Alpha (19 page)

I choked on my next breath, staggered by his profession of confidence and loyalty, knowing what he thought of my personal mistakes.

With that, he sank to his knees and took my hand. “I swear my loyalty and my life to the south-central Pride, and to my Alpha, Faythe Sanders.”

I said my part, and when he let go of my hand, I stepped back and looked at them—my Pridemates. My
fellow enforcers. The first brave souls to put their lives in my hands.

It didn't feel like I expected it to. There was no rush of power or glory. My first moments as Alpha felt…heavy. Somber. Like I'd just taken on a colossal debt I could never hope to repay. Being Alpha was a burden and an enormous responsibility, not a license to push people around.

And that was what Calvin Malone had never really understood.

A
wave of shock rolled over me when the guys stood, and I realized I was no longer their coworker. I was now their boss. But the term
employer
describes an Alpha about as well the word
caretaker
defines the concept of parenthood; it is a cold, one-dimensional word that utterly fails to convey the human element.

My dad had been much more than our boss. He was our leader, guardian, adviser, landlord, counselor, sometimes a confidant, and a father figure even to those with whom he shared no blood. He was a champion and defender of those with little power and soft voices. He was a fount of wisdom and a source of never-ending patience. He was so many things I'd never even considered, and I harbored no delusion that I could fulfill all of those roles right out of the gate.

But I desperately wanted to. I wanted to be what they needed. I needed to do this right, because they deserved better than I had to offer.

“Okay, so what now?” I glanced to my uncle for advice. “We go make nice with the council?”

He nodded solemnly. “But this won't be easy.”

“Nothing worth doing ever is.” I took a deep breath, trying to get my thoughts in order. “How does this work?”

Marc gestured toward my chair, suture needle in hand, and I sat as my uncle stood, already pacing again. Most of the enforcers had gathered around another first-aid kit spread out on the coffee table, passing around bottles of hydrogen peroxide and bandages, a couple threading needles to sew up the worst of the gashes for fellow toms.

It was an odd sort of quiet ritual, so different from the other times they'd shared bigger bottles and passed bags of snack food. But the familiarity was there. We were family, friends, and allies, whether we were celebrating or mourning. Or preparing to face common foes.

Uncle Rick lifted a no-longer-steaming mug of coffee from an end table, and I could tell by the way he held it—making no use of the handle—that he wished it held something stronger than lukewarm caffeine.

“They're nursing their own wounds right now, just like we are.” He glanced at the coffee table triage center, and I noticed that the Alphas had all already been doctored. That particular privilege of rank was born of a desire to keep our leaders alive and…well…leading. A point driven home for me when Marc began the second set of unanaesthetized stitches on the gash in my side. “And as I said, they're just as eager for a cease-fire, though Malone would never admit that.”

“What do we know about their damages?” I asked, flinching when Marc's thread tugged at very tender skin.

“They have a couple of unconscious toms and a few
broken bones…” Neither of which we had. “And three casualties.”

One was my kill, one Elias Keller's, and the third, if I had to guess, was Marc's. Evidently Colin Dean had lived, an oversight I would soon remedy even if it took my dying breath.

“We benefited from the element of surprise,” my uncle continued. “But we've lost that now, and we won't get it back anytime soon. And they'll have the duration of the cease-fire to concentrate on healing and regrouping, but we won't.”

Because we had to plan a funeral, as well as our next move.

“Did you tell them I'd come?” I asked, and Marc's sewing paused midstitch as he waited for the answer.

“Yes. And they're probably expecting you to come in guns ablaze. Literally.” He turned toward the breakfast table and I followed his gaze to find the tabletop covered in the clunky black remains of six handguns, now rendered virtually unrecognizable, thanks to Keller's efforts. “Or not.”

“I'll destroy the rest of them, too, if you happen ta get your hands on 'em,” Keller rumbled. “I don't like guns, and it's bad enough that humans carry 'em. I can't have a bunch of cats up here, shootin' up my mountain.”

“We completely agree,” I said. “And hopefully Malone won't be stupid enough to actually use their few remaining guns against unarmed opposition. At least in front of the rest of the council.”

“He won't,” Taylor said from an armchair across the room. “He's not going to jeopardize his standing with the less loyal of his allies.”

