Pride. Rachel Vincent
Council, walked past him without responding, and it was all I could do not to laugh out loud. He’d been using that tactic on me for years, but I’d never expected to see him ignore a fellow Alpha’s question, as if it wasn’t worthy of reply. Though, for the record, I agreed with him completely.
Malone shouted after him. “We all took time away from our jobs—our lives—to come here on werecat business, not to take tea with Yogi Bear!”
My dad strolled through the living room and into the kitchen, where we all watched him pour the last of the coffee into a clean mug, as if his authority wasn’t being questioned in front of Alpha and enforcer alike.
Malone followed him, stopping on the worn linoleum. “This is free territory. Of course there are strays here. We put them here!”
Daddy poured a packet of sugar into his coffee and stirred, looking no more annoyed than he might be by a fly buzzing near his ear. Malone seethed. “You cannot seriously be asking us to set aside your daughter’s criminal behavior in favor of chasing a few stray cats up the side of a mountain.”
That did it. My father brought the mug slowly to his lips. He sipped from it, eyeing Malone with all the patience in the world, and I understood in that moment why my father was the head of the council, and Calvin Malone never would be: Malone had no patience. No sense of timing. He wanted instant gratification, even on little things like getting a rise out of my father.
“No,” Daddy said. “I’m not asking you to do anything.” With that, he turned his back on Malone, showing the entire room that he had nothing to fear from his fellow Alpha. For toms like Malone, fear was synonymous with respect, and my father had just insulted him on a massive scale.
I think I was starting to rub off on him.
My father set his mug on the counter and turned to face the room. “We’ll send everyone we can spare. Jace, will you round them up, please?”
Jace was out of his chair and through the back door in less than a second.
As the first of the enforcers straggled in, I rose to refill my mug and found the pot empty. I had a fresh pot going when Marc followed the last tom in, at which point my father finished his coffee and cleared his throat for our attention. “In case anyone’s eavesdropping efforts failed—” quiet chuckling echoed across the living room “—we have agreed to investigate a matter brought to our attention by Elias Keller, the bruin we all just met. Mr. Keller says a group of strays has been making trouble near his home. You should be able to pick up their scents at a pond about six miles north of here.”
Excited murmurs rose throughout the room as anticipation of the chase swelled. I shared the guys’ eagerness, but knew without being told that I would not be participating. The council would never let me run free—even on an important assignment—while the hearing was in progress, and once it was over, the point would likely be moot. I might never run anywhere again.
That thought sent a jolt of fear through me, and the coffeepot shook in my grip, clattering against my empty mug. Marc lifted it from my hand, filling first my cup, then one for himself. I met his eyes—and he didn’t look away.
“I want you in pairs,” my father called out from the living room, drawing my attention back to the hunt I would take no part in. “One man from each team on two feet, the other on four paws. Stay ten yards apart, and head north to start. Check in with your Alpha by cell phone every hour. Got it?”
Several toms nodded, but Brett Malone—he of the unaccepted proposal—spoke up with a question, drawing a scowl from his father. “What should we do with the strays, if we find them?”
“Bring them back. Alive. Unconscious, if necessary.”
Brett frowned. “Should we use tranquilizers?”
My father’s brow rose in mild surprise, no doubt only a fraction of what he was truly feeling. Then his mouth turned down in what I knew from experience to be extreme displeasure. “We have tranquilizers?” He glanced at his brother-in-law for confirmation, and Uncle Rick nodded.
“Yes,” Malone chimed in, a slimy smile taking over his face as he glanced pointedly at me. “We have plenty of tranquilizers.” His implication was clear. They hadn’t come expecting trouble from strays, but they’d obviously expected some from me.
Fortunately, my father knew how to roll with the punches. “Then yes. If any of the strays are in cat form, tranquilize them and bring them back. We’ll have more than a few questions for them to answer.” He looked at Marc, who nodded in acknowledgment of his role in the process. Marc was the enforcer’s enforcer. He was my father’s big gun, the one in charge of convincing unruly cats to do what they should. He was also our executioner, when the situation called for one.
Which meant that if Calvin Malone got his way, Marc’s would be the last face I ever saw.
But my dad would never let that happen. Hell, I would never let that happen. And neither would Marc.
“Any more questions?” my father asked. When no one spoke up, he waved one thick hand toward the front door. “Good. Stay in sight of your partner at all times. Use your head, as well as your nose.” One corner of his mouth quirked up in an amused smile. “And see Brett for a tranquilizer before you go.”
Brett was already on the job. He’d just come in from the hallway with a big cardboard box, from which he pulled a handful of preloaded hypodermic needles, capped in red plastic. “You’ll have to get close to use these, of course,” he said, handing the first two needles to Jace, and the next two to Blackwell’s young grandson. “But they’ll work pretty fast.”
Frowning, I settled back into my chair at the table, thinking of where I’d like to shove Malone’s hypodermics.
In the living room, my father leaned against the wall next to his brother-in-law and both Alphas eyed the absurdly large box of sedatives. “Expecting trouble, were you?”
Uncle Rick chuckled. “Malone’s a frugal bastard, and they’re cheaper in bulk.”
“I bet.” But Daddy smiled. He was amused by all the needles, and so was I. The fact that they were prepared to sedate me—for the rest of my natural life, apparently—meant that they took me seriously. Were maybe even afraid of me, just a little bit.
Fear wasn’t quite as good as respect—but I’d take it.
My father cleared his throat, and everyone stopped what they were doing to look at him. “I’d like to speak to the council members in the dining room, please.”
Malone frowned and jerked his head in my general direction. “What about her?”
“She’ll have to come along.”
Oh, goodie! Insider information… I sipped from my mug to hide my smile.
“No.” Malone said, and I twisted to look at him so fast a jolt of pain shot through my neck. He shook his head firmly.
Blackwell stood. “She cannot sit in on council meetings, Greg. Not before we have a verdict. She hasn’t earned enough trust.”
My father nodded in concession, and a pang of disappointment leached through me. More sitting around, bored. I should have packed more books.
“Someone will have to watch her,” Blackwell continued, and I stiffened. The tribunal had put me under round-the-clock guard until the hearing was over, like I was some psychopath who might run off to infect and murder more humans if they lost sight of me for more than a five-minute bathroom break.
“Fine,” my father said, because he clearly had no choice. But there were only two toms left to watch me: Brett Malone and a Nordic-looking Canadian transplant named Colin Dean, who’d been hired by Paul Blackwell a few months earlier. I’d never said a word to him, and wasn’t eager to, based on the sheer number of times I’d caught him staring at my chest.
I