Читать книгу Pride - Rachel Vincent - Страница 11

An hour later, I sat in the dining room again, staring out the window. But this time, the setting sun cast a deep reddish light on fall leaves and brown grass. And this time Dr. Carver had the seat of honor. I sat against the wall, between my father and brother. I was allowed to listen to the good doctor’s testimony, but not allowed to open my mouth since I wasn’t on the stand. I didn’t even get to cross-examine him, which I only found out when I overheard my father and Michael arguing over who had to tell me.

To help keep my temper in check, Michael had given me a stress ball painted to look like the earth. I’d excised most of South America when Malone asked Dr. Carver if he knew of any medical reason I seemed “disinclined to breed.”

“How long after Mr. Wallace’s death were you able to examine him?” Malone’s narrowed eyes and cold tone said he didn’t like Danny Carver any more than he liked me. But that was too damn bad, because the doc was an expert witness if I’d ever seen one. Dr. Carver was a coroner. He spent more time with dead bodies than a dog spends licking itself, and if his expert opinion was that Andrew’s death was an accident, the tribunal would have to accept that.

Right?

Dr. Carver didn’t hesitate. “Less than six hours.”

“And could you tell the cause of death?”

Harsh, barking laughter burst from my throat before I could stop it, and several disapproving eyes turned my way. They’d called in an expert for that? I could tell them the cause of Andrew’s death. I had told them.

“Yes, in fact the cause of death was rather obvious. Blood loss, from a massive puncture wound on his neck.” Dr. Carver’s expression was appropriately somber, but I thought I saw a spark of humor in his eyes. He’d testified in actual courts of law, and I got the distinct impression our little playtrial didn’t compare.

“How would you say he came by his wound?”

I rolled my eyes at Malone’s phrasing, but Dr. Carver looked like he wanted to smile. “I would say someone shoved a railroad spike into his neck. In fact, it was still lodged there when I examined him.”

“So someone killed him.” Malone glanced expectantly at the other tribunal members. “And by her own admission, Ms. Sanders was the only person present when Mr. Wallace died.”

“I’ve already told you I did it,” I shouted, jumping from my chair. “But it was self—” My father jerked me back into my seat by one arm, just as Michael slapped a hand over my mouth.

Malone tried to look angry, but his satisfied smirk ruined the image. “Miss Sanders, if you lose control of your mouth one more time, we will have you removed from the room.”

“Like it matters,” I mumbled, staring at the battered stress ball clenched in my fist. I can hear just as well from the living room.

Michael pinched my arm hard enough to leave a welt, and I glared at him. I would have pinched him back if I hadn’t seen concern behind the irritation etched across his face.

“I don’t think you understood what I was saying,” Dr. Carver said, shifting attention away from me. “Because I wasn’t finished.” His pointed look at Malone made me smile. “Yes, Faythe killed Andrew Wallace. She’s never denied it. But she says she had no choice, and I have no reason to doubt that.”

Uncle Rick leaned forward in quiet eagerness. “So you could tell it was self-defense based on the body?” I have no doubt he meant to help my case. Unfortunately, his question forced Dr. Carver to backtrack.

“Well, not for sure, no.” He moved uncomfortably in his chair. “But neither could I say for certain that it wasn’t. But beyond that, her story checks out, medically speaking.”

Uncle Rick nodded encouragingly. “Meaning…?”

“I also examined Faythe that night, and her injuries are consistent with her explanation of what happened. Cuts on the backs of her arms, from being pinned to the floor on top of broken glass. Severely bruised cheeks, from several blows to the face. Bruised ribs from blows to the torso. She was obviously the one on the ground—that much is clear from her injuries. And that implies that Mr. Wallace was the aggressor. Faythe says she was acting in self-defense, and I believe her.”

I exhaled in relief. I wasn’t out of the proverbial woods yet, but it felt so damn good to know someone else was willing to stand up for me. Someone who had no personal stake in my future.

“Dr. Carver, we have no doubt that Ms. Sanders was injured in the exchange. But we can’t ignore the possibility that Mr. Wallace was the one acting in self-defense, injuring Ms. Sanders in an attempt to preserve his own life. An effort which ultimately failed. So, implications aside, can you say for certain, based on the state of his remains and Ms. Sanders’s injuries, that this was not the case?” Malone’s voice was as persuasive as he could get.

“I most certainly can say that.” Dr. Carver’s tone was firm, and anticipation pulled my spine straight in my chair. “I just can’t prove it.”

The frustration in his voice was mirrored in my posture as I slouched lower in my seat.

Malone rolled his eyes. “Dr. Carver, we are interested in actual evidence here.”

“Only because you don’t have it,” the doctor snapped.

The room went completely, eerily silent as all eyes settled on Danny Carver, in his chair at the end of the table, face pink with irritation, gaze focused intently on Malone.

“If you had proof it was an accident, you’d want expert testimony to tell you that proof was wrong. But there is no irrefutable evidence in this case, and when that happens, you have to make your decision based on the testimony and opinions of others. And my testimony—my gut instinct—is that Faythe had no choice but to defend herself against Andrew Wallace. As she’s said repeatedly.”

“So she has.” Malone’s disbelief sent a fresh surge of irritation through me. My fist clenched around the stress ball again, and I glanced down to see that I’d carved a new tectonic-plate boundary down the middle of Central Europe. Thank goodness I wasn’t into voodoo.

