Prey (21 page)

“P
ut your father on the phone
this instant,
” my dad shouted, stomping the length of the Oriental rug, then several feet onto the hardwood before turning. “You do
not
want to get mixed up in this, Brett. I don’t care where he is or what he’s doing. Find him.
Now!
”

I flinched when he shouted, and my hand clenched around the arm of the leather couch.

“I’m sorry, Councilman Sanders,” Brett Malone said over the phone, but judging from the rage on my father’s face, he could never be sorry enough to make any difference. And he got no bonus points for referring to my father as a councilman in spite of his tenuous position on the council. “But my dad’s not here right now. I don’t know where he went, and I don’t know when he’ll be back.”

My father blinked in blatant disbelief. “It’s nine-thirty in the morning, and he works from home.”

“Yes, sir.” Brett sounded truly miserable—and
scared shitless—and I almost felt sorry for him. He hadn’t
chosen
to be born to Calvin Malone, and what little contact I’d had with him in the past had convinced me he did not see eye to eye with his father. It was thanks to Brett that we’d had a heads-up about my dad’s impeachment a couple of days in advance.

But my father was beyond logic, and I couldn’t really blame him.

“You can’t tell me he doesn’t have a cell phone!” Our Alpha stomped back across the rug toward his desk this time. The floor shook with each step, and I ran both hands through my shower-damp hair to keep from fidgeting.

I’d thought I would enjoy this—seeing him jerk a much-anticipated knot in Malone’s figurative tail. But instead, I dreaded every moment of it, because each word my dad spoke reinforced my certainty that he was losing control.

He wasn’t acting like an Alpha. He was acting like a
father.
A devastated, enraged father.

“Yes, sir, my dad has a cell phone,” Brett mumbled miserably. “Unfortunately, I’m standing here looking at it. He, uh, must have forgotten it.”

My father stopped pacing long enough to slam one palm flat on his desk. The entire surface bounced, over-turning a stapler, a paperweight shaped like a cat, and a paper-clip holder, which rolled to the floor and spilled its contents all over the floor.

Owen was there in an instant, scooping paper clips up by the handful, but our Alpha didn’t notice.

“Give me the number,” he demanded, whirling in a precise about-face to head for the wet bar on the other side of the room. “I’ll leave him a message.” But we all knew he would do no such thing. He’d keep calling until he got an answer, even if it took all day.

“I’m sorry, Councilman, but I’m not authorized to give out his personal phone number. He uses the one you called for Pride business, and it’s the best way to reach him.”

“Yet he’s not there.”

“No, sir. Not at the moment.”

“Aaaaggghhhh.” My father’s fist clenched, and the wireless phone exploded, showering him with electronic shrapnel. “Get me another phone!” our Alpha roared, and I flinched as Dr. Carver dashed into the hall.

My dad sank into his desk chair and leaned forward with his head in his hands, elbows resting on the blotter. It was a closed posture and strongly suggested that he did
not
want to be bothered, but with Jace watching me from the love seat across the rug and Owen still on the floor picking up paper clips, I felt I had to say something.

“Dad?”

“Hmm?” He lifted his head to glance at me, but there was no real interest in his eyes.

“Do we have a plan?”

“Yes. We make them pay.” The cold determination in his voice chilled me worse than the January wind, and deep in my gut I knew I should try to talk him out of immediate action. He was obviously not thinking
clearly, and rash decisions were rarely well thought out. He’d taught me that himself—that whole thing about revenge being best served cold.

But I couldn’t do it. I wanted Malone to pay as badly as my dad did, and frankly I was glad we were finally on the same page.

I took a deep breath and nodded. “How?”

“Immediate retaliation. The numbers are to our advantage—” because our Pride had the largest population of any in the country “—and I meant what I told Paul Blackwell. If Malone wants a war, he’s
damn well
going to get one. I’ll call in every tom in the territory.”

Oh, hell.

I stood, trying to keep my hands from shaking as I crossed the room toward his desk. “Um, nearly a quarter of our toms are still out looking for Marc.”

“I know.” He sighed and rubbed his forehead. “The men who are already out can keep looking, but I can’t spare anyone else.”

“Daddy… I have to go back.” I righted the overturned stapler on his desk, then picked up the cat-shaped paperweight and turned it over in my hands. “There’s nothing I can do for Ethan, but Marc needs me.”

