and I’m damn well going to be there when you question him. If you’re taking him outside, I’m coming with you. And quit glaring at me—you’d all do the same thing in my place, and you know it.”

  Marc sighed and glanced at Jace. “Did she take the pills?”

  He nodded. “About five minutes ago.”

  Marc frowned and shook his head at me. “You’re causing yourself more pain than necessary. Besides, you shouldn’t walk before you’ve had a chance to heal.”

  I shrugged. “So I’ll Shift.”

  “No.” His eyes were kind, but his tone was not. “Doc says you need at least twenty-four hours to heal naturally. Then you can try Shifting to speed it up.”

  “You didn’t wait that long.” I stared pointedly at the new claw marks on his arm, which were little more than scabbed stripes now.

  “Mine were only scratches, and I couldn’t afford to wait. You can.”

  “Whatever. If you take him outside, I’m going, too.” I pivoted slowly, grimacing when I swung both legs carefully over the side of the bed. Jace sighed and rolled his eyes, shrugging helplessly at Marc.

  “Get your stubborn ass back in that bed before I tie you to it!” Marc growled, and irritation shot up my spine, hot, fast, and invigorating.

  “If you think you can do it, come give it a try!” To prove my butt was firmly in place behind my mouth, I gripped the nightstand hard enough to make the wood creak and stood carefully, gritting my teeth against both the pain and that creepy tugging sensation in my stomach.

  An angry growl rumbled from Marc’s throat, and he marched toward me. But he only made it two steps before my father spoke from the living room. “We’ll stay inside. Jace, bring her in here. If she wants to be a part of this and is willing to work through the pain, so be it.”

  Smirking at Marc, I wrapped one arm around Jace’s shoulder as he bent for me. But then Marc cleared his throat and nodded pointedly at my bare knees. “Forgetting something?”

  Shit. Pants. Jeans would be too rough on my stomach, but I was not going to face the asshole who’d nearly disemboweled me without the dignity of being fully clothed. Even if he wasn’t.

  Jace smiled in sympathy. “I’ll help you get dres—”

  “Out,” Marc snarled. “I’ve got it covered.”

  Jace closed the door as he left and Marc was already rooting through the suitcase on my dresser for something suitable. “How ’bout this?” He held up a new pair of low-slung red satin pajama pants, clearly trying to picture me in them.

  I grinned. “That’s fine. Find the shirt and help me change.” I’d planned to wear the real pj’s around the cabin to tempt him. But I hadn’t counted on injury dictating the timing.

  A minute later, I stood in nothing but the scarlet pajama halter top and my underwear. My heart lurched when Marc knelt in front of me. My breath lodged in my throat when his hands slid slowly up my thighs and over my hips, pulling the waistband of my pants into place. His fingers scorched my skin, yet left chill bumps in their wake, and I nearly moaned aloud when he sat back, dropping those gifted hands into his lap.

  I gripped the headboard, hoping he’d think the throbbing in my stomach was what threatened my balance. But it wasn’t. As usual, my problem was Marc, and the taste he’d just given me of what we used to share. But a taste wasn’t enough, not then, and not ever. I wanted the whole damn meal.

  Frantic for some semblance of self-control, I stared into the mirror, silently ordering myself to forget about Marc and focus on the job at hand. And when that didn’t work, I flexed my stomach, counting on the fresh wave of pain to ground me.

  It worked, and I sucked in an agonized breath. Son of a bitch!

  Marc stood and I had to look up to meet his suddenly grave expression. “You don’t have to do this,” he said, rubbing my arms, as if to warm them. “It won’t be pretty.”

  “I know.” I’d never seen an actual interrogation, but I knew the basics of what it would entail, and I knew that watching Marc beat information out of a bound and helpless man—even one who’d nearly disemboweled me—would likely horrify me.

  I also knew it was necessary. We needed information. The stray probably had it, and almost certainly wouldn’t want to part with it. The lives of the human men and women scouring the mountain were worth more than the comfort of one man who might know something that could save them.

  No real enforcer would be squeamish about doing what had to be done. And red satin pj’s notwithstanding, I was a real enforcer.

  Marc saw the decision in my eyes and nodded solemnly. Without another word of protest, he scooped me into a careful cradle-hold, and I smiled through the pain as he edged us out the door into the living room.

  He carried me past the stray, who still knelt—naked—on the floor, then lowered me into the chair Michael had taken from the breakfast table. I sat nearer the kitchen than the couch, well out of the action, should something go wrong. But I was out of bed and officially part of the proceedings, so I was pretty pleased, all things considered.