“Speaking of Ms. Sanders’s testimony…” Blackwell began. “Are you aware of her claims that the infection was an accident, caused by a—” he glanced at his notes “—’partial Shift.’”

The doctor nodded curtly.

“And have you ever seen this…phenomenon?”

“Unfortunately…no.”

“What a coincidence,” Malone spat. “Neither has anyone else.”

I shot up from my chair in indignation, my latest warning forgotten. “That’s—” Michael’s hand clamped over my mouth again, and he shoved me back into my seat, much harder than necessary.

—not true! My protest ended in my head, as my teeth sank into my brother’s finger. He snatched his hand from my mouth, shaking it. And too late it occurred to me that biting was probably a bad idea, considering I was on trial, in part, for that very offense.

Still, Malone’s crack was an outright lie. Several people had seen the partial Shift. Of course, one of them—Eric, the psycho kidnapper—was now dead, so his testimony would be pretty damn hard to scrounge up. And none of my other potential vouchers—Marc, Michael, my father, and my cousin Abby—were considered reliable witnesses because they all loved me and would presumably lie to save me.

The tribunal had voted in favor of excluding their testimony by a margin of two to one, and no matter how fiercely Uncle Rick had argued, he was unable to gain even one vote. Stubborn bastards.

But he wasn’t done trying to help me. “Dr. Carver, do you think such a Shift is possible, medically speaking?”

Dr. Carver sighed. “No. Medically speaking, no Shift is possible. Our very existence should be a physical impossibility. But we do exist. And so does the partial Shift. I see no reason for it not to. It takes intense concentration to Shift intentionally, so it stands to reason that intense concentration focused on a particular part of the body would cause only that part to Shift.”

His gaze swung left to include only Malone and Blackwell. “What makes no sense to me is that men like you—creatures whose very existence humanity has denied for centuries—refuse to believe something that requires only a small portion of the transformation you put your entire body through on a near-daily basis. The only reason you don’t believe in the possibility of the partial Shift is because you don’t want to believe.”

Yeah! I wanted to stand and clap, or cheer, or…sing the national anthem. In a matter of minutes, Dr. Carver had driven home the very point I’d been trying to make for the last five months. And he’d made it look easy, and honorable, as if he were saying something that needed to be said, for the moral well-being of all involved.

To my utter surprise, though Malone still scowled, Paul Blackwell looked half-convinced. He placed one thin, wrinkled hand on the table. “Dr. Carver, I have to admit this partial Shift gibberish is starting to sound less and less like nonsense. But we still need proof Ms. Sanders can actually accomplish such a thing, even if it is possible.”

Okay, it could have been worse. Blackwell was the swing vote, and he was definitely coming around. But he wanted proof—which I still didn’t have.

In a real court of law, where the burden of proof was on the prosecution, I would have been good to go. There was plenty of doubt about my guilt. But here, I had to prove myself innocent beyond all doubt, which seemed less and less likely with each hour that passed.

The doctor nodded. “Of course. But let me point out that Faythe’s explanation for why she can’t prove it yet makes sense. Medically speaking.” Carver was taking no chances on his testimony being thrown out because it didn’t pertain to his area of expertise. “We all know most werecats experience their first Shift at puberty. But you may not know, or recall, that many of these first Shifts are actually brought on by bouts of strong emotion. Anger, fear, excitement…even lust.”

Calvin Malone squirmed in his chair. Rumor had it his first Shift was triggered at age fourteen by heavy involvement with his human girlfriend. He’d reportedly barely made it into the empty field behind her house, shedding his clothes along the way like a madman.

So if anyone understood about emotion bringing on a Shift, it should have been Calvin Malone. But his stiff posture and angry eyes said Malone was not pleased by the trip down memory lane. Nor was he willing to acknowledge it, even in-directly—especially not to help me.

“Dr. Carver, what happens to preteenagers at the mercy of their hormones is not relevant to this hearing,” he snapped. “Ms. Sanders is twenty-three years old. She had her first Shift at least a decade ago, and should long ago have learned to rule her emotions, rather than being ruled by them. The fact that she has yet to reach that level of control does not speak in her favor here. It is simply one more example of her inability to restrain her impulses, which no doubt led to both Mr. Wallace’s infection and his death. If you have another point, I suggest you make it before you bury the defendant any further in the pit you’re digging for her.”

That son of a bitch!

Every pleasant, tingly feeling left over from Dr. Carver’s speech drained from me, leaving behind a cold, clammy feeling of exposure. And…shame. Had my lack of control really caused all my problems?

Before I could decide whether I should be ashamed or royally pissed, footsteps pounded down the hall, and all heads turned toward the door as it flew open. On the other side stood Jace, his face grim, full lips drawn into a taut line.

My father rose in one easy, graceful motion. “What’s wrong?”

“They found a body.”

“Who found a body?” Dr. Carver asked, rising just as Michael said, “Is it one of the hikers? The man or the woman?”

Every man in the room stood in the next two seconds, and I followed suit, not about to be left behind.

Jace shook his head sharply. “Neither. According to the radio, the victim’s an off-duty cop—one of the human volunteers. His own search group found him.”

“Wonderful.” My father exhaled in frustration. “I’m assuming this cop didn’t fall on his own gun?”

“They haven’t released the details yet, but I seriously doubt it,” Jace said, and around the room, heads nodded in agreement. “Should I bring the radio in here?”