From the corner of my eye, I caught the glance Owen and Dr. Carver exchanged—part pity, part resignation. They didn’t believe Marc was alive.

My father stared at me for a moment, as if trying to concentrate on what I’d said. What I was
trying
to say. Then he nodded, and bowed his head for a moment in
thought. “Of course he does.” I saw my own confliction reflected on his face. He took the stone cat from me and set the paperweight on a stack of papers. “After Kaci Shifts, Jace can drive you and Dan back to Mississippi. He’ll have to come back, though,” he said, gaze shifting briefly to Jace. “We can’t afford to have our resources spread so thin right now.”

I nodded, numb. How the hell could we handle all of it at once? There weren’t enough of us to find Marc before the strays did, avenge Ethan against Malone’s Pride, and protect Kaci from the council’s scheming. Not even if we called in every tom we had.

None of our opponents had to fight on so many fronts simultaneously.

“No problem.” Jace’s voice cracked on the first words he’d spoken since we’d…been summoned to the office. “I’d be glad to take her.”

Startled by the double entendre I hoped no one else had caught, I glanced at him before I could stop myself, and I found him watching me intently. His tortured gaze held mine captive, and my heart thumped harder in response to such boldly intimate contact in the midst of an official Pride gathering.

I struggled to slow my pulse before my father heard it. Fortunately, my dad was so devastated and distracted by the recent tragedy that he hadn’t noticed the sudden tension in the room, or the physical signs of stress I was waving like white flags.

But Owen noticed. He shot me questioning glances, but I avoided his eyes. Carver thought he understood
what had happened between me and Jace, but Owen wouldn’t even come close. And as much as I loved him, as much as I wanted to be physically close to him to mourn our brother together, I couldn’t explain it to him. Not then.

Maybe not ever.

I’d just lost the one brother who
might
have understood.

My father cleared his throat and blinked, as if refocusing his uncharacteristically scattered thoughts. “I need to start making calls.” He motioned to Dr. Carver with one arm extended, hand open. “Bring me the phone.” The doctor complied, and as my father dialed, he glanced at me again. “I called Michael first, about an hour ago. He’s as upset as the rest of us, but insists he’s okay to drive. But he’d already dropped Vic off with Parker. Would you mind telling them about…all of
this?
”

I nodded reluctantly, my chest tightening as I dug my phone from my pocket. I was not a very good bearer of bad news.

“Hi, Rick,” my father said into his phone, and I scrolled through the names in my own call list while he spoke to my maternal uncle. “I’m sorry to call so early, but I, uh… I have some bad news.” My dad paused and forced an awkward laugh, rubbing his forehead as if he were trying to wear the skin from his skull. “That’s probably the biggest understatement I’ve ever uttered.”

Another pause, and distantly I heard my uncle ask if my father was okay.

“No, I’m not,” Daddy said. “Ethan’s dead, Rick.”

And that was all I could take. I hurried into the hall, ostensibly to make my call in private. But mostly to avoid hearing that horrible sentence uttered again.

“Hello?” Vic said into my ear, his voice crackly from the poor reception and hoarse with fatigue. He was still out in the woods, looking for Marc.

I passed Kaci’s room on the way to my own and saw my mother in an armchair next to the bed, asleep with her head fallen to one side. Her face was still red and swollen from recent tears. “Hey, Vic, it’s me,” I whispered as I passed, hoping not to wake my mom.

Over the line, leaves crunched and a twig snapped, and his next words sounded much more alert. “What’s wrong? Is it Kaci?”

“No.” I stepped into my room and closed the door, then leaned against it. “It’s Ethan.” I sniffled and closed my eyes, determined not to cry again. I’d never get through the phone call once the tears started.

The crunching footsteps stopped, and a heavy quiet settled over the line. “How did it happen?” I heard comprehension in his voice. Vic may not have known the specifics, but he knew the outcome.

“He and Jace took Kaci for a walk in the woods,” I said, and the tears came anyway. “They were attacked by four of Malone’s toms. Jace made it back with Kaci, but Ethan stayed to hold them off.” By the end, even I could barely understand what I was saying, but Vic seemed to have no trouble.

