Pride

by Rachel Vincent

  I nodded, mute, my head spinning as I tried to figure out what had happened to her. How the hell had a cat so small and young survived on her own long enough to become so malnourished?

  Jace and Michael returned with the medical kit just as Nate yelled for everyone to grab a plate. While the toms formed a line behind the Alphas for dinner, I stayed on the floor with Dr. Carver, taking the supplies he handed me as he dug them one at a time from his bag.

  Several minutes later, as I shone a flashlight at the tabby’s paw so the doc could see better, Marc sank onto the couch at my back and held a full plate of food toward me. “Here.” He nudged my shoulder with the plate rim. “I brought you some dinner. You should eat.”

  “Thanks.” I glanced at him long enough to see the concern in his eyes, and to know it was for me, not for the tabby. “You go ahead. I’ll eat when we’re done here.”

  “The food’ll be gone by then.”

  “Then I’ll grab something else. I want to help.” I couldn’t have said why I wanted to assist the doctor, but the urge was there, nonetheless. I couldn’t get up to stuff my face while this poor young tabby lay unconscious on the table, thin to the point of emaciation, with knots in her fur and unhealed wounds on her feet. It wouldn’t be right.

  Still… “I’d love a Coke, though, if you don’t mind.”

  “Sure.” Marc set the plate of food on the middle couch cushion, to save his place, then marched into the kitchen like a man on a mission. I smiled as I watched him, amused by how happy he was with a task to perform, until my father crossed my field of vision. He carried his dinner to an armchair against the far wall, where he sat and balanced his plate on his lap.

  As an Alpha, my father could have demanded a seat at the kitchen table, where he could easily have kept an eye on me while eating in comfort. Yet he came into the living room, not to monitor me, but to watch me. To observe me and study my motives. And he looked pleased, which drew an odd blush of pride from me.

  Though I’d never given his disapproval of my wardrobe, my big mouth, and my craving for independence much thought, his opinion of me as a person—as a possible successor—well, that meant the world.

  The approval in his eyes was worth listening to my stomach growl for a few more minutes.

  Marc returned with my soda and sat on the couch behind me. In the kitchen, Jace sat around the table with Lucas, Michael, and my uncle Rick, all of them watching as I helped Dr. Carver clean the tabby’s paw and treat it with some kind of goopy cream and a gauze wrap. Everyone else had filed into the dining room, where there was space at the long table for fourteen.

  When Dr. Carver and I had done what we could for the tabby, he carried her upstairs to the bedroom Colin had vacated for her at the end of the hall, and I followed, carrying his supplies. When he had her settled on the bed, he thanked me for my help and sent me downstairs to grab some dinner.

  I was loath to leave because I wanted to be there when the tabby opened her eyes. But I went because I didn’t want my growling stomach to be what woke her up.

  However, I was only halfway through the hunk of lasagna Marc had set aside for me when a thump shook the ceiling over my head, followed by a roar and a vicious, frightened growl. Dr. Carver screamed, and every cat still in the lodge jumped to his feet, until my father called a halt and nodded for Marc to follow him and my uncle upstairs.

  While they were gone, the rest of us listening in absolute silence, Blackwell and Malone emerged from the dining room demanding answers. Before anyone could tell them we had no idea what had happened, a door closed on the second floor and Dr. Carver appeared on the stairs, a bloodstained towel wrapped around one arm.

  “What happened?” I asked when he settled into the kitchen chair next to me. The Alphas gathered around the table and I felt all eyes on us.

  “She woken up, and I must have startled her, because she took a swipe at me. Cut my arm wide open.” Dr. Carver lifted the towel gingerly to expose three bloody claw marks bisecting the top of his forearm.

  “Wow.” I inhaled sharply. “You’re going to need stitches.”

  “If only there were a doctor in the house…” Carver laughed, his tone heavily ironic. He had a pretty good attitude for a man bleeding so heavily.

  I shrugged. “Marc’s done his fair share of emergency stitching…” Lots of the guys had, actually, but other than my mother’s and Carver’s own, Marc’s stitches were the neatest I’d ever seen.