“No, thank you, Jace. We could all use a break.” Without waiting for permission to suspend the hearing, my father marched past the long dining-room table and out the door, Michael and Dr. Carver on his heels. I jogged to catch up with them before Malone could detain me without my familial-support system.

In the kitchen, Marc stood next to the ancient radio, and when we filed into the room, he turned the volume up. “They’re supposed to give an update on the search in about ten minutes.”

In the interim, the Alphas waited in the living room, and the rest of us gathered around the kitchen table, where we demolished two cartons of cookies and a bag of chips before the radio announcer fulfilled his promise of more information.

The dead volunteer, who was indeed an off-duty policeman, had wandered away from his group and been mauled by some kind of large animal—possibly a cougar. Searchers had withdrawn from the woods for the evening and would resume in the morning, with each group led by an armed forest ranger on the lookout for the offending cat.

“Well, I’d say that changes things a bit.” Uncle Rick turned down the volume on the radio.

My father nodded. “Since the humans’ search is over for the night, our men can Shift into cat form. But no one goes out furry after dawn. Spread the word.”

The other three Alphas dug out their cell phones and began calling their men. Including Blackwell, who’d been forced into the twenty-first century when he’d lost an enforcer because he was unable to pass along crucial information in time.

When the calls were made, my father sent Jace into the sickroom to check on the injured toms. He came back an instant later, smiling at me in anticipation. “Colin’s waking up.”

Malone rose immediately, but Dr. Carver beat him to the door—then blocked the Alpha from entering. “Let me examine him, then you can all ask him your questions.” Doc stepped back and closed the door before Malone could reply.

I bit into another cookie to keep from smiling when Malone turned his furious gaze on the rest of the room.

A few minutes later, Dr. Carver emerged from the bedroom. “He’s fine. Dizzy, and a bit cranky, but he should be able to tell you what happened.”

The Alphas filed into the bedroom. I started to follow, but my father shook his head and pointed to the couch. Scowling, I sat, trying to bolster my mood with thoughts of the apologies I’d soon bask in. Colin would tell them what happened. He was no doubt pissed about the big bump on his head, but he’d have to admit to trying to stop me, and I’d be cleared of suspicion in at least one crime. Which was a damn good start.

“…bitch is crazy. Homicidal. She nearly took my head off.” Colin’s voice floated to me from the bedroom.

“Now, that’s hardly fair.” I glanced around for support from my fellow enforcers. “It was just a little left hook.”

Marc frowned and shushed me. Jace turned off the radio.

My irritation mounted as I realized no one was yelling at Colin for cussing in front of four different Alphas. Which was just plain wrong. I’d probably be brought up on more charges.

I crossed the room silently, and Michael scooted to make room for me in front of the closed door.

“Do you remember why she hit you?” Paul Blackwell asked, and I tensed, bracing myself for vindication. Absolution. Complete exoneration.

What I got was total bullshit.

“Yeah.” Springs creaked as Colin shifted on the bed. “I was trying to stop her from going out. Just doing my job.”

Yeah, right, you worthless lump of fur. Tell them why I was going out.

“Where was she going?” Malone asked. “Was she trying to get away?”

Objection, Your Honor? Leading the witness? I glanced at Michael, but he only frowned and shook his head, telling me to keep my mouth shut. Clenched jaws kept my complaint locked up tight. Clenched fists kept my temper in check. Barely.

“Yeah.” Colin grasped eagerly at the straw Malone had just given him. “That’s exactly what she was doing. She was trying to escape.”

Fury blazed its way through my veins, scorching me from the inside out. The rotten bastard was outright lying to a room full of Alphas! On those not-so-rare occasions when I needed to avoid telling the whole truth, I simply evaded the question, but Colin was pinning his lie to his chest like a fucking medal of honor. And he seemed completely unaware that such a badge was not of courage, but of cowardice and shame. Or maybe he didn’t care. Either way, enforcers should not possess such traits. Ever.

I opened my mouth to protest, but again Michael shook his head, this time adding a severe frown to his silent warning.

“What about the stray?” Uncle Rick asked, and when Colin made no reply, he continued. “Wasn’t Faythe trying to save Brett Malone from a stray in cat form?”

Colin hesitated for a moment. Then he cackled with laughter so sudden and forced that everyone surely knew it was fake. That he was overcompensating. But no one questioned Colin’s sincerity. Not aloud, anyway.

But the bedroom door opened, and I jumped back to avoid Dr. Carver when he stomped out, a disgusted look plastered on his normally jolly face. When no one closed the door behind him, Michael and I stepped silently into the room, where all four Alphas stood around the twin bed on which the towheaded tom lay propped against several pillows.

“Faythe? Save Brett? Is that what she said?” Colin glanced from face to face in overplayed incredulity, daring a grin when he caught sight of me watching. “No. I was trying to save Brett. She was trying to get away while I was distracted.”

“Are you sure that’s what happened?” my father asked, and the disbelief thick in his voice did little to smother the flames of anger shooting up and down my spine. My Alpha wasn’t the one I needed to convince.

“Of course I’m sure. I was about to go out after Brett when Faythe took off for the front door. I had to choose between the two of them. Her stupid stunt could have gotten him killed.”

My fingernails bit into my palm. My teeth ground together. My nostrils flared as my body demanded more oxygen to feed the fire of indignation burning deep in my chest. If Colin didn’t spit the truth out soon, I was either going to spontaneously combust or lose my temper. I could not stand there and watch that lying coward of a pussycat ground my name and reputation beneath his filthy paws.

