Stray

by Rachel Vincent

  “Get off my sister.”

  Jace hissed in my ear, and cool air brushed my stomach where his body had been a second earlier. I opened my eyes. My brother Michael stood in front of me, holding Jace at arm’s length by the back of his neck.

  “I was only saying hello,” Jace purred, his lazy smile still aimed at me.

  “Do it without your tongue.” Michael enunciated each word carefully and slowly to make sure he was understood. He shoved Jace to one side, a little too hard to be playful.

  Jace stumbled, catching himself on the edge of Daddy’s desk. “If I were Marc you’d let me greet her properly,” he said, a hint of resentment in his voice.

  “There was nothing proper about that.” Michael frowned, but I glimpsed amusement behind his stern, I-mean-business face. “And if you were Marc, she’d have tossed you off herself. But you’re not Marc.”

  “If I were, she wouldn’t have left us in the first place.” He turned his back on us both, slinking to the door with a fluid grace no human could have duplicated.

  I blushed, thinking of the carnal promise in his casual words. No one else would have gotten away with such a comment, much less the intimate greeting, but I took a lot from Jace that would have lost anyone else an ear. Or worse. Jace got away with it because I secretly suspected he was right, that his body could really do what his teasing kisses and caresses hinted at. And because he’d never really tried. Our relationship had always been fundamentally platonic, a safe zone for playful flirting, which Michael either couldn’t or wouldn’t understand.

  High heels clicked briskly on the tiles in the hallway, and I turned toward the door, steeling myself to face my mother. She stepped into the office, pausing for effect in the doorway as she spread her arms in greeting. “Faythe, we’re so glad to finally have you home.” As if I’d returned for a friendly visit, instead of for a command appearance.

  My mother looked exactly as I remembered, down to her gray pageboy and charcoal-colored slacks. She had a closet full of them, hanging right next to a collection of novelty kitchen aprons, printed with not-so-funny sayings, like “I’d give you the recipe, but then I’d have to kill you.”

  She came toward me, pausing almost imperceptibly when she realized I wasn’t going to rush forward to meet her. Michael and Jace stepped back, making way for my mother, a tiny life raft of estrogen bobbing amongst the waves of testosterone.

  She hugged me, her embrace bringing with it the scent of homemade cookies, with cinnamon and nutmeg. Who cooks with nutmeg in the middle of the summer? Only my pretty-kitty version of a mother, a remnant of the June Cleaver days of intact families and repressed emotions.

  Over her shoulder, I watched Marc come in, followed by my father, who pulled a handkerchief from his pocket to polish the lenses of his glasses while he waited patiently for my mother let me go. Daddy was always the last man to enter any room, so he could take charge of everyone all at once. Tall, and still firm at fifty-six, my father commanded respect everywhere he went, and it was all innate. He could never have explained why people did what he wanted, but his authority was undeniable, and unless I was at home, unquestioned.

  I frowned at him, preparing to argue my case. “Daddy, what—?”

  He smiled, cutting me off with a wave of one thick hand. “Give me a hug first, before we let business get in the way of family.”

  I hugged him, but was bothered by his statement, because the business was family. Always. No matter how much he loved creating beautiful buildings, and how many days a year it took him away from home, his true passion—his life’s calling—was the Pride. We were his family, some by blood and others, like Jace and Marc, by association and employment.

  Daddy released me, leaving one heavy hand on my shoulder as he turned to Jace. “Go unload Marc’s car, please, and let everyone know the prodigal daughter has returned.”

  Again, this was unnecessary; everyone knew I was home. It was just Daddy’s polite way of getting rid of Jace. I took it as a good sign. If my father had been mad or upset, he wouldn’t have bothered with tact. He’d have merely started shouting orders.

  Jace nodded and left without complaint. Marc closed the solid oak door behind him, cutting off the masculine buzz of conversation coming from the back of the house.

