Pride (3 page)

But I
should
have known.

“Where’s Marc Ramos?” Malone demanded, glancing around at his fellow Alphas, as if he expected Marc to suddenly appear in their midst. “
He’s
a stray. Someone bring Marc in here.”

I dared a peek at Marc and found him standing behind Jace, fists clenched around the back of the chair, face scarlet. He growled, very low and deep, and I ached to put a sympathetic hand over his.

“Marc?” Malone called again from the living room. He twisted in his chair, glancing down the hall first, then toward the kitchen, where he found us all frozen in place—Marc in anger, me in dread, and Jace in what could only be humiliation. I hadn’t noticed his reaction earlier, because Marc was clearly about to blow his top. But when I looked at Jace, I saw that his jaws were clenched, muscles bulging in his cheeks, and that he stared at Malone in nothing short of rage. Pure, murderous rage.

“Ramos, front-n-center!” Malone shouted, apparently oblivious to the fact that he was insulting my father’s top enforcer—the tomcat who got paid to bust heads in defense of our territory.

Marc growled louder, and the chair back creaked beneath his hands. He watched my father instead of Malone, waiting for either a nod or a shake of his Alpha’s head to tell him what to do. But instead, my father shrugged. He was leaving the decision up to Marc, and I loved him for it. For not demanding that Marc present himself to be sniffed like a bitch in heat.

However, before Marc could make up his mind, Keller spoke again, slicing through the tension with a single, insightful statement. “I can smell you from here, son. No need to put yourself out on my account.”

Marc nodded. He didn’t smile—he was much too angry for that—but I could see respect for Keller in his eyes.

“So.” Malone dismissed Marc as casually as he’d called for him. “Did these werecats smell like us, or like
him?
”

I never actually heard Keller’s answer because the wood splintering under Marc’s hands drowned it out. An instant later, Marc held the detached back of Jace’s chair—a solid strip of oak attached to four thin spindles—in one hand. Jace jumped from his seat just as Marc hurled the wood through the window over the kitchen sink. Glass shattered, spraying the ground outside. Heads swiveled our way, eyes wide, mouths gaping. Then, before anyone seemed to realize what had happened, Marc was gone, and the screen door slammed shut.

Malone practically shook with fury, now standing in the middle of the living-room floor. “Jace, bring him back. Now!”

Jace’s hands curled into fists at his sides, and anger smoldered in his eyes. He ignored Malone and watched his own Alpha for a signal.

“Let him go.” My father didn’t shout. He didn’t need to.

Jace’s hands uncurled, and he sank back into his broken chair, ears flaming as he stared at the table.

Calvin Malone turned to face my father, and again I saw him in profile. “Do you let that kind of disrespect go unpunished among your men?”

“You mind your Pride, and I’ll mind mine.” His carefully blank face was the only hint at how very angry my father was. At Malone, not Marc or Jace.

Malone’s mouth twitched. He was furious, but making an obvious attempt to rein his temper in, at least until the bruin was gone. “We’ll discuss this later.”

My father nodded curtly. “We certainly will.”

“Well, I’ll get out of your fur.” Keller rose from the couch, and its springs screeched in relief. He stepped toward the door, and had to duck beneath the fan overhead.

“Mr. Keller, wait,” Uncle Rick called, and the bruin paused several feet from the door. “Where did you last see these strays?”
So they
were
strays
… “And how many are there? We’ll send some men out on patrol, and they’ll need to know where to start.”

Keller’s face relaxed. “There’s a good-size pond not six miles north of here. I scented at least two of them there this morning, and several more before that. That good enough to get you started?”

“Yes, thank you. We appreciate the warning.” My father escorted Keller to the door, step by creaking step. The bruin had to bend to fit through, and when my father turned to the rest of us, his face was all business. “Can you spare two men apiece?” he asked, glancing around the room from Alpha to Alpha.

“Of course,” Blackwell said, “More, if you need them.”

My father nodded, acknowledging the commitment.