  “Marc?” my father called, and Marc stepped forward with the doctor’s supply bag already in hand. I kicked a chair out for him and he sat, already pulling out disinfectant and a wicked-looking curved suture needle.

  “I had to tranquilize her,” Dr. Carver explained, as if to distract himself as Marc poured peroxide over the cuts. Evidently doctors don’t make very good patients. “But it should wear off in a few hours. Let’s hope she’s in a better mood then, because I’m going to have to treat her sooner rather than later.”

  “I don’t think you should go in there alone, if she’s dangerous,” Uncle Rick said.

  “Surely she’s not dangerous.” I scowled. “She’s probably just scared, and Dr. Carver said he startled her.”

  “I see no reason to take that chance,” Malone said.

  My father nodded, turning to the doctor. “I agree. When she wakes up, we’ll send several toms in with you, in case she needs to be restrained or tranquilized again.”

  Dr. Carver frowned. “I’m afraid that won’t make her very easy to care for. Or very willing to cooperate.”

  “That’s better than having anyone else injured.” Uncle Rick leaned against the kitchen door frame. “We need all the able-bodied toms we can get right now, so no one goes into the tabby’s room alone. Understood?”

  We all nodded, but Dr. Carver looked just as frustrated as I felt. And something told me the tabby wouldn’t take the news any better.

  Fourteen

  “Faythe!” A cold hand touched my arm as a whispered breath brushed my ear. “Faythe, wake up.”

  My eyes opened, then closed when they met only darkness. The sun wasn’t up yet, and neither was I. Instead of answering, I snuggled closer to the warm body pressed against my chest, stomach, and legs, too tired to care who I’d curled up next to, since I was still fully clothed.

  “Faythe, come on!” the voice whispered again, begging that time.

  I sucked in a deep breath to give the rest-stealer a piece of my mind, but froze instead when the scent of the body in front of me penetrated my exhausted, medicated brain.

  Jace? I’d slept in Jace’s bed? Or had he slept in mine?

  Either way, this was very, very bad. My father was going to have kittens when he found out, which wouldn’t be long, considering someone had just discovered us together. If I was going to screw everything up by sleeping with Jace, I should at least have some really hot memories to balance out my father’s fury. Not to mention Marc’s…

  Wait. If I’d spent the night with Jace, why was I still dressed? And why couldn’t I remember what we’d done? More important, would I get away with blaming this on the pain pills?

  “Faythe…”

  “I’m up,” I mumbled, rubbing sleep from my eyes. I rolled onto my back carefully, then went still again as a warm, heavy arm draped across my ribs. From my other side.

  Who the hell is that?

  One whiff gave me the answer. Marc. I was in bed with Marc and Jace? I should sure as hell have some memory of that!

  Wait… Whose bed were we in? And more important, what the hell was I thinking?

  Moving slowly this time, I completed my rollover and my cousin Lucas’s red curls came into focus, backlit with light from the living room. As soon as I saw him, the requisite memories slid into place, along with a pang of mild disappointment.

  Nothing bad had happened with Marc and Jace—nothing good either, for that matter—and we were in Nate’s bed. Nate and his roommate were on the nightshift in the woods, still searching for the stray
s and the missing humans.

  The young tabby had still been unconscious when my father was ready to retire for the evening, so I’d asked to stay in the lodge. I wanted to be there when she woke up because she would no doubt be frightened by the strange surroundings and the gaggle of unknown toms ready to hold her down and sedate her.

  My father let me stay at the lodge because Marc and Jace said they’d stay with me, and Nate and his roommate offered us their room. And because Dr. Carver had removed my stitches an hour earlier, proclaiming my recovery to be right on schedule. But since the guys wouldn’t sleep in the same bed, and neither were willing to let the other sleep in my bed, we wound up snuggled together on the two twin mattresses, pushed together to form one big bed. Another potential catastrophe averted by a werecat’s affinity for lying around in big piles.

  Naturally, I got stuck on the crack in the middle.

  “What’s wrong?” I whispered, blinking sleep from my eyes as I removed Marc’s arm carefully to keep from waking him.

