Читать книгу Prey - Rachel Vincent - Страница 10

Painter’s face flushed, and he shook his head vehemently. “Ben wasn’t there tonight.” The stray stood uncertainly, backing away from Marc out of instinct even a human would have understood. “He wasn’t with the toms we fought.”

“That doesn’t mean he didn’t cut my hose, or tell someone else where we’d be,” Marc growled, advancing on him slowly as we watched. “You need to understand something, Dan. You will never be a Pride cat if you don’t learn when to keep your mouth shut!” With that, he grabbed Painter by the arm, ripped open the hotel door and tossed him out into the parking lot.

Before the door swung shut, I caught a glimpse of Dan as he stumbled across the sidewalk and reached out to steady himself on the hood of the Suburban. He looked shocked, and as disappointed as an orphan at Christmas, still clutching a half-eaten slice of Supreme in one hand as the door slammed in his face.

“Will he be okay out there?” I asked, as Marc threw the dead bolt and stomped across the carpet toward us.

“Who cares if he isn’t?” Marc folded his legs beneath himself as he dropped to the floor at my side. But his glance at the door gave away his conflict. Painter was a friend, and he clearly hadn’t betrayed us intentionally.

“Well, I guess that explains why the strays didn’t attack him until he took a swing.” Ethan wiped a smear of pizza sauce from the corner of his mouth with the back of one hand. “He’s their source.”

“Yeah, but he did take that swing, and he didn’t feed them information on purpose,” I insisted, glancing from one stony male face to another. “He fought alongside us, and even if the strays were inclined to spare him for further use, they won’t be now. And they’re probably still out there…” I let my sentence fade into silent censure, aimed pointedly at Marc.

“He’ll be fine.” Marc grabbed another slice of pizza and tore into it, speaking again only once he’d swallowed. “If getting rid of him were that easy, I’d have done it weeks ago. He’s probably in the front office right now, renting the room next to ours.”

The rest of the meal passed as Marc and the other guys got caught up after more than two months apart. After dinner, I checked on Manx to find her curled up asleep with the baby, both of them fully clothed, a paper plate scattered with pizza crusts on the floor beside the bed. I pulled a blanket from the empty bed to cover them, then closed the connecting door on my way out.

Ethan and Vic were already arguing over the remote control, so Marc helped me into my jacket and ripped pants, and we took one half-full box of pizza back to our room.

The door closed at my back, cutting off the biting January cold, and Marc’s hands were all over me, warming me everywhere my skin was exposed. Then exposing even more.

My hand opened, and the pizza box thumped to the table. His fingers slid beneath my jacket, pushing it gently down my arms and over the bandaged bite marks. The jacket hit the floor and I stepped over it, then winced and nearly went down when my full weight hit my injured leg.

Marc caught me, then lifted me. I wrapped my legs around his hips and pulled his ripped, bloodstained shirt off one arm at a time, while he supported my back with first one hand then the other. His shirt hit the floor. I nibbled on his collarbone. Four steps later he set me on the edge of the bed, and I let him pull my ruined pants off. His followed quickly as I pulled my tank top over my head and squirmed out of my underwear.

And finally, after months apart, we were alone, with nothing between us but memories and need…

Later, I lay next to Marc on the bed farthest from the door, propped up on my right elbow, my chin in my hand. I was bruised all over, and I ached from head to toe after the fight, but I pushed my discomfort aside, determined to focus on Marc for what little time we’d have together.

“You hate it, don’t you?” My left index finger traced the long-healed claw-mark scars that had brought him into my life fifteen years earlier, when he was infected by the werecat who’d killed his mother. My parents felt responsible for him because he was orphaned and infected in our territory, so my mother nursed him through scratch fever, then my father made him the first and only stray ever accepted into a Pride.

“Hate what?” His chest rose and sank beneath my hand with each breath, and our mingled scents surrounded me with an almost physical presence. It was intoxicating, just being near him, but the knowledge that his company was only temporary kept me from being truly content.

I ran my fingers over each hard ridge of his stomach. “Living here. Surrounded by humans.” Marc had lived with us for half of his life—for all of his life as a werecat—until my father had been forced to choose between us. Marc was exiled as part of the under-the-table deal that eliminated execution as a possible sentence at my hearing.

Marc went willingly. He would do nothing to endanger my life, even if it meant living without me. But that was proving every bit as hard as we’d known it would be. Marc hadn’t lived among humans since the day he was scratched, and had, in fact, ceased thinking like one around the same time. He no longer knew how to relate to humans, which probably frustrated him even more than it would a Pride cat, considering he’d been born among their ranks.

He shook his head slowly, as if considering. “I don’t hate it. It does no good to hate something you can’t change.”

“How very Zen of you.” I smiled skeptically at his unusual display of composure, because we could change his location. As soon as my father’s position on the council was secure, I would do whatever it took to get Marc back into the south-central Pride.

But in the meantime… “Have you made any friends? Other than Dan Painter?”

“I don’t need friends,” he insisted, turning his head to grin up at me. “I just need you to visit more often.”