I should have hit him harder.

“If she was trying to get away…” Uncle Rick asked, eyes narrowed at Colin, “why would she kill the stray? Why not just run?”

“You think a girl on two feet could outrun a tom on four?” Calvin Malone demanded, glaring across the room at my uncle. “She had to kill the stray to keep him from killing her. She wasn’t trying to save Brett. She was trying to save herself.” He practically spat the last word, and a fresh flare of anger shot up my spine and over my neck, where little flame-tongues licked at my chin. Pain lanced through my jaw, and I gasped.

Michael turned toward me with that same warning on his face, but it drained from his features with one look at the pain on mine. “You okay?” he whispered.

I nodded, even as dread and rage churned in my stomach. Stress sent bolts of pain through my forehead, and tension made my face ache, probably from clenching my teeth.

Or maybe not. That pain was familiar, and more than welcome…

Suddenly Marc’s scent enveloped me, and he took my hand. I should have been surprised by that, but I could barely think through the throbbing in my mouth. He squeezed my hand as my jaw popped, and I turned to find him watching me intently. Watching my jaw intently. He knew what was about to happen. What would happen, if I could exploit my anger without losing my temper.

A harsh smile hovered behind his expression, and he glanced at Colin. He had an idea; I could see it. “Actually.” He spoke loud and clear, drawing glances our way. “Faythe can outrun any one of us. If she’d wanted to escape, she would have.”

I started to squeeze his hand in thanks, but winced instead as my jaw…rippled. Then Colin opened his big fat lying mouth again, sucking up all the attention before anyone could look at me too closely.

“She was trying to run. I was getting ready to Shift—so I could go fight the stray—and she took off for the front door. She was taking advantage of me trying to save Brett, and she could have gotten us both killed. She ought to be locked up for her own good. For the good of us all.”

My arms went stiff at my sides. My jaw cracked again, but I barely noticed. Colin’s lie would add another charge to the list against me, and Malone would have more ammunition than he needed to cleave my head clean off my shoulders. My good deed had become Colin’s get-out-of-jail-free card, and he was using it against me. The bastard.

Suddenly my tongue seemed to take up too much room in my mouth. It broadened and flattened, itching unbearably. My teeth rolled along my gums. I groaned as my jaw stretched, the bones lengthening. All eyes turned my way. And while everyone else stared at me, I stared at Colin, who had become the focus of all my rage and frustration.

Then, as suddenly as my face had begun to change, his did too. His pale blond hair and bright blue eyes lost some of their real-world color. The green and yellow hues in the room deepened as everything else melted into muted shades of gray.

And that’s when I realized Colin wasn’t really changing.

Cat vision and cat teeth. I’d partially Shifted in front of the entire tribunal.

I should have been delighted, having just proved I could partially Shift. And even better, that the process was unintentional. Unfortunately, I wasn’t thinking clearly enough to experience relief or pride. I felt only instinctive fear and aggression. My inner cat—now peeking out through my human face—was threatened by this tomcat and his homicidal lies.

While everyone stared at me in shock, I watched Colin, unable to look away from the focus of my rage.

Marc whispered in my still-human ear, so softly I could barely hear him. “You want to pay him back?”

I nodded.

“Pounce.” Marc’s lip brushed my earlobe, combining with his scent to add a new layer of emotion to those already fueling my partial Shift. “Pretend you want to rip his lying head off.”

Pretend? No problem. I did want to rip his head off. My rage was overwhelming. The human in me wanted justice, but the cat wanted blood. I’d spent most of my life curtailing such urges, and now Marc wanted me to indulge one instead?

I raised an eyebrow at him, not entirely sure what he had in mind, but absolutely certain it wasn’t a good idea. The last thing I needed was more trouble.

Trust me, he mouthed silently. And I did. Even after all we’d been through together—because of what we’d been through—I trusted him with my life. So I took a deep, noiseless breath, then I let my anger unfurl like a whip snapping loose of its coil.

I leapt between my father and uncle, and the floor lurched past beneath me. Startled gasps surrounded me. My feet hit the carpet, and I jumped again. I landed on my knees on Colin’s bed, straddling his shins. The mattress squealed beneath my weight. My fingers curled in the ancient afghan.

I was dimly aware of movement and frantic whispers around the room. But I left the shocked Alphas to Marc. I only had eyes for the terrified tom beneath me.

Colin stared at me in horror. His jugular vein jiggled madly in his throat. The stench of fear trickled into my nostrils, and I realized my nose had Shifted too. Or maybe the scent sensors in my brain had changed.

“Get her under control, or I’ll do it myself!” Malone shouted. But I neither heard nor felt movement in the room around me.

“Calvin, look at her face,” my uncle ordered softly, and I caught a twitch of movement in the mirror on the edge of my vision—someone moving to better see my reflection.

Fine, let them see. Turning my head, I bared my canines and hissed into the glass without actually looking at my face. I was oddly pleased by the resulting gasps. My smaller stature would afford them no advantage this time; if I caught an arm between my jaws, my cat teeth would cleave straight through to the bone in a single bite. No one seemed willing to risk that. Yet.

The blankets moved beneath me, and my attention snapped back to the bed. Colin edged away from me slowly, cautiously, his legs sliding between my knees. He scooted until his spine hit the headboard. A growl of warning rumbled from my throat, and he jumped. Sweat trickled down his bare chest.