  Suddenly nervous, I wiped sweat from my palms on my pants. I’d never been comfortable in Daddy’s office when the door was closed. Unlike the rest of the house, the walls of the office were made of solid concrete, which made them virtually soundproof, even for us. At least in human form. Most families use rooms like that as an indoor tornado shelter, or as safe rooms in case of home invasions. My father used it for privacy, a hot commodity in a house full of people gifted with a cat’s hearing.

  Marc leaned against the door frame with his hands in his pockets, apparently relaxed. I wasn’t fooled. Daddy hadn’t forgotten to post a guard at the door since the summer I turned eighteen, and considering how long it took them to find me that time, he probably never would again.

  My mother sat on the leather love seat, patting the cushion next to her—not for me, but for Michael. He glanced at me for a moment before sitting, and I couldn’t resist a tiny smile. Michael was what you’d get if you mixed a Chippendale dancer with a Law Review editor: a handsome face crowning an athlete’s body, all dressed up in a hand-tailored suit, with silver, wire-rimmed glasses added for effect. Seriously. His vision was better than perfect, but he thought he looked more like an attorney in the spectacles. And maybe more like our father, who’d been fitted with prescription lenses three years earlier.

  Daddy sat in his armchair, where he could see everyone. And they all stared at me.

  Shrugging, I plopped down on the couch, all alone. I glanced back at Marc, but he wouldn’t meet my eyes. Once again, it was me against the world. Or at least against the Pride, which, unfortunately, was my world.

  I took a deep breath and held it for a moment, then let it out all at once. Time to get it over with. “So, tell me about Sara.”

  “We don’t know much yet,” my mother said, crossing one ankle over the other. “She went shopping in downtown Atlanta, and never came back. Your father sent Vic home to help with the search, and he’s promised to keep us informed.” Vic was Sara’s brother, and one of my father’s enforcers.

  “That’s it?” I ignored my mother and frowned at my father. That couldn’t be all they knew.

  “So far.” Daddy nodded, and I noticed absently that the gray streaks at his temples had broadened since I’d seen him last. “From the credit card bills, they know where she actually made purchases, and her brothers have been in all the stores, discreetly questioning the salespeople. Most of the clerks remembered her, but no one saw anything unusual. Bert has his men out looking, but so far they haven’t found anything.”

  Bert was Umberto Di Carlo, Sara’s father, Alpha of one of the neighboring territories. And one of my father’s closest friends.

  “How long has she been gone?” I asked.

  “Since the night before last.”

  “I assume they’ve questioned Sean.”

  Daddy shook his head.

  “No one can find him,” Marc added, and I twisted around to look at him. “He was staying near Chattanooga, right outside the southeast territory, but now his apartment’s empty. The landlord said he moved out a couple of weeks ago.”

  I shrugged, turning back to face Michael and my parents. “So, what are we going to do?”

  “Nothing.” Disapproval traced deep lines on my father’s face; I was intimately familiar with that expression. “Bert hasn’t asked for our help. We only have details because Vic called last night.”

  I frowned at my father. “If we’re not going to help, why drag me home from school?” Silence greeted my question, and I glanced from face to face, anger building in a slow, hot crescendo. My mother looked away, but Michael stared right at me.

  “What would you suggest?” he asked, narrowed eyes daring me to answer. “You want u
s to go in uninvited?”

  Did I?

  Bert and Donna Di Carlo controlled the southeast territory, encompassing everything east of the Tombigbee River in Alabama, and south of the Tennessee River and the southern edge of the Smokies. My father was Alpha of the south-central territory, which was south of the Missouri River and east of the Rockies, running all the way to the Mississippi. The unclaimed portion of Mississippi between the two territories was considered free range, where strays and wildcats of any lineage could live and run without having to secure permission.

  My father and Umberto Di Carlo were friends—very old friends. But in the werecat community, even the strongest of friendships was defined by strictly observed boundaries, both geographical and personal. Breaching a territorial boundary, even with an offer of assistance, would do more harm than good, because the Di Carlos—and likely the rest of the werecat community—would see it as an insult. Our interference would undermine Umberto’s authority and call his leadership into question. We might as well announce to the world that we don’t think the southeast Pride can handle its own problems. No Alpha could afford to let such an insult go unpunished.

