“Dad, we were going to tell you when things got a little calmer and we’d had a chance to sort it all out. But when we went to the lodge to pick up the key, Jerald Pierce called me a whore in front of half the council, so I think it’s safe to say that this particular cat is out of the bag. And they’re probably going to try to use it against us.”
“How on earth did Jerald find out?” my father demanded softly, but I knew what he was really asking: How the hell can the entire opposing half of the Territorial Council know something so intimate about three of his enforcers, when he didn’t know?
“Alex Malone figured it out last week, while Dean was using my face for a cutting board. Then Dean told Marc. And evidently anyone else who would listen. But I wanted you to hear it from me. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. We didn’t want to give you one more thing to worry about.”
My father glanced at the forest floor, then sank onto a thick, dry fallen log. “How is Marc?”
I closed my eyes against the burn of fresh tears. “He’s pissed, and hurt, and about a dozen other complicated, volatile emotions he has every right to feel. He’s fighting his instinct to kill Jace, and he’s not exactly happy with me, either. Though for the record, I’m not even sure he could kill Jace. He says I have to choose. Soon.”
“He’s right. This could get ugly, Faythe. Marc’s thought of you as his since you were sixteen years old, and temporarily losing you to the human world was hard enough for him. But to another tom? One who’s shown some serious grit lately? I’m guessing he’s juggling a lot of pain and humiliation, and coming from a potential Alpha, those are both likely to look a lot like anger.”
“I’d call it more of an encompassing, blinding rage.” I swiped one sleeve across my eyes and sat next to him. The bark was cold and rough, even through my jeans, but the trees blocked most of the frigid wind.
“And do you understand why?” My father’s voice was soft, his gaze calmly searching.
The answer seemed obvious, but the quiet intensity with which he asked told me that this was important enough for me to dig deeper than my impulse answer. I was the first potential Alpha in history who didn’t have a personal understanding of the tomcat’s position in our world, and how tenuous that status really was.
“Because this is about more than me hurting him. More than our relationship.” Shit. My heart crumpled as the system of dots began to connect in my head, illustrating for me the complicated connections and hierarchies that defined a tomcat’s rank within our world. “I’ve damaged his status. They already see him as an outsider, as inherently weaker. Lesser. They’ll see this as me rejecting Marc on some level, and if he’s not good enough for me, why would he be good enough for them?” My father nodded, and I hated myself a little more.
I’d insulted Marc personally and politically. I’d stabbed him in the back and in the heart at the same time. And considering how very public our troubles were about to become, I now considered myself lucky he was even speaking to me.
“Is this going to hurt us, politically?”
“You’re not on trial this time, Faythe.”
But we both knew I was. We all were. Everything a Pride cat does reflects on his Alpha, and all of it was fair game during the vote. Which is what we’d been counting on, with respect to the bloodstained feathers still in my inside jacket pocket.
Unfortunately, that sword sliced both ways.
“Are you mad at me? Or disappointed?” Somehow, that mattered more to me than the collective opinion of the entire council.
My father took off his glasses to polish them on the tail of the shirt showing through his open coat. “I would have been both, if this were just a game. If you were trying to make Marc jealous, or rebelling out of boredom. But if this is really more than that…I don’t see how I could be mad without calling myself a hypocrite. You can’t help who you love, Faythe. No one can.”
I blinked, confused. “You mean Mom…?”
He put his glasses back on, and a wistful smile stole over his lips. “She was engaged to Bert Di Carlo first. But then I came to the territory to enforce for your grandfather the summer after my freshman year in college, and we both fell, hard and fast.”
I sat stunned into silence. I knew my parents were still crazy in love—how else could any marriage last so long?—but I’d had no idea there had ever been such complications in their relationship. “How have I never heard this?”
“Why open old wounds? The past is the past, and it worked out for the best for all of us, in the end.”
“Was it hard?”
My dad shifted on the log to face me, and I could see the pain on his face, still very real even three decades later. “I’m not going to lie to you, Faythe. Bert didn’t speak to either of us for two years.”
“But now…”
“Now he’s one of my best friends and biggest supporters.”
And if it worked out for them, it could work out for us, right? No matter who I chose. Except… “Do you think he would have gotten over it if he hadn’t found Mrs. Di Carlo?” I fiddled with the zipper tab at the hem of my coat. “If he hadn’t fallen in love with someone else?”
