Pride. Rachel Vincent
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.