  Now if only those damn pills would kick in…

  Michael and Jace took up posts on either side of my chair, while Lucas sank onto the couch behind the kneeling stray, one hand on the prisoner’s bound wrists, to hold him in place. Marc assumed the position of honor in front of our unwilling guest. He towered over the stray, who hung his head, refusing to look at any of
us.

  “Let me explain how this works.” Marc’s voice was colder and more detached than I’d ever heard it. “We ask the questions. You get one chance to answer on your own. If you don’t take that chance, I convince you to cooperate. This can be as easy as you want to make it. Of course, the opposite is also true. Ready to give it a shot?”

  The detainee made no response.

  On the edge of the room, my father stood with one arm folded over his chest, the opposite hand stroking the graying stubble on his chin. “Let’s keep this one neat, please.” He paused to survey the arrangement of old, worn furniture and the dingy walls. “I don’t want to have to repaint the place before we go, like in Abilene.”

  “Yeah, sorry about that.” Marc nodded grimly, and the stray’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.

  Repaint? I didn’t even want to know what they’d had to cover up in Abilene. Maybe I’m not as ready for this as I thought…

  Ten

  Marc stood in front of the stray kneeling naked on the floor. “What’s your name?” he asked. The stray didn’t move. Didn’t even acknowledge the question. “Your name, or your nose.” Marc’s fingers popped as they curled into a fist at his right side, and my mouth went dry.

  The stray scowled up at Marc, defiance stark in his bearing, in spite of his nudity and humbled pose. “You have no right to—”

  Marc glanced at my father, who nodded, and my throat constricted around the heart-size lump lodged in it.

  “Wrong answer.” Marc’s fist flew. Bone crunched. Bright red droplets sprayed his jeans and the floor. The stray gurgled, coughing and choking on his own blood as it poured down his face and over his chest.

  My eyes closed and I swallowed back revulsion. It’s part of his job, I told myself, uncomforted by the truth much as I was by the necessity. And by the knowledge that in the line of duty, I’d punched several strays in search of a name. But I’d never made one kneel naked and bound on the ground before me, and that part of the procedure bothered me more than I wanted to admit. It reminded me of a time when I’d been bound and at the mercy of a man standing over me.

  Jace’s hand landed on my shoulder, and I opened my eyes to look at him. His face was carefully blank, a skill I envied.

  “Your name,” Marc repeated, and I turned my attention back to the spectacle in progress, which didn’t appear to be upsetting anyone else.

  “Zeke.” The stray spit blood on the floor at Marc’s feet, eyeing him in defiance, which I had to kind of admire. “Radley. Zeke Radley.”

  “And what are you doing here, Mr. Radley?”

  The stray cleared his throat and spat more blood on the floor, tossing a strand of brown hair from his forehead. “I was chasing a downed alien spacecraft.” No one seemed very amused by Radley’s ill-timed attempt at humor, least of all Marc, whose arms bulged in anger. But the stray was unperturbed. “I thought this was free territory. Was I wrong?”

  “Where did you hear that?”

  Radley shrugged, which looked painful with his hands taped behind his back. “Some cat told me. Did I cross some kind of boundary? If so, you guys do a piss-poor job of marking your territory. No pun intended.”

  On my left Jace growled, and Lucas smacked the back of Radley’s head with one huge hand. “You’re in no position to smart off.”

  Radley ignored Lucas in favor of Marc, who looked amazingly calm and in control. “You didn’t answer the question,” the prisoner said. “Is this your land or not?”

  “No.” My father clasped his hands behind his back, standing straight and tall in his suit and tie, even at three in the morning. “This is not our land. But this is my daughter—” he gestured toward me with one outstretched hand “—who now has twenty stitches in her stomach, thanks to you.”

  My left hand settled lightly onto my abdomen. Twenty? Really?

  Radley rolled his eyes. He actually rolled his eyes at my father, Alpha of the south-central territory and head of the Territorial Council. Sure, I did that all the time, but I’d also peed on his lap when I was two. No one else got away with such disrespect toward an Alpha, which meant Radley either didn’t know who my father was, or didn’t care. Either could have been true, because most strays didn’t understand the werecat social hierarchy, and those who did had little reason to respect our Alphas.

  Still, I wasn’t the only one surprised into silence.

  “That was an accident!” Radley snapped, shuffling on the floor to find a more comfortable position for his bruised knees. He glanced from my father to me, then back to my father. “I was just trying to get out of there alive, and I knew they wouldn’t hurt me while I had her.”

  “Why did you ‘have her’ in the first place?” Marc demanded, his voice low and dangerous.