Bloodlust surged through my veins. Chill bumps burst to life on my arms as some distant, still-human part of me understood what was happening—what my cat-self wanted—and was horrified. But before I could impose logic on my feline brain, Colin glanced to his right, clearly considering an escape, and the sudden movement triggered my pouncing instinct.

A roar ripped free of my throat. I lunged the last few feet. Something heavy landed on the bed behind me. Strong hands grabbed my upper arms, holding me inches from my goal. Marc’s scent washed over me. “Good,” he murmured in my ear. “Let it loose. I’ve got you.”

Not at all sure we were still playing, I struggled and lunged again, pulling him with me. My pointed, feline teeth snapped closed an inch from Colin’s nose.

“Take her down!” Malone shouted, anger and panic saturating his voice.

“Don’t move,” my father ordered with his usual quiet confidence.

Marc ignored them both.

Colin whimpered like a little bitch, and my not-so-inner cat soaked it up. His eyes flicked from mine up to Marc’s. “Call her off!” he sniveled, this time careful not to move.

Marc’s grip tightened on my arms, and I struggled instinctively. Cats hate being restrained. “I can’t,” he said. “She’s strong when she’s pissed off, and I can’t hold her for long. If you want to calm her down, give her what she wants. Tell the truth. And do it fast. If I lose my grip, she’ll go straight for your throat. She’s done it before.”

Ohhhh. Suddenly I understood Marc’s plan—a bit late, considering it was well under way. He was fucking brilliant! And surely if my brain weren’t foggy with cat-thoughts, I’d have gotten it earlier.

Colin glanced at me and I let loose the growl I’d been holding back, confident now that even if I lost control of myself, Marc wouldn’t.

Colin opened his mouth, hesitated, then finally spat, “That is the truth.” His gaze shifted to someone at the foot of the bed. “The bitch is crazy! See?”

“Jace, get me a syringe,” Malone ordered.

Jace must have refused silently, because I couldn’t hear him. But I heard Malone loud and clear. “Fine, I’ll get it myself.” Harsh footsteps stomped out of the room.

Another slow, soft growl trickled from my throat, and a bead of sweat rolled down the side of Colin’s face, over the purple lump on his chin.

“Can you get her off the bed?” Paul Blackwell asked hesitantly. It sounded as if he’d backed toward the door. Colin wasn’t the only one buying our act.

“I’ll try,” Marc said.

The bed shifted beneath me, and Marc let his hand slip on my arm. Taking my cue, I sprung at the injured tom again, probably more surprised than he was when my teeth raked his nose.

Marc jerked me back again, but it was too late. Blood ran from a jagged cut on the end of Colin’s nose to drip down his chin.

Shit! That wasn’t supposed to happen.

The scent of blood exacerbated my bloodlust, and this time when I growled, it wasn’t on purpose. My fists clenched around the afghan on either side of Colin’s knees. My toes curled in the rough cotton yarn, stabilizing my body for another lunge.

Colin’s eyes widened, then his focus shifted to something over my shoulder as footsteps shuffled on the carpet. One whiff of the air told me Malone was back. A tiny pop, and I knew he’d uncapped the syringe. The sharp chemical scent of the sedative stung my nose. “Hold her still.”

“What is that?” Dr. Carver asked from my right. I hadn’t heard him come back in.

“It’s just a tranquilizer,” Malone said. More firm footfalls, and I bucked wildly. I had prior experience with syringes, and the memories were not pleasant. Marc’s grip on my arms tightened, and he pulled back, putting pressure on my shoulders.

“Stop, Calvin,” my father ordered, and I stilled to listen, still pinning Colin with my glare. “You wanted a demonstration, and now you’re getting one. She’s fine, aren’t you, Faythe?”

Marc answered for me. “She’ll be fine once she calms down. And she’ll calm down as soon as Dean tells the truth.”

Malone’s footsteps stomped closer.

“One more step and I’ll let her go,” Marc warned, and I expected to hear my father object, but he didn’t. “Dean’s the only one who can end this. Do it, Dean. Tell the truth. You owe her that.”

Colin whined, and I opened my mouth, showing my willingness to follow through on Marc’s threat. “Fine! You’re right!” He faced away from me on the pillow. “She was going after the stray, and I wanted to Shift first. He could have shredded us like he did Brett. I just wanted a fair fight.”

“Yet a tabby half your size was willing to face him with nothing but a meat mallet and a prayer. You’re useless, Dean, and you’re not worth her mercy,” Marc spat, releasing my arms.

Gratitude swept through me, chased by a familiar pang of loss I was coming to associate with Marc.

Justice is a powerful concept, and it was not lost on me, in spite of the more feral righteousness the cat in me demanded. Triumph penetrated my rage and soothed my bloodlust like balm on a burn. I swung one leg over Colin’s stomach and stood. He exhaled in relief, but watched me warily, as if I might yet decide to rip his throat out.

Dismissing Colin, I turned toward the rest of the room and smiled to the best of my ability. I crossed my arms beneath my breasts in a show of confidence, as if I’d never doubted the outcome.

“Well played,” Marc said, grinning at me proudly.

Malone’s face flushed beneath his obvious horror at my appearance. He knew he’d been conned, and he was pissed. But he was too much of a coward to complain while I still had the physical advantage.

