Shift (23 page)

“Faythe?” Marc called as the door closed, and plastic crinkled when he set down whatever he’d brought from the store.

Jace stood firm in the middle of the floor, facing the main room, but his pulse raced almost as fast as mine. I twisted in the tub, and water sloshed around me. Pain shot through my evidently still-broken wrist as I grabbed a towel from the rack overhead and pulled it into the tub to cover myself. Though, I could not have rationally explained why.

Marc had seen me naked. Jace had seen me naked. Half the south-central Pride had seen me naked. And we weren’t doing anything wrong. But I didn’t want Marc to see me naked with Jace, because we
had
done something wrong once, and the guilt from that carried over to transform this one awkward moment into a drama the likes of which daytime television had never seen.

Because we didn’t
look
like we’d done nothing wrong.

Marc’s footsteps thumped slowly toward the bathroom, and I could practically smell his suspicion. Neither of us had answered him—I, for one, had no idea what to say—and he’d heard both my curse and the slosh of water. And probably our twin racing pulses.

He stepped into the doorway with my torn, discarded shirt in one fist, Jace’s in the other, and rage took over his expression faster than I could form words to explain. He didn’t notice that Jace still wore his pants. He didn’t see the ruined cast on the floor, or the scissors on the counter.

Marc took one look at us—me naked and soaked in the tub, leaning around Jace to be seen, both of us probably looking guilty as hell—and the specks of gold in his brown eyes glittered with fury and bitter betrayal.

“What the
hell
do you think you’re doing?”

“M
arc…” I said, and his gaze flicked my way. He took in the soaked towel I clutched to my chest in spite of the pain in my left arm, and the darkness in his expression swelled until I could almost see the edges of it emanating from him like an inverse glow.

“Start talking, Faythe,” he growled from the doorway.

Jace bristled. “Leave her alone. She didn’t do anything wrong.”

Marc dropped my shirt and his fist slammed into Jace’s jaw before the material hit the floor. Jace stumbled backward into the counter, and his phone slid into the sink.

“Stop!” Water sloshed around me as I tried to push myself up with my left hand. But the pain was too much, and I dropped into the bath. More water splashed onto the floor.

Marc marched past Jace, anger roaring like flames in his eyes, and reached down for me.

“Don’t touch her!” Jace rubbed his jaw, his brows drawn low, and took a deliberate step toward us. His snarl was a perfect bookend to Marc’s. “You will
not
lay a hand on her until you calm down.”

Marc froze. Then he straightened slowly and met Jace’s gaze, looking both surprised and furious. “I would never hurt her. You know that.” He reached down again to help me up, and Jace growled.

The warning was too authentic to have come from a human throat. Startled, I glanced at Jace and realized that his eyes and canines—and evidently some part of his throat—had Shifted.

Oh, shit
. I could practically taste his bloodlust, likely triggered by both Marc’s violence and Jace’s own overwhelming need to protect me. Until we calmed him down, he would be
looking
for a reason to attack Marc.

“Stand down, Jace,” Marc ordered. He kept his voice even and his hands within sight. With Jace so close to losing control—and with his teeth already Shifted—he held an obvious and dangerous advantage. If he attacked, Marc would defend himself, and there would be blood on both sides.

“Jace…” I said softly, and his cat-eyed gaze flicked my way. “Rein it in. He’s just going to help me up. I need help.”

“If his hand so much as twitches around your arm,” Jace growled, “I’ll kill him.”

Fuck
. The first lick of true panic made every hair on my body stand on end.

Marc’s eyes went wide even as his brows dipped in confusion. He turned slowly to look at me—because sudden movements were a
very
bad idea. “Faythe…?”

But I couldn’t look away from Jace. Not until I’d talked him down. “No. Jace, you have to pull it back. I know you’re trying to protect me, but that’s not what I need right now. What I need is help getting out of the tub. Please. Pull it in. Shift now.”

Jace glanced from me to Marc, and his focus stuck there, though he still spoke to me. “Not until he moves away.”

Damn it!
“Jace,
listen
to me. Marc’s not going to hurt me. He’s going to help me stand. I want you to reverse your Shift. Now.”

Uncertainty flickered across Jace’s expression. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” I nodded to punctuate my certainty. He took a deep breath, then closed his eyes—a huge show of trust on his part. Marc and I didn’t move. A minute later, Jace opened his eyes, and they were human again, as were his teeth. “Thank you.” I was proud of how calm I sounded.