Unfortunately, we both knew that was impossible, especially now.

My father had hired Brian Taylor—Ed Taylor’s youngest son, and Carissa’s brother—to help pick up the slack when he’d been forced to exile Marc. Brian was a year my junior, which made him the youngest enforcer on the payroll. But he was also a quick learner, and eager to impress his new Alpha and earn the respect of his fellow toms. In short, the kid had real potential.

Still, he didn’t have anywhere near the experience Marc had, so while we weren’t technically shorthanded, neither were we truly running at max capacity. I’d been temporarily paired with Vic, my father’s right-hand man now that Marc was gone, and we were always working. Always. Patrolling the territorial boundaries, chasing down trespassers, teaching my fellow enforcers the partial Shift—after Marc mastered it, Jace and Vic picked it up quickly—and working with Kaci during every spare moment.

But this particular moment was mine. Ours.

“I’m here now.” I laid my palm flat on Marc’s chest, so I could feel as well as hear his heart beat in sync with my own.

“So you are…” He rose to kiss me, and I lay back on the pillow, sighing when his delicious weight pressed me into the mattress. I arched my neck and let my hands wander his torso as his mouth trailed over my chin and down my throat. Every hard plane on his body was as familiar to me as my own face. I knew how he’d gotten each scar, and at one time or another I’d tasted them all.

“Maybe we could take an extra day,” I murmured into his ear, rubbing his thigh with my knee as I wrapped my good leg around him. “Surely full-scale attack and a slashed radiator hose warrant a bit of a delay….”

“Somehow I doubt the council will see it that way.” His right hand slid up the back of my thigh, then cupped my rear, shifting me gently into position.

“Screw the council—” I whispered, not surprised to hear my voice go hoarse with all-new need. One romp wasn’t enough to alleviate the ache of a two-month absence. That would take many, many…

Three brisk knocks on the door drenched the moment like a dunk in an ice-cold pond.

Marc sighed, and collapsed on top of me for a moment before rolling off to search for his pants. “Hang on!” he growled, as the knocking started again.

“Don’t let me interrupt…” my brother called through the door. “I’ll just stand out here and freeze my balls off while you two get reacquainted. No hurry.”

“Damn it, Ethan!” I stepped into my underwear, one hand on the pressboard bedside table for balance as I favored my injured leg. Then I pulled my tank top over my head and tugged it into place, already hopping toward the entrance as Marc zipped his pants. He settled onto the end of the bed with a sigh, and motioned for me to go ahead.

I slid the chain free and twisted the dead bolt, then jerked open the door to find my youngest brother grinning at me, hands stuffed into the pockets of a jacket much too thin to ward off the biting January cold. “I swear, you two have no self-control. You’re like animals.”

“Asshole.” But I couldn’t summon real malice, knowing he wouldn’t have interrupted us without a good reason. I tried to step aside and let him in, but I wasn’t fast enough. Ethan brushed past me into the warmth of the bedroom, and I stumbled back. My weight hit my injured leg and I hissed, then fell on my ass with all the poise of a hippo en pointe.

Ethan just kicked the door shut and hauled me up by one arm, even as I heard Marc rise from the bed behind me. “Way to go, Grace.” Then my brother frowned as his gaze settled on the three parallel rows of stitches on my thigh, and the bandages still circling my ankle. “Why haven’t you Shifted? You should be half-healed by now.”

“I’m fine.” I hopped along as he led me toward a chair. “And I will Shift. I just…haven’t had a chance yet.” I snuck a glance at Marc and smiled. Shifting into cat form can accelerate healing by as much as several days, as the body tears itself apart, then puts itself back together in another form. But Shifting while injured is far from comfortable, and it wasn’t at the top of my to-do list, especially considering all the other, more pleasurable ways to amuse myself in Marc’s company.

“Uh-huh.” Ethan rolled his eyes—like he was one to criticize—and turned from me to Marc, who watched us solemnly, waiting for whatever news the messenger bore. “Jace and Brian just loaded eight dead cats into the back of the van, and left seven more still unconscious.”

They would drive the corpses back to the ranch to be destroyed in the industrial incinerator—the type most farmers used to dispose of dead livestock.

We used it to get rid of evidence. Though we’d never had quite so much to dispose of at once before.

Marc arched both brows. “Only seven unconscious? Several must have wandered off on their own.” And two more had died since we’d left them.

“Sounds about right. Damn, that was some brawl.”

“It was a fucking ambush.” Marc dropped into the chair opposite mine and pulled the bottle of Absolut forward. “In the ten years I worked for your dad, I never once saw that many strays in league. This gang was several times the size of Radley’s, and they meant business.”

Ethan flipped open the pizza box and picked up the largest remaining slice. “So you think they were after Manx?”

Marc glanced at me before nodding, and his eyes lingered on mine in concern as he twisted the top from the bottle. “And probably Faythe, too. Did you see her ankle? One of them tried to drag her off in the middle of the fight.”

A growl started in the back of my throat, and my hands clenched into fists in my lap. It was always the same old song and dance with most strays, and frankly, I was getting pretty damn tired of the whole snatch-and-grab routine.

