Stray

  I’d been watching moths gather around the front-porch lights for a solid half hour when a couple of the northern Alphas wandered near my chair, taking no notice of me at all. They still sipped from short thick glasses, but my nose told me they’d switched over to whiskey at some point.

  At first I paid no attention to their exchange, bored to death with the political maneuvering that persisted even under such grave circumstances. But my ears perked up when I heard their conversation shift to Sara’s funeral arrangements and their own plans to attend.

  Sara would have to be buried in private, on her own property, because her death couldn’t be reported to the police. There would be no autopsy and no investigation. Her human friends and neighbors would be told she’d gone abroad for some time to herself before settling into married life. Then, in about a week, her parents would announce that she’d died in an accident in Europe. They would erect a memorial and hold a public service for her in a local cemetery.

  Similar arrangements were necessary anytime a Pride cat met a violent end, but because Sara was one of very few tabbies, her death was a devastating blow to everyone, especially her immediate family, who couldn’t publicly mourn her, or even acknowledge her death until the memorial service. Worst of all, their grieving process would be forever shadowed by the horrific circumstances of their daughter’s murder. It was a terrible way to deal with such a loss, but like so much else, it was completely beyond their control.

  Still listening to the Alphas’ discussion as I stared out into the dark, I wondered if my father would let me out of the house long enough to attend Sara’s funeral. Probably not.

  Soon, the conversation moved on to a topic I had yet to consider: the future of the southeast territory. Had Sara lived, she would one day have taken over her father’s Pride and its territory with Kyle at her side. But with her death, all that had changed. Instead, Kyle would live the rest of his life like most tomcats: single, with no wife and no children. And because the southeast territory now had no heir to bear the next generation, its future existence was tentative at best. Once Sara’s father died, if they’d found no tabby to replace Sara—as heartless as that seemed in the midst of grief—his territory would most likely be divided up among his closest neighbors, some of it, through necessity, becoming free territory.

  Having filled my brain with more disturbing questions than I’d ever thought possible, the northern Alphas left for my father’s office to refill their glasses. While they were gone, the last Alpha arrived, and Daddy escorted the entire council into his office. They didn’t come out until after midnight, not to request a tray of sandwiches or drinks, not even for a bathroom break.

  Not long after my father closed his office door, my mother knelt by my chair, her eyes still swollen and rimmed in red. She said she was about to clear away the buffet and asked me to fix a plate of food for Nikki Davidson while she got Donna settled into a spare bed. I had no idea what eight-year-olds ate, but arguing with my mother would have been an exercise in futility, so I headed for the kitchen, crossing my fingers that Nikki liked port-wine cheese balls and salmon croquettes.

  On my way to the kitchen, Ethan cornered me in the empty dining room, backing me into an alcove created by my mother’s huge china cabinet and the wall perpendicular to it. He planted one palm on the wall and the other on the cabinet, blocking my escape.

  I briefly considered knocking him on his ass, but rejected the idea because I knew that if I caused any more trouble while the council was convened, I could pretty much kiss daylight goodbye for a very long time.

  Ethan glared at me in silence for almost a minute, as if trying to guilt me into making a confession. When it became clear that I would do no such thing, he heaved an irritated sigh and spoke. “Jace wanted me to tell you he’s okay. His back is bruised, and he has a bump on his head, but nothing serious.” His face made it clear that he hadn’t volunteered for the mission.

  I twisted a strand of hair around one finger, avoiding his eyes. “Good.”

  He rolled his shoulders, clearly uncomfortable in the button-down shirt he’d put on in concession to our important company. “Were you even worried about him?”

  “Of course I was.” The ends of the strand went into my mouth, and I chewed automatically. I was worried about Jace. I just hadn’t known how to make the situation any better.

  Ethan growled and pulled my hair away from my face, giving it a brutal tug for good measure. “Jace thinks he loves you,” he whispered, glancing over his shoulder to make sure no one overheard.