“You’re not serious about this, Greg?” Malone demanded, looking around the room for support from his fellow Alphas. My father, the head of the Territorial Council, walked past him without responding, and it was all I could do not to laugh out loud. He’d been using that tactic on me for years, but I’d never expected to see him ignore a fellow Alpha’s question, as if it wasn’t worthy of reply. Though, for the record, I agreed with him completely.

Malone shouted after him. “We all took time away from our jobs—our
lives
—to come here on
werecat business,
not to take tea with Yogi Bear!”

My dad strolled through the living room and into the kitchen, where we all watched him pour the last of the coffee into a clean mug, as if his authority wasn’t being questioned in front of Alpha and enforcer alike.

Malone followed him, stopping on the worn linoleum. “This is free territory. Of
course
there are strays here.
We
put them here!”

Daddy poured a packet of sugar into his coffee and stirred, looking no more annoyed than he might be by a fly buzzing near his ear. Malone seethed. “You can
not
seriously be asking us to set aside your daughter’s
criminal
behavior in favor of chasing a few stray cats up the side of a mountain.”

That did it. My father brought the mug slowly to his lips. He sipped from it, eyeing Malone with all the patience in the world, and I understood in that moment why my father was the head of the council, and Calvin Malone never would be: Malone had no patience. No sense of timing. He wanted instant gratification, even on little things like getting a rise out of my father.

“No,” Daddy said. “I’m not
asking
you to do anything.” With that, he turned his back on Malone, showing the entire room that he had nothing to fear from his fellow Alpha. For toms like Malone, fear was synonymous with respect, and my father had just insulted him on a
massive
scale.

I think I was starting to rub off on him.

My father set his mug on the counter and turned to face the room. “We’ll send everyone we can spare. Jace, will you round them up, please?”

Jace was out of his chair and through the back door in less than a second.

As the first of the enforcers straggled in, I rose to refill my mug and found the pot empty. I had a fresh pot going when Marc followed the last tom in, at which point my father finished his coffee and cleared his throat for our attention. “In case anyone’s eavesdropping efforts failed—” quiet chuckling echoed across the living room “—we have agreed to investigate a matter brought to our attention by Elias Keller, the bruin we all just met. Mr. Keller says a group of strays has been making trouble near his home. You should be able to pick up their scents at a pond about six miles north of here.”

Excited murmurs rose throughout the room as anticipation
of the chase swelled. I shared the guys’ eagerness, but knew without being told that I would not be participating. The council would never let me run free—even on an important assignment—while the hearing was in progress, and once it was over, the point would likely be moot. I might never run anywhere again.

That thought sent a jolt of fear through me, and the coffeepot shook in my grip, clattering against my empty mug. Marc lifted it from my hand, filling first my cup, then one for himself. I met his eyes—and he didn’t look away.

“I want you in pairs,” my father called out from the living room, drawing my attention back to the hunt I would take no part in. “One man from each team on two feet, the other on four paws. Stay ten yards apart, and head north to start. Check in with your Alpha by cell phone every hour. Got it?”

Several toms nodded, but Brett Malone—he of the unaccepted proposal—spoke up with a question, drawing a scowl from his father. “What should we do with the strays, if we find them?”

“Bring them back. Alive. Unconscious, if necessary.”

Brett frowned. “Should we use tranquilizers?”

My father’s brow rose in mild surprise, no doubt only a fraction of what he was truly feeling. Then his mouth turned down in what I knew from experience to be
extreme
displeasure. “We have
tranquilizers?
” He glanced at his brother-in-law for confirmation, and Uncle Rick nodded.

“Yes,” Malone chimed in, a slimy smile taking over his face as he glanced pointedly at me. “We have
plenty
of tranquilizers.” His implication was clear. They hadn’t come expecting trouble from strays, but they’d obviously expected some from
me
.

Fortunately, my father knew how to roll with the punches. “Then yes. If any of the strays are in cat form, tranquilize them and bring them back. We’ll have more than a few questions
for them to answer.” He looked at Marc, who nodded in acknowledgment of his role in the process. Marc was the enforcer’s enforcer. He was my father’s big gun, the one in charge of
convincing
unruly cats to do what they should. He was also our executioner, when the situation called for one.