Marc gulped from the bottle, not bothering with a chaser. “I mean, how often do two tabbies travel through the free territory together? We may as well have painted a target on the back of the Suburban.”

“It’s not like we had another option.” I chose a slice of cold pizza at random. “Manx can’t fly, and avoiding the free zone would have added several days to the trip.” And I would never have even gotten a glimpse of Marc that way.

“I know.” Marc sighed. “Where’re Jace and Brian?”

Ethan swallowed his bite and twisted the lid from a half-empty two-liter of Coke. “Covering the cargo in the back of the van of a thousand corpses.”

Which meant Jace wasn’t up for seeing me and Marc half-naked together. He could accept how I felt about Marc—grudgingly—but drew the line at seeing it in person. Which we all understood.

Ethan closed the soda and met my eyes, his own oddly solemn. “Mom can’t get Kaci to cooperate with you gone, so I’m going to drive the van back with Jace, and Brian will go on with you guys.” Which was no doubt why they’d risked driving the corpses back into the free zone. “Okay?”

“Sure.” Other than me, Kaci was most comfortable with Jace and Ethan. For some reason, the wonder twins could always make her smile, even when I would have sworn she didn’t have the strength. “Tell Kaci I’ll call her tomorrow. And please be careful. What would happen if you two got pulled over with eight bodies in the back of the van?”

Ethan grinned, green eyes sparkling. “We hope the cop’s a cat lover.” He took another bite, then gestured with the crust of his pizza. “But we won’t get pulled over. It’s not like we’ve never driven home with a body in the back before.”

Unfortunately.

Two short, sharp knocks sounded on the door, and we all turned as Ethan yelled, “Come on in, Jace. They’re not doin’ it. Yet.”

That was my brother. Mr. Sensitivity.

Jace opened the door and stepped inside, then quickly shoved the door closed and leaned against it, pushing brown waves out of his bright blue eyes. “Hey, how’s life on the outside?” he said, greeting Marc first out of respect, even though he no longer had any rank within the Pride. Most other toms wouldn’t have done that, especially considering that I’d chosen Marc over Jace. But Jace was a good guy. My father didn’t hire any other kind.

“Can’t complain.” Marc stood to shake Jace’s hand with just a hint of formality. “How’s everything at the ranch?”

“Not the same without you, man,” Jace said, and I smiled as Marc exhaled deeply, and nodded in acknowledgment.

“Thanks.”

I knew better than anyone else how much that sentiment meant to Marc, and I could have kissed Jace for it—if that wouldn’t have made everything infinitely worse.

Finally, Jace’s eyes found me, and concern washed over his face as he stepped forward. “Your dad didn’t say you were hurt.”

“I don’t think anyone’s told him yet.” I clutched the arm of my chair to keep from self-consciously touching my wounds. “I’m fine, though. One Shift should take care of the limp.”

“Well, do it soon,” Jace said, then turned to Ethan, his jaw tight with whatever he was not saying. “You ready?”

“Yeah.” Ethan took one last gulp of Coke and snatched a slice of pizza for the road. “You guys be careful.” He pulled me up and into a bear hug. “Mom will never forgive any of us if her only daughter comes home disfigured.”

I twisted out of his grip when the hug got too tight. “After tonight, she ought to be grateful I’m coming home at all.”

“Can I be there when you tell her that?” Ethan asked, still grinning as he headed for the door.

“Yeah, I’m considering a rephrase.” I followed him, hobbling along with my arm intertwined with Marc’s. “Seriously, though, will you tell Kaci I’m fine? We’re all fine. And we’ll be home in a couple of days, good as new.”

“Will do.” Ethan followed Jace outside, to where my father’s van was now parked next to Vic’s Suburban. “Mom said she fell asleep playing PS3 after dinner.”

I frowned, shivering in the sudden cold as I gripped the door frame. “I’ll talk her into Shifting when I get back. One way or another.”

Ethan opened the passenger-side door as Jace started the engine. “I know.” My brother grinned one last time as Jace backed my dad’s ancient van out of the parking space. Then they were gone.

I closed the door and twisted to find Marc watching me with a new heat in his eyes. So we picked up right where we’d left off….

Six hours later, my cell phone rang out from the dark. I sat up, blinking, and reached over Marc to feel around on the nightstand, aiming vaguely for the bouncing, glowing mound of plastic.

I couldn’t reach it, so I levered myself over Marc with my elbow in his chest. He grunted and his eyes flew open, and I gasped when my bad leg twisted beneath me, because I still hadn’t found a chance to Shift. But then my fingers closed around the phone and I eased my weight back onto the mattress, flipping the phone open without reading the name on the display.

“Faythe?” It was my dad, and he sounded infinitely more alert than I was. Which was probably a very bad sign.

“It’s five in the morning, Daddy.” I shrugged when Marc rubbed sleep from one eye and mouthed, What’s wrong?

“I know what time it is,” my father snapped, and his tone brought me instantly awake. “Ryan’s gone.”