  Suddenly I found my bare feet fascinating. Big toe, like a thumb on my foot. That one would be opposable, if I were an ape, I thought, wiggling it for good measure. Middle toe, longer than the first one. And those tiny little ones on the end, which weren’t terribly well articulated, in spite of theoretically functioning joints.

  Ethan snapped his fingers beneath my nose. “Faythe, did you hear me?”

  “Yeah, I heard you.” I made myself meet his eyes. Whatever I might have been, I wasn’t a coward. But not from lack of trying.

  “I’m not going to ask you how you feel about him, because I’m pretty sure I already know the answer. But I will say this. Let him down easy, and do it soon, before this gets out of hand. You’ve already screwed him up emotionally by leading him on.”

  I bristled; if I’d had fur, it would have stood on end. “I didn’t lead him on,” I snapped, standing straighter. I was glad to finally have something I could legitimately argue about.

  “The hell you didn’t.” His eyes blazed. “He told me you let him kiss you, and I heard what you didn’t say to Marc.”

  I blinked, turning one ear toward him as if to improve my hearing. “What I didn’t say to Marc?” Okay, now I was confused. The list of things I hadn’t said was endless, no matter how much Marc claimed I talked.

  “He asked if you wanted Jace to touch you, and you didn’t say no. If you’d said no, Jace would have known the truth, but since you didn’t, he thinks he has a chance with you. But if he takes one more shot, Marc will kill him. He won’t be able to stop himself. And it will be your fault.”

  I exhaled, frustrated and angry. “You can’t blame me for something I didn’t say, and you certainly can’t hold me responsible for anything Marc does. If you have a problem with his behavior, take it up with him.” I glanced away, fingering a swirl in the wood grain of the china cabinet. “Besides, I didn’t let Jace kiss me.” Ethan started to object, but I cut him off. “Well, maybe I did for a minute, but I was about to push him away when Marc came in.” That sounded weak, even to me, and Ethan didn’t buy it for a second.

  “Frankly, Faythe, I’m a little creeped out by having to think about what my sister does in private. But apparently you’re not thinking about it enough. These aren’t house cats you’re playing around with. They aren’t college boys, either. If you don’t tell them both the truth, someone’s going to get hurt. And it won’t be you.”

  A spark of irritation flared in my gut, only slightly smothered by encroaching guilt. “First of all, I’m not playing around with anyone.” I glanced away from his face, hesitant to admit the rest. “And I’m not sure I know what the truth is.”

  “Well, figure it out. Fast.” With that, he stomped off to the living room, where I could hear Jace and Parker trying awkwardly to comfort Kyle.

  I was relieved that Jace was okay. And I really had been worried about him. But I had no idea how I could have prevented Marc’s temper tantrum. Okay, maybe I could’ve pushed Jace away a little sooner, but honestly, I was getting pretty tired of being held responsible for Marc’s lack of control. What concern was it of his what I did with Jace? Absolutely none.

  But he’d made it his business, and that was the bottom line. I was starting to understand that in the real world nothing else mattered.

  Around nine, my mother put Nikki to bed in my room and said I could either make a pallet on my own floor or sleep on the couch. I told her I’d stay in the guesthouse w
ith the guys, and Ethan promised to keep an eye on me, since Marc’s Faythe-sitting shift had ended. My mother just nodded. I don’t think she’d heard about my threats to abandon the Pride. I hadn’t seen or heard her talk to Daddy since breakfast.

  An hour later, Mom ran out of chores to keep her mind off the tragedy at hand. She’d dusted the entire house, cleaned up the buffet and stored the leftovers, and made enough tea and coffee to keep the bathrooms occupied for the rest of the year. Since courtesy forbade her to vacuum around our guests’ feet, she settled for trying to drive me out of my mind with inane questions. It was her second-favorite hobby, and one she’d perfected ages ago.