The toms eyed each other warily. In the past three minutes,
everything
had changed between them. Jace had never stood against Marc before. Marc had never considered him a serious threat before. All that was different now, and I understood in some deep, dark part of me that there was no going back from this point. We were changed for good, the three of us.

“I’m going to help her up,” Marc said, explaining himself to Jace as he would never have done before.

Jace made no reply, nor any move to stand down, but his gaze flicked to mine, his brows raised in question. I nodded and he scowled, but stepped back.

Marc exhaled slowly, obviously trying not to look too relieved. He bent to lift me, careful of the talon-shaped bruises on my arms. His eyes were full of questions, but I could only blink in reply. I had no idea what to say.

Humiliated by my own dependence and vulnerability, I flushed as I held my arms up so Marc could wrap a dry towel around me. Then I let him help me from the tub, where the water had grown cold again. He knelt to pull the plug, wariness still obvious in his every motion. “Okay. Everybody ready to discuss this rationally?”

Jace remained silent, his fists clenched at his sides, so I answered for us both. “Yes. But can we do it while you work on my arm? We don’t have a lot of time.”

Marc’s eyes narrowed. “Why not?”

I sighed and looked over his shoulder at Jace. “Could you give us a few minutes? Maybe find a vending machine? I could really use some caffeine.”

“I got Cokes,” Marc said, ever helpful.

I ignored him. “Some ice, then? Please?”

Jace’s normally cobalt eyes darkened almost to midnight. “You want me to leave you alone with him?”

“Why shouldn’t you?” Marc bristled, and his voice took on a dangerous edge.

“Because you came in here throwing punches.”

“At
you
, not at her.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m choking on testosterone here, boys.” I was also freezing. “Marc’s fine now. Right?” I eyed him expectantly, and he nodded.

“But he might not be in a minute,” Jace insisted, eyeing me intently. I got the message: this was as good a time as any to make our confession and get everything out in the open.

But I disagreed. Strongly. Neither of them would ever hurt me, but they would definitely hurt each other if they were both in the room when I told Marc what had happened.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Marc demanded.

“Nothing.” I shot Jace an angry, censoring look over Marc’s shoulder. “He thinks you’re on a hair trigger. Because you came in swinging.” Marc started to argue—vehemently—but I cut him off. “Jace,
please
go get us some ice. And maybe I could use a little tequila, after all.” To ease the pain in my arms, and smooth out the upcoming Shifts. And to settle my nerves, which felt like they were about to short-circuit, and take my brain with them.

“Fine. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.” Jace snatched his shirt from the floor where Marc had dropped it, tugged it over his head in a series of angry, jerky motions, and stomped out the door. Without the car keys. Evidently there was a liquor store within walking distance of the motel—no real surprise, considering what little I’d seen of the neighborhood.

When Jace’s footsteps had faded from the sidewalk, Marc crossed the room and chained the door.

I sank onto the end of the nearest bed, wishing I could tighten the towel wrapped around my chest—or maybe dry my own hair—without exacerbating the pain in my arms. “That’s only going to piss him off.”

“You can see how much I care,” Marc snapped. He obviously no longer felt the need to be particularly civil, now that we weren’t in danger of triggering Jace’s latent, lingering bloodlust.

I sighed. “Marc, please. We don’t have time for this. You’re truly overreacting.”
This time
…My arms were killing me, but I was not going to use pain as an excuse to avoid the subject. That would be like flashing a little cleavage to get out of a traffic ticket.

“Good. What happened?”

“Nothing.” I forced myself to hold his gaze. “I can’t use my fucking hands, so he was helping me.”
Shut
up.
You sound guilty when you cuss
…

“That didn’t sound like helping, Faythe. Don’t lie to me. What the hell happened in there?”

I took a deep breath and sent up a silent thank-you for his blessedly restrictive phrasing. “We were just flirting. Joking around, like we used to. It was nothing, Marc.”

“Oh, yeah?” He snatched all three of the plastic bags from the table. “Then why is he acting like…like your fucking
mate?
” He gestured angrily toward the locked door with his free hand, since Jace wasn’t there to point at. “That wasn’t the reaction of a good friend. That wasn’t even the reaction of some poor fool with a crush. He’s acting…possessive.”

“No.” I shook my head.
No
. “He’s not acting possessive, he’s acting
protective
. Because you came in swinging. He’s an enforcer. Part of his job is to protect me, and he thought you were going to hurt me.”

“Only because he’s not thinking rationally. Because he thinks you’re
his
. If not up here…” Marc tapped his temple. “Then in
here
.” He poked his own chest hard enough to bruise, and I flinched.