  Did I want my father to breach another Pride’s territorial boundaries and risk breaking the peace, just to reassure me that everything possible was being done? Just so I could return to my life as soon as possible?

  Hmm. Tough call.

  Though my father was clearly disappointed by Umberto’s failure to seek his aid and advice, without being invited to help, he would take no action. Our boundaries were older than the U. S. Constitution and written in stone—almost literally, in the case of several mountain ranges.

  According to tradition, werecats preceded the European colonists to the new world by several hundred years. Of course, we migrated on foot from the jungles of South America, rather than crossing the Atlantic by boat. Out of instinct, we formed territories, and out of necessity those territories overlapped areas occupied by the already-native humans. As is often the case with human boundaries, our borders followed naturally occurring lines of division: mountain ranges, rivers and large lakes.

  Over the centuries, our boundary lines shifted slightly along with the evolving landscape, but they remain much as they were originally. Those lines are the basis for the fragile structure which keeps us civilized. To preserve that civilization, Daddy would not breach a territorial boundary line without permission for anything, even a missing daughter.

  I turned back to my father, preparing to state my case. “If there’s nothing we can do, let me go back to school. The term just started.”

  His frown was impenetrable. “You’re not going back until we’re sure you’re safe.”

  “I am safe,” I said through clenched jaws, praying Marc hadn’t already told him about the stray on campus. Yes, my father would find out eventually; there was no stopping that. But hopefully he wouldn’t find out until I was back on campus and out of the direct line of fire.

  “Sean took her,” I continued. “He’s mad because she accepted Kyle’s proposal, and he’s either trying to change her mind, or get back at her.” Like most tabbies, Sara’d had several suitors to choose from when her parents decided it was time for her to marry. Unfortunately, one of those she turned down hadn’t taken the news very well. Sean had thrown an embarrassing public fit, then left the territory in protest. “It’s horrible, and scary, and infuriating. But it has nothing to do with me.”

  I was starting to panic at the idea of sitting home all summer with nothing to occupy my time but chaperoned runs into town for groceries. If I was lucky. I’d been free far too long to ever go back to the way things used to be.

  “Faythe, give it a rest,” Marc said. Everyone turned to look at him, including me. I stared at him, begging him with my eyes to keep his mouth shut. As usual, he ignored me. “You know it wasn’t Sean.”

  “How would she know that?” My father’s voice was deep with anger. He clearly realized he’d been kept out of the loop.

  I watched Marc, still pleading with him silently to keep his mouth shut. Just this once. Daddy would never let me out of his sight if he knew.

  Marc gave me the slightest shake of his head. “A stray tried to grab her on campus.”

  “Yeah, but I kicked his trespassing ass!” I whirled around to face my father.

  “Faythe!” my mother cried, horrified more by my language than by what had actually happened.

  “What? It’s true. Tell them, Marc,” I demanded, turning on him angrily. “I can take care of myself.”

  Marc shrugged. And he conveniently forgot to mention where he was while I was kicking serious ass. I briefly considered ratting him out, as he’d done to me, but decided my secret might be worth more to him down the line.

  “You’re not leaving,” Daddy said, completely unmoved by the news of my first victory in battle.

  “The hell I’m not.” I clenched my hands together in my lap to keep them from curling into fists, which he would see as a sign of aggression. “I’m never alone anyway, so what does it matter? I know you have the guys watching me, even though you promised me privacy. I’m just not sure whether it’s to protect me or to spy on me.”

  “Faythe, your tone is unacceptable.” My mother never raised her voice, because she never needed to. Until I came along, it had apparently never occurred to anyone to disobey. As children, my brothers were typically loud and raucous, managing to find trouble in the most benign places, but none of them ever thought to openly defy either of our parents. No, rebellion was my sole territory to explore, and I’d pushed the very limits of what would be endured.