  I knew the moment she settled next to me on the couch, knitting bag in hand, that it was time for me to retire for the evening. I just didn’t know how best to pull off my escape.

  “What did your father want with you this afternoon?” she asked, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

  Swatting her hand away, I shot desperate looks at Ethan and Parker, where they sat across the room, still huddled around Kyle, who clutched a nearly empty bottle of whiskey. I couldn’t bring myself to look at Jace. Not until I knew what to say to him.

  “Faythe?” my mother said, and I turned back to look at her. “What did your father want?” I tried to relax my fists as I watched her run one hand over her smooth gray hair, turning the edges under. It made me want to shake my head like a wet dog, until I looked as different from her as was humanly possible, considering that I’d inherited her nose and cheekbones.

  I wanted to lie. Damn, I wanted to lie, because one of my biggest goals in life was to avoid discussing men with my mother. But eventually she’d find out the truth. “He wanted to talk about my boyfriend.”

  “Your boyfriend?”

  “His name is Andrew.” I stared hard at Ethan as I answered through gritted teeth, but he only grinned and waved. He thought I deserved it.

  My mother reached into her bag, pushing around balls of colored yarn and knitting needles with both hands. “What year is this boy in?”

  Keep it short and simple, I thought. That was what Michael told all his clients before they took the stand. “He’s not a boy, Mom. He’s a grad student. In the math department. He wants to teach.”

  “Children?” She glanced at me with one hand over her heart, clearly aghast.

  So much for simple, I thought, mentally cringing. “No, college.”

  “Oh. Good.” She smiled in polite relief, digging again in her bag. “I was afraid he might like children.”

  That was my mother’s secret code for “I’m glad you aren’t thinking of marrying this man, because you know you can’t give him any babies, and it would be wrong to condemn a teacher to a life without children.” Nothing was ever simple with my mother, which was strange, because she seemed never to think about anything complicated.

  “You know,” she continued, pulling a small bundle of pale blue yarn from the bag. “By the time I was your age, I already had two boys and was pregnant with Owen.”

  I closed my eyes so she couldn’t see how far they’d rolled back into my head. “I know, Mom. You and I are different.”

  She made an odd, cooing sound and I reopened my eyes to see her carefully spreading out the small bundle. It took on a vague, curved shape, curling over one knee.

  “We’re not as different as you think, dear.”

  Yeah, right. My mother was a regular rebel without a cause. “Sure, Mom. I’m your carbon copy.”

  “There’s no need for sarcasm, Faythe.”

  I huffed in disdain, and the sound came out clipped and harsh. “If you really believe that, then we’re nothing alike.”

  She sighed, taking up a long, metallic blue needle in each hand. “I intend to have a serious conversation with you someday.”

  “I can barely contain my excitement.” I watched as she began to knit-one and purl-two, or whatever it was that made the separate threads of yarn hold together. The shape of that little blue bundle looked so familiar…

  “You know, I wasn’t born a wife and mother.” She took both needles in one hand for a moment, glancing at me as she smoothed out the length of yarn trailing from one. “I was your age once.”

  “And by your own admission, you already had a husband and two and a half kids.”

  My mother frowned, lowering her knitting to her lap. With disapproval clearly visible in the frown lines around her mouth, she really did look like me. Or like I might look after another quarter of a century, if my life didn’t drastically improve. “Really, Faythe. Half a child? Is that any way to refer to your brother?”

  “I just meant that you hadn’t had him yet.”

  “I know what you meant,” she snapped, knitting furiously. I stared at the yarn in growing horror. I knew what she was making. A bootie. A tiny, pale blue baby bootie. My mother was the Denis Rodman of subtlety. A master craftsman in the art of creative manipulation. Without saying a word, she’d reminded me once again that my life was off track by her standards and shown me what I should have been thinking about. “Really, you place too little value on life. Particularly on your own.”

  “What are you talking about?” Determined to ignore the bootie unless she mentioned it, I met her gaze, hoping to drive her away with a little confrontational eye contact. “I value my life very highly.”