“Good.” I closed my eyes, thinking as Marc clipped
the thread from the needle. “Hopefully they'll be caught off guard when I'm willing to play by their rules.” I frowned up at my uncle. “What
are
their rules, exactly?”

“It's a simple formal poll. Each council member gets a chance either to recognize you as an Alpha or to refuse. You need to be recognized by five of the nine Alphas—obviously you don't get to vote, since you're not in yet.”

“Okay…” My brain was racing. “I need five and I have three here.” I glanced from my uncle to Bert Di Carlo, to Aaron Taylor. “So, for the long-term, I only need to start winning over two more. I think our best bets are Nick Davidson…” Because he didn't have any reason to hate me, that I knew of. “And Paul Blackwell.” Because he was currently the least loyal to Malone. Though he wasn't exactly a Faythe fan.

Good thing I like a challenge.

“Faythe…” I glanced up to see Aaron Taylor watching me with a carefully guarded expression, and my stomach began to toss with dread. I saw it in his eyes before he said the words. “I'm not saying no. I think you're a hell of an enforcer, and I'm sure your father had a very good reason for leaving you in charge of his Pride. But this is a very big decision, and I'm not prepared to say yes or no just yet. So for today, I'll be declining to vote.”

I could only blink. His words must not have sunk in yet, because I couldn't feel them.

He hesitated, eyes closed, then met my gaze again and continued. “You're very young, Faythe, and largely unproven. You've been an enforcer for less than a year, and while I believe your private life is your own business, I
also know that there's very little about an Alpha's life that is ever truly private. All your choices will be called into question, and you'll be asked to justify every single decision you make. And without more experience, I'm just not sure you're ready to make some of those decisions yet.”

I nodded, numb. Taylor was voicing my own doubts, and I couldn't even argue with them. I wouldn't have voted for me, either, in his position. But because most of the council would never even consider Marc—as evidenced by their refusal to acknowledge that he'd been reaccepted into our Pride—there was no one else to relieve me of my duty, even if I wanted to give it up.

“That's why she has us.” Uncle Rick watched Taylor from the other side of the room. “She's come a long way this year, and her father knew what he was doing when he named her. She has us for guidance and advice, and frankly, we don't have time for her to gain any more experience, unless it's on the job. The south-central Pride needs an Alpha, and it needs one now.”

“Councilman Taylor's right.” I felt the words echo in my hollow, aching chest. I stood, facing them all, and Marc backed up to give me space. “I am inexperienced, I have made some poor choices, and sometimes I speak without thinking. I'm not going to make excuses.” I looked up from the floor and met Taylor's assessing gaze. “All I can say regarding the mistakes I've made since becoming an enforcer is that I was truly trying to do the right thing. And I hope that with older, wiser, more experienced friends and allies at my back, I'll have the resources I need to make more informed, better-balanced decisions.”

I smiled at my uncle to thank him for his support,
then turned to Taylor again. “But you have to make your own choices, and while obviously I wish that you had the confidence in me to decide now, I have to admit I understand your hesitation.” Though it bruised some deep part of me to say those words. “But with all due respect, there's another important point I think you may be missing.”

Taylor raised both brows, silently waiting for me to go on.

I took a deep breath and pressed on. “We're kind of out of options here. If I'm not going to be Alpha, who will be? Marc would get even less support in the position than I would.” I glanced at Marc to see him nodding solemnly, as I repeated what he'd first told me. “And Uncle Rick is right—we can't afford to be leaderless. Especially now.”

Taylor glanced from me to my uncle, then back to me, seeming to consider.

“There has to be another option. An interim leader of some sort, just until you gain a little more experience.”

I shook my head slowly. “Councilman, do you have a plan for what will happen to your Pride if you were to die suddenly?”

“Yes, of course. Since Carissa hasn't chosen a husband yet, her oldest brother would take over until she's ready to settle down with a new Alpha.”

That time I nodded. “My father had a contingency plan, too, and this is it. He knew—just like all of you surely do—that an Alpha could die at any time, and as much as he loves me, I know for a fact that he would never have named me as the next Alpha if he'd had a better choice. With his dying breath, he would have done
what's best for the Pride. And I have to believe that's exactly what he did.”

