Rogue. Rachel Vincent
But what if I was wrong? What if the cat was one of ours, just out for an odd solitary stroll? If I bellowed a roar of alarm and everyone came running to find me stalking one of our own cats, the guys would never let me live it down. I had to be sure.
I took off after the other cat, my steps silent and confident, my ears alert for any sound to tell me which way he’d gone. Unfortunately, the short glimpse I’d gotten of black fur did nothing to help me narrow down the list of possible suspects. All werecats are solid black in feline form, regardless of their hair color and skin tone on two legs. Black fur is part of our heritage, even for newly initiated strays. To identify the unknown cat, I’d need either a good whiff of him or a much closer look.
After less than a minute of careful stalking, keeping my eyes, ears, and nose on alert, I heard leaves crunch to the west and adjusted my direction accordingly. Minutes later, I heard the crack of wood splintering. The sound was much closer that time, and just to my left, on the other side of a thick clump of briars.
I padded silently to the edge of the brush and peeked around it. At first I saw nothing but more trees and bushes. But then I heard him breathing, slowly and evenly, and near the ground. The suspicious werecat lay stretched out peacefully beneath a cedar tree with his eyes closed, almost asleep. Except he wasn’t a he. He was a she.
It was my mother.
I huffed sharply in surprise and stepped back from the edge of the briar patch, hoping she hadn’t heard me. In my entire twenty-three years, I’d only seen my mother in cat form twice, because since she became a mother, she only Shifted when she was really upset. The first time I’d seen her with claws and a tail was the day her mother died, when I was ten years old. The second time was the night Ryan left the Pride to live as a wildcat, breaking her heart. That time, she’d stayed alone in the woods for three days, and my father had forbidden any of us to go after her. Brow creased in worry, he’d said she needed time to mourn her loss, and that we should be willing to give our mother whatever she needed. So we had.
Ryan, I thought, trying to jerk my left rear paw free from a tangle of ivy without making any noise. This is about Ryan. My mother had been spending large blocks of time alone all summer, even during Abby’s stay, which just wasn’t like her. Normally, she’d have used a fellow tabby’s visit as an opportunity to show me how I should be living my life. But this time, she’d turned my teenage cousin over to me several times a week, claiming Abby needed plenty of distractions to help her recover from her ordeal at Miguel’s hands.
I happened to agree, and since she let me teach Abby the basics of self-defense during her stay—after all, nothing puts repressed rage to better use than kicking the shit out of a big punching bag with a scary face drawn on it—I didn’t think to question what my mother was doing during our “therapy” sessions. I’d assumed she was in her room, knitting something for one charity auction or another. Evidently I’d been wrong.
It started the day we’d returned from Missouri with the body of Vic’s younger brother, Anthony, along with the remains of Miguel and Sean, his accomplice. I’d assumed my mother was trying to deal with what had happened, with the loss of one tabby and the near loss of two more, including me. After all, our very existence had been threatened, our collective vulnerability exposed. But I should have known better. My mother was stronger than that. She was the silent backbone of our family and a former power on the Territorial Council. As such, she could deal with threats and disasters on a large scale, because they weren’t aimed at her personally.
But she couldn’t deal with Ryan.
Ryan was her Achilles’ heel. He had wounded her twice now, the first time when he left us, and the second when he teamed up with Miguel to save his own fur. But there was more to my mother’s personal crisis, to the guilt that drove her into isolation in the woods, than everyone else knew. My mother had a secret, and it was eating her alive.
Seven
I snuck back through the woods as soon as I was sure my mother was asleep, and during the entire twenty-minute walk back to the ranch, I debated whether or not to tell her I knew her secret. And that I wasn’t the only one.
To my knowledge, only two others knew, and I was sure neither of them would ever tell. Ryan’s motivation for keeping his mouth shut was the same as always: to save his own hide. Our father had agreed to let him live against the wishes of most of the rest of the Territorial Council. In fact, our father was the only thing standing between Ryan and a very slow, very painful death. Ryan would never do anything to piss off the one man keeping him alive, and nothing would put his existence in greater peril than telling our father that he’d used our mother to spy on the Territorial Council.
The only other person who knew that my mother had unwittingly fed our abductors privileged information was Abby. She’d been locked up in the basement cell across from mine when we found out about Ryan betraying his family to save his own life, and she’d been just as disgusted with him as I was. But she’d promised me never to breathe a word about it to anyone. For my mother’s sake, not for Ryan’s.
In the clearing just inside the edge of the forest, I stopped to Shift back, my mind still on my mother.
I’d never really questioned my decision not to tell her what I knew. Technically, it was none of my business, but more important, I didn’t want to be the cause of problems between my parents. She had meant no harm. On the contrary, she’d been trying to mend the rift between Ryan and the rest of the family.
Shortly after Ryan left, when I was thirteen, my mother became secretly obsessed with tracking him down to talk him into rejoining the Pride. After two years of searching, she found him, and though he eagerly accepted her money, he steadily refused to come home. In retrospect, I think that was the closest he ever came to standing up for something he believed in.
When Ryan got tangled up in Miguel’s kidnapping scheme and began using her to spy on the council, my mother never had a clue. I could only assume she figured it out when Owen dragged Ryan home in shame, not to mention shackles. I couldn’t be sure, though, because I’d never asked either of them. But as far as I knew, she hadn’t spoken one word to Ryan since the night my father locked him up.
My Shift complete, I forced thoughts of my mother and brother from my mind as I stepped into the backyard to find my clothes.
Normally I wouldn’t have bothered dressing until I’d showered. Werecats are accustomed to seeing one another in all variations of undress, as well as all stages of mid-Shift. But hopefully there would be a delivery boy on the property soon, for whom we’d have to make allowances. Walking around nude in front of humans was not a good way to keep a low profile with the local community. It was an excellent way to make new friends, though.
Unfortunately, Marc didn’t like new friends.
Dressed, except for my bare feet, I crossed the yard and stepped into the back hall, shoes dangling from the fingers of my left hand. Before I reached my room, Ethan stepped out of the kitchen with a stack of cheddar Pringles cradled in one hand. He smiled, extending his snack toward me. “Bite?”
I hesitated, then shrugged. “Actually, yeah. Thanks.” We met halfway, only a few feet from my open bedroom door, and I snatched the entire stack from his hand, grinning as I danced out of reach. I was still dodging my brother’s long-armed grasp when my father’s office door opened and he appeared in the threshold.
“Karen!” he bellowed to the house in general. “We’re supposed to be there in an hour.”
Clearly expecting an answer, he paused, glancing down the hall in our direction. But no response came.
“Karen?” he called again, stepping into the center of the foyer. Still no answer. My father’s eyes locked onto mine, and my heart started to pound. Surely he could hear it. He knew I knew something. I barely resisted the urge to hide behind Ethan. “Have either of you seen your mother?”
“Yeah,” Ethan said, and my heart actually skipped a beat.
He