  “Then why waste it?”

  Ouch! I shot an irritated glance at Ethan, but he was pretending not to see me. I knew he was pretending because he couldn’t quite stop grinning, even when Michael elbowed him in the ribs. They were supposed to be comforting the grieving fiancé.

  “I’m not wasting my life, Mom. I’m doing exactly what I want to do.”

  “With your nose in a book all day?”

  My hands curled into fists in my lap. “I like books.”

  “You hide behind your books, like you used to hide behind my legs.” Her needles clicked together rapidly, a sound I’d identified early in life as the most annoying noise in the world.

  “I never hid behind you, and I am not hiding behind my books.”

  Her hands paused, and she smiled softly, as if remembering something sweet and long gone. “You hid behind me every time we had company until you were five years old.”

  I let my head fall onto the back of the couch, staring at the ceiling. “I don’t remember that.”

  “There are a lot of things you don’t remember,” she said, her fingers flying once again.

  “Such as?”

  “Such as when I sat on the council with your father.”

  I lifted my head, narrowing my eyes at her in suspicion. “You sat on the council?”

  She beamed, clearly pleased to have caught my attention. “Yes, I did. I was the only woman.”

  “Why?” I plucked a ball of yarn from her lap, watching it spin slowly in my palm as her repetitive motions gradually unwound it. It was soft and fuzzy, tickling my hand with an almost unbearably gentle sensation.

  “Why was I on the council?” she asked, and I nodded. “Because their decisions were important to me, and I wanted to have some input.”

  “Did Daddy make you quit?”

  My mother laughed. She actually threw her head back and laughed, drawing stares from across the room as she shattered the surface of a tense, grieving silence with a sound of genuine amusement. “Your father has never made me do anything,” she whispered, glancing around discreetly to make sure no one was bothered by her outburst. “But he did try to convince me to stay on the council.”

  “He wanted you to stay?” I couldn’t keep disbelief from my voice. She was turning my entire world inside out, with no idea of the impact of her words. I could almost believe the sun would rise tomorrow to light a purple sky and shine down on bright pink grass.

  “Is that so hard to believe? He thought the Alphas needed to be tempered by a less aggressive influence. Together, they’re pretty easily riled, you know.”

  “I know.” That was true for men in general, in my o
pinion. “Why weren’t there any other dams on the council?”

  “Well, I can’t speak for the other women, but none of them seemed particularly interested in discussing dry politics and border negotiations.”

  That was understandable. “So, why did you quit?”

  “I had more important work to do.”

  “You mean raising us?” I asked, my tone dipping once again into my endless supply of disdain. Why would a woman who’d served on the council want to give up such an important position to change diapers and pack bagged lunches?

  “You, mostly.” Her hands went still again as her eyes stared off into the past with a look so wistful it made me ache for her. “The boys tended to take care of each other, but you were too much for anyone else to handle.”

  I poked at the ball of yarn, avoiding her eyes. “I wasn’t that bad.”

  She smiled. “You broke Ethan’s arm.”

  “It was self-defense. He wouldn’t let go of my foot.”

  “He was helping you tie your shoe.”

  I shrugged. I remembered it differently. He’d held my foot down with his hands around my ankle, so I kicked him in the chest with my free foot. He fell onto his backside. When he stood, face flaming in anger, I swept his legs out from under him with the foot wearing the untied sneaker—my childish attempt at poetic justice. Ethan threw one arm back, trying to catch himself, and we both heard his wrist snap. Everyone in the house heard him howl. He was eight, and I was six.

  “What about the time you super-glued Ryan’s—” She stopped, glancing down at her lap. After a moment, her fingers flew into action, needles clicking with an all-new speed and intensity. She’d been about to ask about the time I’d super-glued Ryan’s hands to the handlebars of his bike. It was a clear-cut case of justifiable retaliation, but she would no more listen to my excuses than she would finish the story herself.