Pride

by Rachel Vincent

  And it had worked.

  Marc pushed his suitcase over and sat at the head of his bed while I sank onto the one opposite his. “Unfortunately, I’m completely serious. Your uncle thinks once I’m gone, Malone will have a change of heart. He’s guessing they’ll give you a warning, probation, and probably a long-term suspension, to make it look real. And the worst part is that that corrupt son of a bitch is going to come off looking merciful on us both.”

  But he was wrong there. The worst part was that Marc would be gone.

  I let my skull thump against the headboard as I stared at the ceiling. “That’s so wrong! My hearing has nothing to do with you! He can’t make Daddy choose.”

  Yet we both knew he could. If he got a majority vote, Calvin Malone could do whatever he wanted. I’d known all along that he hated Marc; I just hadn’t realized how far he was willing to go to get rid of the token stray.

  The rest of the Territorial Council had been tolerant of my father’s eccentricity at first, amused by the tenderhearted lion taking in the orphaned kitten. But when that kitten grew up big and strong—and especially when he became the front-runner in the race for my heart, a position as Alpha of our Pride, and a seat on the Territorial Council—a handful of them had panicked. For the last five years, several of the Alphas, including Calvin Malone, had been pressuring my father to marry me off to someone else—one of their sons, naturally. But he’d steadily refused, insisting that I would make up my own mind when the time was right.

  But, shrew that I was, I’d proved him wrong; I’d turned down every offer of marriage that came my way—including Marc’s. Now that I’d come home and was trying to win him back, those Alphas were evidently panicking anew at the thought of a stray sitting on the council with them. Led by Malone, they were going to all new lows to get rid of him.

  And I’d just given them the perfect opportunity.

  “So it’s all a game!” Fury fused with relief and I sat up, my hand clenching and unclenching around the bedspread. “It’s just a fucking game, and they’ve made their move. All we have to do is outmaneuver them. Which should be easy now that we know they aren’t really going to execute me.”

  Marc shook his head slowly, sadly, and twisted to look at me. “It’s not a game, Faythe. It’s a power play, and they’ve already won. The death sentence isn’t a bluff.” He inhaled deeply, preparing to say something I was obviously not going to like. “I think it was a bluff at first, to scare you into letting one of their sons knock you up. But now they think they’ve found a replacement for you—a tabby with no connection to either me or your father. With whom they could edge us right out of our own Pride.”

  Kaci. Shit. Fear rushed through my veins, throbbing viciously with each beat of my heart. They wanted the young, scared, impressionable, orphaned tabby instead of the stubborn, uncooperative hellcat they thought me to be. “Son of a bitch!” Once they had Kaci, they wouldn’t need me, at which point my existence became of no importance whatsoever. And that’s exactly what Marc had been trying to tell me.

  They had trapped my father in a lose-lose situation, and they didn’t really care which option he chose. If he picked Marc, they’d execute me. Daddy would have no daughter, thus no heirs. He would eventually lose control of our Pride, and the council would give it to whomever they’d married Kaci off to—some tom they could easily control.

  But if my dad chose me, Marc would already be out of the way, thus ineligible for a spot at my side and on the council. If I settled down with one of their sons, my chosen tom would inherit the territory and my father’s seat on the council. If I still refused to marry, they’d replace me with Kaci.

  A chill raced through me, sprouting goose bumps in its wake. “They’re trying to handpick Daddy’s replacement. They think they can pair Kaci with the tom of their choosing and cut us right out of our own territory!” My head whirled, my thoughts flying too fast to examine. “They’ll probably pick one of Malone’s boys.” Who would one day become an Alpha, as well as a member of the Territorial Council, in effect giving Calvin Malone control of two territories, which would make him the most powerful member of the council. “We can’t let him do this! Marrying Kaci off to a tom of their choosing is no better than what Miguel had in mind for me and Abby.”

  “I know. It’s revolting.” Marc swallowed thickly.

  “Damn, I hope I’m wrong about her being a stray.” If she was a Pride tabby, even an orphaned Pride tabby, there would be a gaggle of brothers and enforcers out there somewhere looking for her. And surely whatever she’d run away from was no worse than what Malone had planned for her.