“I honestly don’t know. He might not have. New love can help heal some pretty big wounds.”
Jace and I knew that better than most. But love could also open wounds. Big, gaping, gory ones.
“How on earth did Jerald find out?” my father demanded softly, but I knew what he was really asking: How the hell can the entire opposing half of the Territorial Council know something so intimate about three of his enforcers, when he didn’t know?
“Alex Malone figured it out last week, while Dean was using my face for a cutting board. Then Dean told Marc. And evidently anyone else who would listen. But I wanted you to hear it from me. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. We didn’t want to give you one more thing to worry about.”
My father glanced at the forest floor, then sank onto a thick, dry fallen log. “How is Marc?”
I closed my eyes against the burn of fresh tears. “He’s pissed, and hurt, and about a dozen other complicated, volatile emotions he has every right to feel. He’s fighting his instinct to kill Jace, and he’s not exactly happy with me, either. Though for the record, I’m not even sure he could kill Jace. He says I have to choose. Soon.”
“He’s right. This could get ugly, Faythe. Marc’s thought of you as his since you were sixteen years old, and temporarily losing you to the human world was hard enough for him. But to another tom? One who’s shown some serious grit lately? I’m guessing he’s juggling a lot of pain and humiliation, and coming from a potential Alpha, those are both likely to look a lot like anger.”
“I’d call it more of an encompassing, blinding rage.” I swiped one sleeve across my eyes and sat next to him. The bark was cold and rough, even through my jeans, but the trees blocked most of the frigid wind.
“And do you understand why?” My father’s voice was soft, his gaze calmly searching.
The answer seemed obvious, but the quiet intensity with which he asked told me that this was important enough for me to dig deeper than my impulse answer. I was the first potential Alpha in history who didn’t have a personal understanding of the tomcat’s position in our world, and how tenuous that status really was.
“Because this is about more than me hurting him. More than our relationship.” Shit. My heart crumpled as the system of dots began to connect in my head, illustrating for me the complicated connections and hierarchies that defined a tomcat’s rank within our world. “I’ve damaged his status. They already see him as an outsider, as inherently weaker. Lesser. They’ll see this as me rejecting Marc on some level, and if he’s not good enough for me, why would he be good enough for them?” My father nodded, and I hated myself a little more.
I’d insulted Marc personally and politically. I’d stabbed him in the back and in the heart at the same time. And considering how very public our troubles were about to become, I now considered myself lucky he was even speaking to me.
“Is this going to hurt us, politically?”
“You’re not on trial this time, Faythe.”
But we both knew I was. We all were. Everything a Pride cat does reflects on his Alpha, and all of it was fair game during the vote. Which is what we’d been counting on, with respect to the bloodstained feathers still in my inside jacket pocket.
Unfortunately, that sword sliced both ways.
“Are you mad at me? Or disappointed?” Somehow, that mattered more to me than the collective opinion of the entire council.
My father took off his glasses to polish them on the tail of the shirt showing through his open coat. “I would have been both, if this were just a game. If you were trying to make Marc jealous, or rebelling out of boredom. But if this is really more than that…I don’t see how I could be mad without calling myself a hypocrite. You can’t help who you love, Faythe. No one can.”
I blinked, confused. “You mean Mom…?”
He put his glasses back on, and a wistful smile stole over his lips. “She was engaged to Bert Di Carlo first. But then I came to the territory to enforce for your grandfather the summer after my freshman year in college, and we both fell, hard and fast.”
I sat stunned into silence. I knew my parents were still crazy in love—how else could any marriage last so long?—but I’d had no idea there had ever been such complications in their relationship. “How have I never heard this?”
“Why open old wounds? The past is the past, and it worked out for the best for all of us, in the end.”
“Was it hard?”
My dad shifted on the log to face me, and I could see the pain on his face, still very real even three decades later. “I’m not going to lie to you, Faythe. Bert didn’t speak to either of us for two years.”
“But now…”
“Now he’s one of my best friends and biggest supporters.”
And if it worked out for them, it could work out for us, right? No matter who I chose. Except… “Do you think he would have gotten over it if he hadn’t found Mrs. Di Carlo?” I fiddled with the zipper tab at the hem of my coat. “If he hadn’t fallen in love with someone else?”
“I honestly don’t know. He might not have. New love can help heal some pretty big wounds.”
Jace and I knew that better than most. But love could also open wounds. Big, gaping, gory ones.