  “That’s old news, Mom.” Claustrophobia constricted my throat at the very thought of being confined to the ranch for an unknown period of time. “I’m old enough to vote, I’m old enough to drink, and I’m damn well old enough to make my own decisions. And I’ve decided to go back to school.”

  My father nodded to Marc, who stepped in front of the door and leaned against it, both arms crossed over his chest. It would take a bulldozer to move him, and heavy machinery I was not. “Don’t make threats, Faythe,” Daddy said. “We’re only trying to protect you.”

  One look at his face told me things were going downhill. Fast. If I couldn’t keep my cool, I’d wind up stuck in my room until I was thirty. “I’m not making threats, Daddy. I swear I’m not. But I truly don’t need your protection. I proved that tonight.”

  My father sighed and met my eyes. “I know you think you can take care of yourself, and I think that with a little more training, you just may be right. If you’d like to take advantage of this opportunity to get in some more practice with the guys, I’m sure they’d all be happy to oblige. But you are not going back to school. At least not now.”

  Furious at being patronized, I stood, and so did my father. He stared behind me at Marc and nodded again. They thought I was going to run and were prepared to stop me. Wonderful. “How long?” I asked, trying to keep defeat from my voice. It was too late for my face.

  “Until they find Sara and whoever took her. You can speed up the process by giving us a description.”

  “Get it from Marc,” I snapped, daring him to admit he’d barely seen the stray.

  I took a step forward, and Michael stood, preparing to stop me. I rolled my eyes. “Relax, I’m just going to my room. Otherwise known as my prison cell.”

  He glanced at my father. Daddy nodded, and Michael sat back down.

  Spine stiff and chin high, I marched toward the guarded exit. Marc averted his eyes as he held the door for me, but I could feel his gaze on my back as I plodded down the hall.

  In my room, I slammed the door and leaned against it, my eyes roaming walls I hadn’t seen in years. I crossed the floor in an instant, using speed I hadn’t had the nerve to display in front of my father. When I pressed the power button on my stereo, music blared to life through speakers Marc had mounted for me on my seventeenth birthday. My hand hovered over the volume knob as I considered turning
it down. But then footsteps clomped down the hall outside my door. I turned the music up instead and flopped down on my stomach on the bed.

  Welcome home, Faythe, I thought, eyeing the brand-new security bars on my window. For now.

  Four

  A soft scratching sound came from the hallway. I rolled onto my back, staring at the door. The scratching came again, and I sat up on the bed, sniffing the air. My nose works much better in cat form, but even on two legs I could identify each of my brothers’ scents.

  “Go away, Ethan,” I yelled, not bothering to screen irritation from my voice. My misery didn’t want company.

  The knob turned, as I’d known it would, and I leapt to my feet as the door swung open. A dark head appeared in the gap, and I found myself looking into eyes barely a shade greener than my own. “Damn it, Ethan!” I propped both hands on my hips, in unconscious imitation of my mother’s angry stance. “You can’t waltz in here anytime you want, just because my door doesn’t lock.” Daddy had snapped the lock the time I shut myself in and tried to sneak out the window. And he’d steadfastly refused to replace it.

  “I didn’t waltz. And I’m not technically in.” Ethan leaned against the door frame, naked from the waist up, a half-eaten Granny Smith apple in one hand. He wore his typical lopsided grin, the one that said nothing in the world could ever really bother him. When we were kids, his inescapable optimism had frayed my nerves, but now I found myself welcoming that distinctive smile with one of my own. I couldn’t help it. His attitude was contagious.

  “You still mad, or can I have a hug?” he asked. I shrugged. It wasn’t his fault Marc had dragged me home.

  Ethan set his apple on my dresser, and before I could blink he’d enveloped me in his long arms, my cheek resting on a chest smooth enough to be mistaken for a boy’s, if not for an obviously mature physique. And it wasn’t just his chest. Ethan was two years older than I was, but you couldn’t tell it from his cherubic face, all dimples, wide eyes, and long, gorgeous lashes.