  Or maybe it was. Why else would she leave the security of her own home to wander on her own for weeks at a time, sick, starving, and injured?

  Shit. There was a very good chance that poor thirteen-year-old tabby was stuck between the ultimate rock and hard place—a location I was intimately familiar with. I had to help her.

  “We have to find out where she comes from and who might be looking for her. We have to protect her, Marc.”

  He shook his head slowly, as if it felt too heavy to move. “You have to protect her, and to do that, you have to be alive. That’s why I’m leaving. It’s the best thing I can do for both of you.” His gaze burned into me, branding my soul with the memory of everything we’d once been. Everything we would lose once he was gone.

  And he made it sound so damn permanent.

  “There has to be another way to fix this.” I shifted on the spare bed, and the mattress creaked beneath me. “I can’t protect Kaci on my own, and losing you will make it worse, not better.” And I sure as hell couldn’t stomach the thought of spending the rest of my life without him. Much less ever replacing him, which the council would make me do eventually. The hearing had taught me that, if nothing else.

  I brushed a strand of hair from my face, trying desperately to force down the fear clawing up the inside of my throat. “You can’t go. I won’t let you. I can’t.” My voice cracked as I spoke, and finally broke on the last word.

  Marc crossed the room to stare out the window, as if it hurt to look at me. “I can’t stay here and watch them kill you. Please, Faythe. Just let me go.”

  Tears blurred my vision, and I tried to blink them away, but they fell instead, scalding twin paths down my cheeks. “No.” I stood and crossed the room, wiping my face with my sleeve. Not for good.

  “Don’t make this any harder,” he whispered as my hands found his chest. “Please.”

  I stood on my toes and brushed my lips against his. His scent surrounded me, triggering memories I hadn’t thought of in years, and reactions I’d never once forgotten.

  “Faythe…” He pulled away from me, but I followed him, my fingers playing against the wrenchingly familiar planes and hollows of his chest beneath the faded cotton concert T-shirt he’d had for more than a decade.

  I kissed him again, harder this time, demanding a reaction from him. Demanding an acknowledgment that we still had something together. That I still meant something to him. If I could make him remember what he’d be leaving behind, he might be willing to fight for it. For us. He just needed a reminder…

  My hands slid beneath his shirt, and my fingers brushed the sparse, coarse hair on the rigid surface of his stomach. I inhaled deeply and his scent filled me.

  My heart beat harder and my breath came faster. My hands skimmed higher on his chest, his flesh warm beneath my fingers. A long, low moan shuddered in his throat in spite of lips pressed together in denial of the sounds we both knew he wanted to make.

  “Faythe, please…” But he didn’t step back and made no move to push me away.

  I slid my hands over each rib, dragging his shirt higher inch by slow inch. On my toes again, I trailed my mouth over his chin. I loved the rough, thoroughly masculine feel of his beard stubble against my lips. My hands moved farther up, my fingers splayed, and my thumbs brushed the hard edges of his pecs. His breath came faster, his mouth open now.

 
“Arms up,” I whispered, my lips brushing his chin. Marc obediently raised his arms, and I slid the shirt over his head, then let it drop onto the floor behind him. My hands roamed his arms and chest, and my pulse roared in my ears, almost blocking out his heartbeat completely.

  “Faythe, you don’t have to—”

  “Shh.” My lips opened and my teeth found his chin, nibbling their way down the line of his jaw to his ear, where the delicious, musky Marc-scent deepened. I purred, capturing his earlobe between my lips. I was careful not to bite, but when I tugged gently, his hands finally found my hips, squeezing as his head fell back and a soft, throaty growl rumbled against my cheek.

  My mouth dipped lower, nibbling the sweet, hot flesh of his neck, and his hands slipped beneath my shirt, kneading my waist in time with his own pulse. I murmured wordless pleasure against his throat and nuzzled closer, pushing us a step nearer to the bed. His hands slid beneath my jeans, cupping my hips eagerly, possessively. His skin was exquisitely warm against mine, his fingers wonderfully rough and willing.