  “Dr. Carver’s asking for you. The tabby woke up again.”

  Sleep fog drained from my body, leaving me alert and cold. I was up in an instant, using my werecat’s balance and stealth to crawl from the bed without disturbing either of the toms sandwiching me. Or reopening my own half-healed wounds.

  Standing, I straightened my shirt and tugged my jeans into place, staring in regret at the bed I’d just left. It wasn’t every day I got to sleep between two such yummy morsels of masculinity, and part of me wanted to crawl right back between them. But the rest of me was too curious about the strange young tabby to give up the chance to see her while everyone else was sleeping.

  I trailed Lucas into the living room, then detoured into the bathroom before following him upstairs, where Dr. Carver waited in the hall outside her bedroom. “When did she wake up?”

  The doc rubbed the bandage on his arm absently. “I heard her moving around about half an hour ago, but I just listened for a while, because she was pacing.” A pacing werecat is either nervous or upset—or both—and not to be approached. “When she settled down, I opened the door a crack. She was curled up in one corner, and she started hissing at me. I told her who I am, and that I wasn’t going to hurt her. But when I tried to open the door farther, she started hissing and growling.”

  “I take it she hasn’t Shifted yet?”

  “No. I asked her to, but I can’t even tell if she understands me. She just stares at me and swishes her tail.” He paused, and tucked his injured arm behind his back, as if out of sight really meant out of mind. “Anyway, I thought the scent of another tabby might help calm her down…”

  My pulse spiked in excitement. “You want me to go in with you guys?” I’d never expected to get more than another peek at her until the Alphas had pronounced her safe to approach.

  “No.”

  I twisted to find Marc on the top step, Lucas towering over him from behind, though he was one tread lower.

  Marc marched toward us, censure heavy in each step. “Faythe’s still recovering from a serious injury, and she is not going to get another one on my watch.”

  Irritated, I propped both hands on my hips. “I can speak for myself.”

  He nodded. “So long as you say something sensible.”

  Before I could start yelling, Dr. Carver cleared his throat to get our attention. “Marc…” His fingers picked uneasily at the edge of his bandage. “We need to know who the tabby is, and I don’t think she’ll talk to any of the toms. But more important, she needs food and medical treatment, and I doubt she’ll take either until she feels safe. I can’t even get her to Shift. Faythe is probably the only one of us she’ll trust, at least at first.”

  “Then go get Greg’s permission.” Marc stopped three feet from the doctor, clearly prepared to stand his ground. “He’ll see your point, and probably go in there with you both.”

  Carver sighed, and suddenly looked very tired. “I’m afraid she won’t cooperate—even with Faythe—with the rest of us standing around ready to knock her out the first time she twitches. She needs to feel safe, not threatened.”

  My blood raced, my skin tingling in excitement. He wanted me to go in alone!

  “Absolutely not.” Marc’s eyes went hard. “He’d never let Faythe confront a feral cat alone while she’s still injured from her last adventure.”

  The doc closed his eyes briefly, then opened them to meet Marc’s. “Exactly.”

  “And if I let her, he’ll have my head.” Since Marc was the senior ranking enforcer present, in theory, if he gave me an order, I’d have to follow it. Of course, in practice that didn’t always work out very well—for him. “And there’s no telling what the rest of the council would do. I value both of our lives too much to risk finding out.”

  “What about her life?” Dr. Carver tossed his head toward the closed bedroom door. “That tabby’s emaciated and dangerously dehydrated. She has a concussion and an infected laceration on one paw. She needs food, water and medical attention. Immediately. If you wake Greg up, he’ll say no out of an understandable but overprotective need to keep his daughter safe. But the tabby’s the one who will suffer.”

  “So you’re willing to risk Faythe’s life to help some cat you don’t even know?”

  I gaped at Marc, surprised by how callous he sounded. “She’s not just some cat. She’s practically a child. A sick, scared child who probably has no idea where she is or how she got here.” Not to mention the fact that she was a tabby. Some Alpha’s daughter. And whoever her father was, he would not be pleased to know we let her suffer, especially out of cowardice.