Taylor watched me in silence, obviously struggling with the decision.

“Aaron,” my uncle said, breaking the tense silence. “We have to present a united front on this. If we don't, Malone
will
divide and conquer.”

Taylor sighed and met my gaze again. “You speak with your father's skill and your mother's passion. If you got anything else from either of them, I guess this might not be the
worst
decision your father ever made.”

I didn't dare smile. “Does that mean…?”

“You have my vote,” Taylor said, nodding solemnly. “On the condition that you choose several levelheaded advisers. And that you listen to them.”

“Done.” I nodded, glancing at both Marc and my uncle.

“Mr. Di Carlo?” I turned toward Vic's father, well aware that Vic and Teo—and everyone else in the room—were watching us. “Do you need more time to make your decision?”

Di Carlo smiled and reached out for my hand, swallowing it in both of his. “No. I trusted your father with my life, and I trust his decision. You are a fiery little ball of fierce determination tempered by a strong moral compass and a heart as big as a bruin's. The rest will come with time and experience, if you listen to your advisers and learn from your mistakes. And I think you'll do both of those, won't you?”

I could only nod, determined not to cry again until I was alone. “Thank you.” I swallowed back unshed tears of gratitude. “I'll do my best not to disappoint you.”

“Oh, child, it's not my expectations you have to meet.
It's your Pride's. And something tells me your own standards are higher than even what they would expect of you.”

With a sudden jolt of understanding, I realized he was right. My expectations for myself were sky-high, because they were the expectations my father had set from the beginning. And I would live up to them—or die trying.

When Di Carlo stepped back, I glanced around to find that most of the bruises had been iced, the cuts cleaned, and the gashes stitched. Marc was the last to receive medical attention, and Vic was finishing his sutures that very moment—a long but thankfully shallow cut along his right outer thigh.

“Okay, let's go.” I turned toward the door, and the men stood.

“Um, Faythe?” Marc reached for my arm, and a small grin turned up one corner of his beautiful mouth. “As my first official piece of advice to the new Alpha, let me suggest that you put on some pants. And maybe a shirt.” His grin grew and he pulled me closer to whisper in my ear, while Jace watched us stiffly from across the room. “While this look definitely works for me, I'm thinking the other Alphas might take you more seriously if you dress the part.”

I flushed, suddenly aware that I was half-naked. And that Marc had voluntarily touched me without a needle in his hand or a grudge behind his eyes.

“Yes. Clothes. Good idea.” In the bedroom, I dug through my suitcase and chose a pair of black slacks and a matching thinly pinstriped blouse. I was buttoning my blouse when the door opened. Jace stepped inside and pushed the door closed at his back.

“You okay?” he asked.

“As okay as can be expected.” I tucked the tail of my blouse into my slacks and buckled my belt.

Jace leaned against the dresser facing me and his gaze searched mine. “I haven't actually had a chance to say this yet, and it feels so…inadequate. But I'm so, so sorry about your dad.” He held out his arms, and I stepped into them. I let him hold me. He asked for nothing and offered only his presence, and a moment of soft, warm comfort, minutes before I'd have to show the world my steel spine and granite visage.

I put my chin on his shoulder and he rubbed my back, whispering into the hair that hid my ear. “I don't actually remember much about my dad, but there hasn't been a day since he died that I didn't wish he was still here. Hell, if he were, none of this would have happened.”

“No one thing caused this, Jace. And we can't undo it. The best we can do is end it. End Colin Dean and destroy Calvin Malone.”

“You know I'm with you. Whatever you need.”

“I know.” I sniffed back unbidden tears. “Thank you.”

Before he could answer, the door creaked open, and I pulled away from him to find Marc staring at us. His jaw tightened, but he swallowed whatever he wanted to say, no doubt out of deference to the circumstances. And to the fact that Jace and I were both fully dressed. “You ready?”

“Yeah.” I straightened my shirt and cleared my throat. “I just… I need a minute. With my dad.”

Marc nodded, and I slipped down the hall and into my father's room, closing the door behind me, trying to block out everything else—the hushed conversation, the
tension and fear roiling in waves from the living room, and the conflict and need that churned in a constant, violent cloud around both Marc and Jace.