  “She set me up. You all set me up. You dangled bait in front of my face, and now you want to know why I took it!”

  I tried not to squirm. He was right; we had set him up. Was it possible Radley knew nothing about the missing hikers and the slaughtered cop? Could he have simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time? That was almost too much of a coincidence to believe.

  “You didn’t have to chase her.” Jace squeezed my shoulder protectively. “Why did you?”

  Radley huffed impatiently, which seemed odd coming from a man in his position. “Look, you assholes may have dinner with a tabby every night of your life, but for a tom like me, running into a puss like that is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.” His gaze raked over me boldly, as if we weren’t surrounded by five other tomcats, including my father. And Marc.

  Well, at least he’s honest. I had to give him that.

  Jace seemed much less inclined to give him a break. “So you followed her because you’ve never seen another tabby?”

  The stray blinked, and indecision flashed across his face so fast I wasn’t sure I’d seen it in the first place.

  Whatever he’d started to say was gone, but Radley’s confidence was back, bolstered by another dose of anger and resentment. “I followed her because she looked upset. She ran off by herself. It’s not safe for a girl to be on her own in the woods at night.”

  “I’m not a girl,” I snapped, but my ferocity floundered as Radley’s nostrils flared, obviously taking in my scent. Marc tensed, and I rushed on before he could interrupt. “In fact, I’ve probably been alone in the woods more times than you’ve pissed in private.”

  “Lovely, Faythe,” Michael murmured on my right as Jace nearly choked trying to hold back laughter.

  “And completely beside the point.” My father frowned sternly, then faced the prisoner, dismissing me entirely.

  Marc cleared his throat, drawing Radley’s attention away from me and pulling the interrogation back on track. “So you followed her to protect her? What were you going to do—serve her cocoa, then walk her home?”

  I laughed aloud, drawing more disapproving glances from my father and Michael, and another stifled chuckle from Jace.

  “I don’t know.” Radley sniffed at a drop of blood trailing from his nose. “I didn’t have a plan. I just saw her run off, and when neither of you went after her, I figured someone should.”

  “It was an act—you said it yourself,” Marc growled through gritted teeth, and I knew it irked him to let Radley think I’d run to get away from him.

  The stray shrugged, as if he couldn’t care less. “Whatever. I didn’t think she should be alone in the woods.”

  Jace inhaled softly, and his hand tightened briefly on my shoulder. “Why were you following us?”

  “Because I’m not as dumb as I look.” Radley lowered his weight, so that he sat on his feet. “If you saw three strange cats walking through your territory, wouldn’t you follow them?” He bent to one side, extending his arms behind his back so we could all see the tape binding them. “I’m guessing you wouldn’t stop there.”

  “This isn’t your territory,” Michael pointed out calmly, ever the voice of reason.

  “It’s as much mine as it i
s yours.”

  Even more so, I thought, but had the good sense to keep my mouth shut for once.

  Marc nodded. “Fair enough. So you followed her—for her own protection, of course…” The sarcasm in his voice could have sliced through glass. “Why was she running from you when we found her?”

  Radley shrugged. “How should I know? I must have scared her. I didn’t mean to though.” He peered around Marc’s arm to address me directly. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “The hell you didn’t!” I leaned forward in my chair, and the medication-dulled pain in my belly roared into focus with the sudden movement. Damn it! I pressed one hand to my stomach, breathing deeply until the sharp throbbing ebbed. When I looked up, everyone in the room was watching me, including my father, which reminded me that no one had heard my side of the story yet. “He wasn’t going to let me leave. He was trying to take me somewhere.”

  Radley shook his head, this time rolling his eyes at me. “There was someone else out there. Another cat,” he said. His eyes were wide and earnest, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was trying a little too hard to convince us. Still, there had been another cat…

  Marc glanced at Jace, and I knew they were thinking the same thing I was.

  “I was trying to stop her from running off again,” Radley continued. “For all I knew, she’d run right into that other cat, and I doubt he’s as friendly as I am. Not that being friendly’s helped me much today.”

  If he was telling the truth, we were seriously mistreating Zeke Radley. But though I couldn’t find an inconsistency in his story, neither could I swear it wasn’t a lie. I couldn’t read Radley, and that knowledge gnawed at me from the inside, mirroring the now mercifully dull pain in my stomach.

  Though I could interpret neither my father’s expression nor my brother’s, Marc wasn’t buying Radley’s innocence in the least. “Maybe you should have Saint Zeke tattooed on your rump…” he muttered, turning away from the bound tom in disgust and frustration.