Which meant that if Calvin Malone got his way, Marc’s would be the last face I ever saw.

But my dad would never let that happen. Hell,
I
would never let that happen. And neither would Marc.

“Any more questions?” my father asked. When no one spoke up, he waved one thick hand toward the front door. “Good. Stay in sight of your partner at all times. Use your head, as well as your nose.” One corner of his mouth quirked up in an amused smile. “And see Brett for a tranquilizer before you go.”

Brett was already on the job. He’d just come in from the hallway with a big cardboard box, from which he pulled a handful of preloaded hypodermic needles, capped in red plastic. “You’ll have to get close to use these, of course,” he said, handing the first two needles to Jace, and the next two to Blackwell’s young grandson. “But they’ll work pretty fast.”

Frowning, I settled back into my chair at the table, thinking of where I’d like to shove Malone’s hypodermics.

In the living room, my father leaned against the wall next to his brother-in-law and both Alphas eyed the absurdly large box of sedatives. “Expecting trouble, were you?”

Uncle Rick chuckled. “Malone’s a frugal bastard, and they’re cheaper in bulk.”

“I bet.” But Daddy smiled. He was amused by all the needles, and so was I. The fact that they were prepared to sedate me—for the rest of my natural life, apparently—meant that they took me seriously. Were maybe even afraid of me, just a little bit.

Fear wasn’t quite as good as respect—but I’d take it.

My father cleared his throat, and everyone stopped what
they were doing to look at him. “I’d like to speak to the council members in the dining room, please.”

Malone frowned and jerked his head in my general direction. “What about her?”

“She’ll have to come along.”

Oh, goodie! Insider information…
I sipped from my mug to hide my smile.

“No.” Malone said, and I twisted to look at him so fast a jolt of pain shot through my neck. He shook his head firmly.

Blackwell stood. “She can
not
sit in on council meetings, Greg. Not before we have a verdict. She hasn’t earned enough trust.”

My father nodded in concession, and a pang of disappointment leached through me.
More sitting around, bored. I should have packed more books.

“Someone will have to watch her,” Blackwell continued, and I stiffened. The tribunal had put me under round-the-clock guard until the hearing was over, like I was some psychopath who might run off to infect and murder more humans if they lost sight of me for more than a five-minute bathroom break.

“Fine,” my father said, because he clearly had no choice. But there were only two toms left to watch me: Brett Malone and a Nordic-looking Canadian transplant named Colin Dean, who’d been hired by Paul Blackwell a few months earlier. I’d never said a word to him, and wasn’t eager to, based on the sheer number of times I’d caught him staring at my chest.

I turned from Colin to look at my father, pleading with him with my eyes to give me an out. “I can help. Let me help.”

“No.” He didn’t even hesitate.

“I’ll hunt with Brett and Colin, and I won’t Shift.” Being trailed through the forest by strange men was much better than being cooped up in a small cabin with them. “You can call me anytime you want.”

“No,” my father repeated, and Malone smirked, the arrogant bastard.

“You’re wasting your resources.” I pushed back my chair and followed my father down the hall. “You could have three more noses out there looking!”

“That’s enough, Faythe.” Three feet from the dining room, he spun in midstep, frowning at me in warning. “Don’t make this worse. Go wait at the cabin. I’ll be there when we’re done here.”

At home, I probably would have argued further, but I wasn’t going to embarrass my father in front of his fellow Alphas. Not while he was trying so hard to maintain his authority. The last thing he needed was me making more trouble.

“Fine.” Brett and Colin waited by the front door while I gathered what I’d brought to the main lodge—a novel, a bottle of water and a bag of Chex Mix. Before I left, I drained my mug, and as I set it in the sink, snatches of conversation floated to me from the dining room.

“You let him run wild, Greg, and it has to stop.”

Marc.
Malone was complaining about Marc.

With nothing left to do in the lodge, I headed for the front porch, and the last thing I heard before the door swung shut behind me was my father’s reply. “He runs no wilder than your mouth, Calvin, and no one’s tried to muzzle you yet. But I promise you this, if you don’t get control of your tongue right now, I’ll make sure it never gets you in trouble again.”