  He smelled so good. So intimately familiar and safe, yet dangerous at the same time, and I couldn’t get enough of him. My lips found his again, and when my mouth opened, his parted in welcome. My hands trailed his torso once more until my fingers brushed the waistband of his jeans.

  I pushed his button through its hole as his hands inched up the outside of my shirt and over my shoulders. His fingers tangled in my hair, tilting my head back to give him better access to my mouth. The kiss deepened and I shoved his jeans down, fighting not to wrap my legs around him where he stood. Marc hadn’t touched me intimately in two and a half months and we only had a matter of minutes before the inevitable interruption.

  Patience did not come easily.

  He must have felt the rush, too, because he let go of my hair to grab my shirt, only pulling from my mouth long enough to tug the black tee over my head. He turned us so the backs of my knees brushed the edge of the mattress, my fingers still playing along his back. His mouth claimed mine again as his hands worked at the waistband of my jeans. A second later, they hit the floor, my underwear pooled inside them.

  His arms encircled me, hands fumbling with the latch of my bra as I shoved his boxers down, my hands trailing over the tight curves of his backside, the granite expanse of his thighs. He growled in frustration and his arms tensed against me. Threads popped and my bra slid down my arms, the hooks ripped free from the material.

  Damn. That was a good bra too. But Marc was better. He was worth however many articles of clothing he wanted to ruin, and if he’d stay, I’d gladly let him shred my whole wardrobe.

  I let the bra fall as he stepped out of his underwear, and when his eyes found mine again I circled him, splaying one hand across his chest, my fingers half covering the old, white scars a psychotic stray had carved into him fifteen years earlier. Though I knew he hated them, I loved those marks because that was the injury that had brought him into my life. A permanent reminder of the moment that had ripped away everything he’d ever known, and given us to each other.

  And after all that time, all those moments stolen, those cravings indulged, he was leaving—to save me. We’d been apart before, most notably the five years I spent at college. But this was different. Until I could get him reinstated, he wouldn’t just be stomping around in the guesthouse out back, or waiting for me to come home from school. He’d be truly gone—out of reach and officially persona non grata.

  But not until tomorrow. For now, Marc was everywhere. His chest hair tickled my palms, his heart beat against my fingers. His scent filled the air. His voice rumbled through me with each moan of pleasure, each groan of impatience. Soon, the free zone would have him. But until then, Marc was mine, and I was gonna give him one hell of a send-off.

  I smiled and shoved him backward. He let himself fall onto the bed, and a little thrill raced down my spine to settle low and throb steadily. I was on him in an instant, straddling his thighs as my hands sought every inch of his flesh.

  His hands squeezed my hips, grinding me against him as he arched up from the bed over and over again. I gasped, and my knees clenched on either side of him, pinning us together as he throbbed against the most sensitive parts of my body.

  I sat up straight and Marc’s eyes met mine. I nodded. He lifted me with both hands, guiding me forward. I closed my eyes, knowing he would watch my face the whole time.

  He lowered me onto him slowly, inch by exquisite inch, until my thighs met his hips. I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until it slipped from my open mouth in a sigh of contentment. Satisfaction. An indisputable rightness I never, ever felt except when we were joined so thoroughly, so intimately that our pulses raced in twin rhythms, each breath pushing in and out in tandem.

  I felt him exhale beneath me, and with the next heartbeat I rocked forward, my head thrown back, my lower lip pinched between my teeth in concentration. He moaned and arched into me as I came back down. We started out slowly, letting the rhythm loiter, the pleasure build gradually. But that didn’t last. It had been too long, and we had too little time.

  He pulled me down for another kiss, and when I rose again, he grabbed my hips, rocking me faster, pulling in and out frantically as I clenched around him. My knees chafed against the cheap sheets, but I barely noticed because of the other, delicious friction building where Marc’s body met mine. His grip on my waist tightened and our motions grew faster, more frenzied.