“He’s always been protective of me. You all have. Hell, he stepped in front of a
bullet
for me, Marc. That’s no different from this.” That was true, but did nothing to assuage guilt so thick and heavy I could hardly breathe.

“The hell it isn’t.” He dropped the bags on the bedspread next to me but didn’t sit. “He’s never tried to defend you from
me
.”

“Maybe he never thought he needed to before.”

Marc recoiled like I’d punched him, and shame flooded me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

Neither of us spoke for a moment, and Marc began pulling supplies from the bags. Two bottles of hydrogen peroxide, a suture kit, sterile gauze, medical tape, a new pair of jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt, and underwear. And finally he sank onto the bed, folding the jeans while I sat with my useless hands in my lap.

“He’s not right, Faythe. He hasn’t been since Ethan died. He’s acting possessive of the Pride tabby….” I opened my mouth to object—he
knew
how badly I hated being referred to as such—but he spoke over me, intent on making his point. “He’s resisting orders, challenging his superiors, bristling under authority….”

Only
your
orders
, you
as his superior, and
your
au
thority
. Jace had exhibited none of those reactions to my father. But I couldn’t say that until I was ready to say the rest of it.

“He’s acting like…” Marc looked up then and laid one hand on my leg to make sure he had my full attention. “Faythe, he’s acting like a challenger.” He hesitated, and I knew what was coming. I shook my head vehemently, but he said it, anyway. “He can’t stay. Once this is all over, Jace has to go.”

“No.
No
, Marc. He has nowhere to go.”
Just like you
.

“Faythe, it won’t work anymore. It’ll be like this—” he spread both arms to take in the whole horrible confrontation “—every day. You know it. And eventually he’ll challenge.”

I shook my head again, insistent. “Jace would never challenge my dad.”

Marc shrugged. “Of course not. There’s no reason to. When your dad feels like he’s no longer what we need, he’ll step down, because unlike Malone, he truly has the best interests of his Pride at heart.

“But Jace will challenge
me
, for top rank among the enforcers. In his heart, he sees himself as a contender, and he can’t help it. He can’t make himself submit to my authority anymore, and we can’t work like that for long. He’ll call me out. And I’ll have to kill him.”

My pulse spiked so hard the room went gray around me for a long moment. I couldn’t breathe.

“That’s ludicrous.” I stood and walked away from him, disguising my distress as pacing, my arms swinging stiffly at my sides in spite of the pain. “This isn’t the Amazon. We’re a little more civilized here, in case you haven’t noticed.”

Marc’s reflection shrugged in the grimy mirror over the cheap dresser. “All that means is that it won’t be tomorrow. He’ll resist as long as he can, but, Faythe, he’s a serious contender now, and someday he’ll challenge.” He hesitated and glanced at the floor in confusion. Or maybe self-recrimination. “I can’t believe I never saw this coming. Greg didn’t, either—he would have told me. We never took him seriously.”

“Well, it’s serious now.” My back to Marc, I started to lean with my hands flat against the top of the dresser, but the first bit of pressure stopped me with a shocking burst of fresh pain in both arms. “But even if you’re right, you don’t have to kill him.”

“Faythe.” Marc stood, and when I met his gaze in the mirror I saw that his eyes were swimming with sympathy. The irony of him feeling sorry for me and Jace almost made me cry. “You saw him in there.” He gestured vaguely toward the bathroom. “He won’t back down, and I
can’t
. I can’t marry you and share leadership of the Pride with you after another enforcer challenges me and wins. That would give every Alpha with a chip on his shoulder grounds to claim I’m not Alpha material.”

Shit
. I closed my eyes and let my head hang in alarm so profound it was almost horror. He was right. If he and Jace fought—ever, for
any
reason—only one of them would walk away. And I honestly had no idea which one would win.

I turned, desperately wishing for the use of my hands. “Can we do this now?” I held up my left arm.

Marc blinked, surprised by my sudden subject change. “He’ll be back in a minute, and we’re gonna have to tell him something.”

“Not yet, Marc.” I unlatched the door, then crossed in front of him and into the bathroom. “We have to talk to my dad first, and we don’t have time to explain all this until Kaci’s safe. Now, are you going to help me, or do I have to pour hydrogen peroxide on my gored arm with my broken wrist?”

Marc scowled and grabbed an armload of first-aid supplies, then followed me into the bathroom. “Fine. But we’re not done talking about this.”

“Talk while you sew.” I sat on the closed toilet seat and leaned forward with my left arm over the sink, my broken right arm on my lap.