  When Marc appeared unmoved by my argument, Dr. Carver stepped in again, the dim light from the hall fixture shining on his short brown beard. “Faythe won’t be in any real danger, Marc. We’ll be right here with tranquilizers, and if anything goes wrong, we can sedate the tabby and get Faythe out immediately.”

  “Why don’t you just shoot her up now and force her Shift?” Marc asked.

  “Because I need her responsive to properly treat her. I don’t have the supplies for an IV with me, so she’ll need to take liquids and medication orally. If I have to knock her out again, I will, but I’m leaving that as a last resort.”

  Finally, I saw conflict in Marc’s eyes. It wasn’t that he didn’t care about the tabby, but that he cared too much about me to let me risk injury—even to help a scared young woman. But I couldn’t leave her alone and suffering, even long enough for the Alphas to argue their way to a decision. My mind kept returning to the memory of my cousin Abby, alone and scared in a basement prison, and I just couldn’t do it.

  I turned my back on Marc to face the doc. “What do you need me to do? Get her to Shift?”

  Dr. Carver nodded. “For starters. Then talk her into letting me treat her. And her name would come in handy too.”

  “Got it.”

  Marc scowled, an impressive imitation of my father. “Faythe…”

  I whirled on him, irritation sparking in my veins. “I’m going in there to help her. You can either stay here and watch my back—and you know there’s no one I trust more—or you can go tattle and get us all in trouble.”

  “The shit will hit the fan anyway, once the Alphas wake up. You’re just delaying the inevitable.”

  “Precisely. By the time they find out, the tabby will be eating breakfast—in human form—and ready to spill her guts. And I’ll be safe and sound. That has to count for something.”

  Marc sighed, and I knew I’d won. He’d just told my father that I needed to take on more responsibility, and he wasn’t about to go tattle on me now for doing that very thing. “I’ll be right here listening, and if she takes so much as a step in your direction, I’m pulling you out of there, so stay clear of the door. Got it?”

  I nodded. “Fine.”

  “And you’re going to take something to defend yourself with. Where’s that damn meat mallet?” He glanced pointedly at Lucas, who took off immediately for the st
airs.

  “Stop it, Lucas.” I glared at Marc. “She’s never going to trust anyone who comes in wielding a weapon.”

  Marc rubbed his forehead, as if staving off a headache. “At least take one of those damn tranquilizers.”

  “Done.” I could live with that. “Where…?”

  Dr. Carver pulled a red-capped syringe from the pocket of his khakis and set it in my outstretched palm. “Loaded and ready to go,” he said as I slipped the slim needle into the hip pocket of my jeans. “Be careful not to break it.”

  “No problem.”

  I reached for the doorknob, and the first threads of doubt wound through me, in spite of my bravado for Marc’s sake. Even the smallest, least experienced tabby cat in the world could do serious damage to an unarmed human if provoked. Dr. Carver’s arm was proof of that. Sucking in a deep breath, I wrapped my hand around the knob. “Here goes nothing.”

  I turned the knob, pushed open the door, and stepped into the room, pleased to note that Dr. Carver had left the light on. No furry black blur leapt out of nowhere to maul me, so I exhaled in relief and closed the door. So far, so good.

  For a moment, I stood still and silent, taking in the two twin beds, each beneath a small window, and identical plywood nightstands. Between the beds was a bare strip of wall and an oval braided rug. Against opposite walls sat cheap matching dressers, one for each theoretical occupant. Other than that, the room looked empty. The tabby was either under one of the beds or in the closet.

  As the sound of my own rushing pulse faded from my ears, it was replaced by a low-pitched rumbling sound. The tabby was growling at me.

  Suddenly I wished I’d knocked before opening the door. I didn’t like it when people walked into my bedroom unannounced, so why should she?

  “Um…hi,” I said, still scanning the apparently empty room. “Where are you? Under the bed?” I took a step forward, and reached to lift the blanket draping the nearest bed, but before I could, the growling grew louder and its source moved. She wasn’t under the bed; she was between it and the right-hand wall.