  Sweat formed on his chest, slick beneath my hands. My thighs tensed and relaxed ceaselessly, raising me higher with each withdrawal, slamming us together with each thrust. He went taut beneath me. Each time we touched he cried out. Every stroke made me gasp, intensifying the need building within me until one last, brutal grind made his body jerk, his grip bruising my hips. And with his last thrusts, I shuddered around him, gasping, unable to think beyond that one endless moment.

  I opened my eyes to find Marc smiling at me for the first time in months, and relief coursed through me on the tail of my orgasm. I fell limp on top of him, my cheek on his shoulder. He gathered my hair, spreading it to trail onto the bed, where he stroked it over and over, breathing hard beneath me as our hearts raced in echo of the rhythm we’d created.

  For five solid minutes, we lay together on the bed, as close as we could be without doing it all over again. In spite of my raging anger at the tribunal and my recent sedation, my eyes were drooping when Jace’s cautious shout splintered the peaceful silence.

  “Hey, you guys? I hate to interrupt, but I think I just heard a door slam. Sounded like it came from the lodge.”

  “Thanks!” I called across both rooms and two closed doors. I rose reluctantly and donned my underwear and pants while Marc watched me from the bed, making no move to get up. He had nowhere important to be, for the first time I could remember.

  I already had my bra over both shoulders before I remembered the hooks were ruined. Scowling in mock anger, I tossed it at Marc and grinned, already heading for my own bedroom to grab another one. “Consider it a souvenir.”

  “I believe handkerchiefs are customary. Or even a photograph.”

  “Sorry, I don’t carry either.” And I knew he’d take the bra, even though I’d meant it as a joke, because it smelled like me. For cats, even more than for humans, memories are triggered by scent. Which was why I had every intention of taking one of his T-shirts, just as soon as he left his stuff unguarded.

  Five minutes later my father and brother walked through the front door of the cabin as I was sitting down to a plate piled high with formerly frozen waffles—so what if it was twelve-thirty in the afternoon? Marc was on his second bowl of Count Chocula, but I’d wanted something hot and sweet to replace the energy we’d just burned.

  Jace waited for me in the living room, and when my father came in, my keeper rushed to explain that he was going to take me to the lodge just as soon as I’d had something to eat. Daddy waved off his excuses. “I need to talk to her anyway,” he mumbled. Then
he got a whiff of my scent and his gloomy scowl bloomed into a reserved smile that said he knew exactly what we’d been doing.

  I knew I should have taken time for a shower. I’d smell like Marc—and vice versa—until I did.

  Though I nearly swallowed my waffles whole, Marc still finished eating first, and when he stood, I shoved my leftovers across the table toward Jace and made my way into the living room. Marc sank next to me on the couch and we faced my father as a united front.

  We’d gotten back together just in time to be separated by politics. I couldn’t have had worse luck if I’d Shifted and broken a mirror on the underside of a ladder.

  “I take it they’ve filled you in.” My father settled wearily into the armchair on my right, in spite of lumpy arms and a too-low seat. From his bearing alone I knew better than to expect an apology for being sedated. Hell, I was lucky they hadn’t knocked me out the old-fashioned way—with a solid blow to the head.

  “Yeah.” I hesitated, forcing myself to swallow my anger at my father. He wouldn’t have made such a decision lightly. “They also said you had no choice.”

  He nodded. “As much as it pains me to admit it…”

  For nearly a minute, no one spoke, and the only sounds were the ticking of Michael’s watch and Jace’s chewing. And that was all I could take. “So, how’s this going to work?” I glanced from my father to my brother, then back. “Marc moves into the free zone for a while, then we find some reason to bring him back. Right? So how long are we talking? A few months?”

  Michael suddenly became very interested in his loafers, and my brunch began to pitch within my stomach.

  “A year? Surely it won’t take that long…”

  “I don’t think it’s going to be that easy,” my brother finally said. “Malone and Blackwell are dead serious about this, and there are others on the council who will back them. If Dad goes back on his word—especially within just a few months—he’ll lose a lot of credibility with the council. And he really can’t afford that right now.”