For a moment after I finished speaking, there was only silence, broken by the occasional sound of nature
over the line. Then Vic sighed, a sound pregnant with grief, and anger, and finally acceptance. It irritated me that he experienced no obvious denial. I wasn’t mad at Vic himself, of course. I was angry that he—that
we
—lived lives in which violence and death were so common that we accepted them with a weary sigh and a grim frown.

Brutal death shouldn’t be so easily accepted. It should still be an occasion for tears and hysteria and, at the very least, an interruption of daily life. Routine should not continue in the face of such a loss. It should be shattered like silence before gunfire. It should shake everyone it touches, and we should
demand
an end to it.

Yet even as those thoughts flew through my mind— so fast I could hardly catch them, so bitter my lip curled in distaste—I knew that the reality was somewhat different. Violence was as old as our existence, and we could not stop it. The best we could do was harness it for our own use. For justice for Ethan.

And we
would
have justice.

“Why would Malone breach the boundary?” Vic asked, and I heard no disbelief in his words. Only bewilderment and anger.

“They wanted Kaci, and we refused to turn her over.” Of course, we suspected Malone was after much more than just the tabby, but I didn’t want to be the one to bring up the topic of war.

“Why does he want her?” Then, before I could answer the question, he answered it himself. “Because he who controls the tabbies controls the toms.”

I pulled out my desk chair and dropped into it. “That’s much prettier than I would have said it, but basically, yes.”

“That’s
repugnant,
” Vic spat.

“Welcome to my world.”

“Damn, Faythe, I’m so, so sorry. I can’t believe this.” He paused, and I filled the silence with more sniffling. “How’s your dad holding up?”

“He’s ready to mount Malone’s head on his wall.” I twirled a novelty pen on my desktop, absently watching the feather-topped lid swirl against my palm. “He’s speaking in terms of revenge rather than justice, and that just isn’t like him.”

“Not that I can blame him.” Vic sighed. “What about your mom?”

“She’s upset, but I think dealing with Kaci is helping her deal with Ethan.”

Distant footsteps crunched over the line—probably other toms combing the forest. “So…we’re going to retaliate?”

“Yeah. Jace is taking me and Dan to Mississippi to continue the search for Marc, and you and Parker can ride back with him, if you want. My dad hasn’t mentioned any specifics yet, but I’m sure he’ll need you both for whatever he’s planning.”

“Okay. Wow.”

“Can you tell Parker? But don’t spread the word, other than that. We don’t need the rest of the world catching wind of our vulnerability.”

“No problem.”

“And, Vic?” I already knew the answer, but I had to ask. “Any luck yet?”

He exhaled slowly, and the sound was frustration given voice. “Not so far. But we’ll find him.”

“I know. We will.” Yet when I hung up, tears blurred my vision. I folded my arms on my desk and let my forehead rest on them, wishing I could close my mind as easily as I’d closed my eyes. But there was no way to turn off the doubt settling into my stomach like stones weighing me down, or the fear burning through my heart like acid.

“You okay?”

I jerked upright to find Jace standing in my doorway, his good hand still on the knob. Damned sneaky tomcats…

“Not even a little bit. You?”

“About the same.” Jace’s ubiquitous smile was gone, and I could
not
get used to the sight of him without dimples.

I turned in my chair to watch him as he crossed the room to sit on the end of my bed, carefully distancing himself from me physically. Not that it mattered. Just seeing him sent a jolt of adrenaline straight into my heart, and I couldn’t decide whether that was due to guilt, genuine heartache from the very real connection we’d established, or some involuntary, eager muscle-memory from my traitorous body.

“Will it get any easier?” I asked, my hands clenching around the back of my chair.

“You mean Marc, or Ethan?”

“Either. Both.”

“I don’t think so. Not until we find him, anyway.” Meaning Marc, of course.

“Dr. Carver thinks he’s dead.”

Jace’s frown tightened instantly, miserably, and I can’t explain my relief upon seeing that. He truly wanted Marc found alive, even after what had happened between us. How could things possibly be so complicated? Was there any way to untangle the threads without breaking any of the ties?

Jace’s good hand clenched around the post at the foot of my bed, his injured arm lying carefully still on his lap. From his posture, I decided he’d sacrificed comfort for clarity and had refused more painkillers. “Did he say that?”