“Wow,” Dr. Carver said, and my head swiveled in his direction. A sharp gasp came from behind him, and Paul Blackwell stared at me in undisguised revulsion. Evidently most of the room’s occupants hadn’t gotten a good look at my inbetween face in the mirror.

Their reactions were what I expected. They were horrified. Repulsed. Every last one of them, except Marc, my father and the doctor. Even Jace looked…uncomfortable, at best. Later, they might realize what a wonderful thing the partial Shift was. That if we mastered it, we would gain the use of our werecat’s enhanced sight and hearing—and one hell of a set of canines—without losing the use of our fingers, and those handy semi-opposable thumbs. But for now, all they could think about was my deformed face.

I had to look. I’d had no intention of doing it, but when the moment came, when I stared at each of them in turn, meeting stare after disgusted stare, I had to know what they saw.

Smoothing my shirt into place, I turned slowly toward the dresser, only dimly aware of the people around me as my face came into focus in the mirror. I’d only really seen the inbetween face once before, but I’d felt the features with my hands often enough to know that what I saw in the mirror was unlike anything I’d Shifted into before.

Before, my jaw had always Shifted to one degree or another, and my eyes had taken on slitlike pupils and irises, if not their actual cat shape. This time, in addition to that, my jaw had elongated into a hairless muzzle, complete with an entire set of cat teeth. My nose was feline too—black, and flat, with the familiar thin split between the nostrils.

I plodded toward the mirror in a daze, and my fingers found my nose. It was damp and warm, as it should have been—on a cat. But that wasn’t the worst part. Or the best. Or…whatever.

Though my forehead was smooth, and still completely human, sticking out of my normal, human eyebrows were several stiff white hairs on each side. Whiskers. I had brow whiskers. And cat eyes, in human sockets.

My face held the single-most bizarre combination of features I’d ever seen. And by “bizarre,” I mean ugly as shit. But on the bright side, if the whole enforcer thing didn’t work out, I’d have a long career waiting for me in the circus.

While the tribunal met in the dining room—I knew they were arguing because they’d turned on loud classical music to cover up their voices—I sat on the side of a bed in the empty first-floor bedroom, while Dr. Carver peered at my face with undisguised eagerness. “So, you can’t do this at will?”

“ ’Aw eh,” I mumbled, forced to work around jaws more suited to chomping than enunciating.

For an interpretation, Dr. Carver looked to Marc, who stood peering through a gap in the blinds at the darkness outside. “What’d she say?”

“‘Not yet,’” Marc translated without turning. “She can’t do it on command yet, but she thinks she could, with some practice. She thinks we could do it, too.”

Dr. Carver nodded, shining his penlight in my eyes. “I don’t doubt that.”

Growling softly, I winced and closed my eyes against the light.

“Try to keep them open for me, hon. This won’t take long.”

I opened my eyes and kept them wide as his light traveled back and forth between my pupils. Tears formed to defend my eyes from the invasion, and when I could finally blink, they rolled down my cheeks. When the light went off, I closed my eyes and pressed the heels of my hands against them.

“Here.” Something soft brushed my cheek, and I looked up to find Marc offering me a tissue. Smiling in thanks, I blotted my eyes, then wiped my cheeks, watching the doctor on the other bed as he scribbled in a notebook.

“Your eyes themselves appear to have Shifted completely,” he said, finally looking up from the paper, though his pen was still poised over it. “And you have brow whiskers, though the bone structure above your nose is still completely human. What about your vision? How do you see things?”

“ ’ike a aaa.”

“What?”

“Like a cat.” Marc settled onto the bed next to me, close enough that our knees touched.

“Mmm-hmm. That’s what I thought. Let’s take a look at your mouth.”

I rolled my eyes and opened my mouth. The tribunal had asked for a report on the examination, so I submitted, though it irked me to be inspected like a fucking show dog. It would irk me much more to be convicted, then executed.

After noting the shape of my nose, the fact that my sense of smell was enhanced, and the number and form of each of my teeth, Dr. Carver let me Shift back. He wanted to watch, though, which was a bit unnerving. I’ve Shifted in front of my fellow werecats literally hundreds of times, but only once could I remember actually being watched, and that memory wasn’t exactly pleasant. I’d killed the guy who’d ogled—Eric—shortly thereafter.

Dr. Carver was another case entirely, of course. He made notes, and commented on the relative ease of Shifting back to fully human form, in contrast to the difficulty I had doing the reverse. When the change was complete, he examined my human face, made several short notes on his yellow pad, thanked me for my cooperation, then headed for the door, clearly eager to report his findings to the tribunal.

And suddenly I was alone with Marc for the first time in weeks.

At first, neither of us spoke. Strains of classical flute and violin floated in from the dining room, and some radio announcer was giving a weather report in the kitchen, where Michael, Jace, and my father sat around the table, demolishing a huge platter of homemade nachos while they waited for the next update on the dead cop.

Marc was looking out the window again. There was nothing out there; he was just avoiding me.

Sighing, I got up and closed the door quietly, then leaned against it with my arms crossed over my chest. In all the years I’d known him—since he was infected at fourteen—he’d never once made an empty threat. He’d learned from my father that if you don’t follow through on your threats, people will stop believing you. The same goes for promises, as I’d learned the hard way.

Yet for me, he’d bluffed Colin and a whole roomful of Alphas. And now he wouldn’t even look at me.

From the kitchen, the weather report—calling for light snow overnight—gave way to another bouncy disco tune from the seventies.

I inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly. “Thank you.”

Marc turned from the window, and the blinds snapped back into place. “For what?”

I frowned. He knew damn well what I meant. “For bluffing Colin. I’ve never seen you make an empty threat before.”

He sat on the edge of the far bed. “You still haven’t. I wasn’t threatening him. You were.”

Riiiight. “You’re walking a pretty thin line there, Marc.”

“Yeah. I am.” He frowned in reproach. “I wish you’d walk it with me, just long enough to get the tribunal off your back.”

No wonder they wouldn’t let Marc testify. He really would do anything to save my life.

I flopped onto the empty bed on my back and stared at the ceiling. “What do you want me to do?”

He leaned forward, both elbows resting on his knees. “If you play the game their way—just tell them what they want to hear—life might go a little more smoothly. Or at least last longer.”

I huffed in skepticism, but hadn’t yet thought of an intelligent reply, when someone knocked softly on the door. “Faythe?” Jace called hesitantly.

“Yeah, come on in.” I turned onto my side and propped myself on one elbow as the door opened.

Jace glanced from me to Marc, then back to me, and his creased forehead relaxed. He was probably relieved to find us both clothed. Marc and I had rarely been alone together since we broke up, but in the past, privacy had always been enough of an excuse to make up.

But things were different now. This time he’d dumped me.

Jace smiled like he had a secret. “The tribunal’s ready to see you.”

Based on his expression, I was guessing the news was good. They wouldn’t have told him anything official, but the kitchen was much closer to the dining room than the bedrooms were, so he’d probably overheard enough to warrant the giddy grin.

Thank goodness.

Five minutes later, I sat at the end of the dining-room table, yet again. Michael had gone back to our cabin to search for information on the hikers and the dead cop, so the chair on my right was empty. Dr. Carver and my father sat against the right-hand wall. The doc looked eager. My father looked deliberately uninterested, as if the future of our Pride didn’t depend on whatever the tribunal was about to say.

At the other end of the long table, my uncle and Paul Blackwell flanked Malone, who stood and scowled down at me. I gave him a saccharine smile, gaining as much confidence from his displeasure as I had from Jace’s grin.

No counting chickens, Faythe, my mother’s voice said from some distant memory. Nothing’s hatched just yet.

And as usual, she was right.

“As I’m sure you know by now, Ms. Sanders, this tribunal needs a simple majority vote to render a verdict. In light of your recent exhibition and Dr. Carver’s expert opinion on the matter, we’ve discussed the demonstration of your partial Shift and have taken a vote. Since each member is confident enough in his vote to swear that it will not change after further discussion or evidence, we are now ready to announce our decision.”

My breath caught in my throat, in spite of my confidence a moment earlier. I uncrossed my arms and laid my palms on the cool surface of the table, but they were damp with nervous sweat and left wet smears across the wood.

Uncle Rick smiled reassuringly at me, and I tried to smile back. But though I was in a roomful of people, I’d never felt more alone. Sure, the tribunal’s verdict was important to the entire south-central Pride. Might even decide its future. But ultimately, I was the one who would live or die based on the next words spoken.

“On the charge of infection of a human, our vote was unanimous. As one, we find you guilty.”

My heart thumped painfully in my chest, and with each beat I could almost feel my sternum pushed out of line with my ribs. But I wasn’t really surprised. After all, I’d admitted to infecting Andrew. The real revelation had yet to come.

“Some of us are ready to hand down a sentence right now. But because others—” Malone glanced at my uncle, on his far right “—evidently believe the infection was an accident, we have decided to forgo sentencing until we are ready to render a verdict on the second allegation.”

“Wait, you’re not ready on the murder charge?” I sat straight in surprise. Then what was the point of all this?

Malone’s scowl deepened. Apparently he was the only one who got to talk. “One member has yet to reach a decision about his vote.”

I fully expected to see him frown at Paul Blackwell. But he didn’t. He glared at my uncle Rick.

At first I thought it was a ploy—that Malone was just trying to upset me. But my uncle stared straight at me, not even bothering to deny the accusation. I arched my brows at him in question, and he nodded. He’d held up the vote.

Disappointment and confusion swept through me like a chill wind, raising goose bumps on my arms and legs. Uncle Rick knew me better than anyone else on the tribunal. How could he doubt my innocence?

“Later,” he mouthed, assuring me less than subtly that there was a method to his madness. I had no choice but to trust him.

Uncle Rick leaned back in his chair, crossing thick forearms over a still-firm chest. “Tell her the rest of it, Calvin.” Though he spoke to Malone, he never looked away from me.

My eyes narrowed as my gaze returned to Malone. What else could the bastard possibly have to say? They were canceling my birthday? Shaving my head? ’Cause there wasn’t anything else left to take from me, short of my life. And they were still working on that one.

Malone inhaled deeply, and dread settled into his expression, which sent a flash of hope through me. “It appears you were telling the truth about…what you did for my son.” Reluctance was written in the wrinkles around his eyes and the downward cast of his mouth. He couldn’t bring himself to actually say that I’d saved Brett’s life.

The councilman gulped thickly, like he was trying to literally swallow his pride. “You risked your life to help Brett, and for that I must thank you.”

Not I want to thank you, but I must thank you. As if he had no choice. And knowing my uncle as well as I did, I doubted he had given Malone a choice. That must have been the part of the meeting Jace had overheard. The part that had put that secretive smile on his face.

“Don’t misunderstand me,” Malone backpedaled. “That won’t sway any of my decisions on this tribunal. But if there’s any way I can take myself out of your debt, I wish you would tell me.”

From the pained look in his eyes, I gathered that he meant that last statement literally. He didn’t want to thank me. He wanted to absolve his debt to me.

Not the most heartfelt offer, but I’d take it.

I watched Malone for several seconds, considering my options. And when the first flash of irritation crossed his face, I spoke. “Actually, there is something you can do for me.”

“Yes?” Suspicion oozed from his voice like puss from an infected sore.

“I’ve been twiddling my thumbs behind a desk for more than two months now. I’d like to help with the search. I’m finished testifying, right?” My uncle nodded, so I continued. “I’m not doing anyone any good hanging around here all day when I could be out helping. Besides, you guys must be tired of having me in your fur all the time.”

On my right, Dr. Carver snickered like a teenager.

Paul Blackwell frowned, rubbing one wrinkled hand over his bare, pointy chin. “You want to go back to work?”

“Yes.” I nodded eagerly. “Here, of course. I’m not asking you to send me home. I just want a little fresh air. And I want to help with the search.”

“No.” Malone didn’t even consider my request, though he was the stingy asshole who owed me.

“Oh, come on, Calvin,” Uncle Rick snapped. I’d rarely heard him take such an openly hostile tone, and I’d never heard him take it with a fellow Alpha. “She’s not asking for a full pardon. Just a chance to do what she’s best at.”

Gratitude flooded me, and I tingled with warmth. Did he really think enforcing was what I did best? Chasing down trespassers and patrolling our territory, rather than renting out my uterus for the greater good of the species?

I shot my uncle a smile of thanks, which he returned with a nod of acknowledgment—an Alpha-move if I’d ever seen one. “Besides,” he continued, “is your son’s life worth so little that you can’t grant the cat who saved it a few hours liberty in the woods? Doing work for us? That’s practically community service, and she’s offering it in exchange for your debt. I think it’s pretty damn generous of her.”

Malone fumed. I expected to see flames burst from his ears at any moment. But on his left, Paul Blackwell was nodding, probably eager to make up for the embarrassment Colin the Cowardly Lion had heaped upon his pride. And his Pride.

“It’s too much freedom,” Malone insisted. “What’s to keep her from running?”

My love for my friends and family? My obligation to my father and Alpha? My need for vindication? My honor? Take your pick. But Malone wouldn’t believe any of that.

“What if she goes in human form?” Dr. Carver suggested, and I wasn’t sure whether to thank him or curse him. I didn’t want to go in human form. I hadn’t fully Shifted in more than a week, and tripping over twigs and vines on two feet wasn’t going to soothe the need crawling beneath my skin. The urge to Shift was so strong in me now—perhaps strengthened by the partial Shift—that I felt distinctly snappy and irritable. It was like having an itch in the middle of my back, just out of reach. I could scratch all around it, but until I hit the right spot, it wasn’t going to go away. I needed to Shift.

But that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon, because Malone was nodding slowly in favor of the doc’s suggestion. “Yes. She can go in human form, but only for tonight. Supervised, of course. She’s not to leave her partner’s sight.”

Uncle Rick nodded. “Done.”

My father cleared his throat, drawing attention to the right side of the room, where he still sat next to Dr. Carver, who appeared amused by our informal negotiation. “There’s no one left here to partner her but Marc and Jace.”

Malone scowled. We all knew he neither liked nor trusted Marc. And he could barely stand the sound of his stepson’s name. “Send them both.”

My father nodded. “The three of them can replace two of the teams out now. We’re going to need someone rested enough to go back out tomorrow.” He paused, turning toward the closed hallway door. “Marc!”

The door opened instantly, and I grinned. Marc had been listening from the hall, and I had no doubt Jace was with him. “Yes?”

“You and Jace are going to rejoin the search. With Faythe.” He stood, smoothing down the front of his suit jacket. “Go see if Michael’s found out where the cop died. If he has, start there. I want Jace on four paws, and you and Faythe on two feet. If anyone’s at the scene, send Jace into the trees to get close enough to pick up the killer’s scent. Don’t get yourselves spotted, and don’t make any trouble. Understand?”

Marc nodded, and behind him Jace’s mop of brown waves bobbed in unison.

“Grab something quick to eat before you go, and take a tranquilizer with you. If Faythe makes a run for it, shoot her up and drag her back.” My father’s eyes sparkled in mirth at Malone’s expense, and I laughed out loud.

“No problem,” Marc said around a big smile of his own. If he thought he’d get away with knocking me out, he’d have tried it a long time ago. But he knew better. He met my eyes briefly, then headed off down the hall, calling over his shoulder to tell Jace to make us a snack.

My father was already halfway to the door, Dr. Carver on his heels. Malone stayed in his seat, staring at the table as the other Alphas pushed their chairs back.

“Councilman Malone?” I said, and he looked up, meeting my eyes in annoyance. “Thank you.”

He nodded once, curtly, then shoved his chair back and marched out of the room.

My father paused in front of the door and gave me a nod. It was nothing big, and certainly nothing as obvious as a smile. Yet it warmed my insides as much as the thought of the fresh air I was about to breathe. My father had just acknowledged my gesture—and the effort it had taken—with a sign of respect and approval.

And though I didn’t want anyone else’s opinion of me to hold value over my own, my father’s did.

It always had.