Blind Tiger
Page 5
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Faythe Sanders gave me a short warning shake of her head, but before I could rephrase, Jerold Pierce leaned forward in his chair, his eyes narrowed, his jaw tight. “A larger force? Is that a threat?”
Paul Blackwell scoffed, his bony grip tight on his knobby cane. “Hush, Jerold, the boy’s not threatening us. The free zone is overrun with strays and rogues. He doesn’t have enough time or resources—even with his dozen men—to make trouble for us.”
The old man was right, but I knew better than to admit that. “I’m not threatening you. My point is that my Pride has been designed after the model you established. I’ve conformed to all of your requirements. And to answer your question, Mr. Mitchell, you should recognize my Pride because it will benefit you all to have the free zone under control. Those of you in the south can rest easier knowing that our border is friendly. Knowing that the men in my territory follow all the same rules your own members follow. Knowing that we’re no threat. That we are, in fact, your allies.”
For a second, Gardner, Pierce, and the young one—Abby’s brother, Isaac Wade, who’d inherited Jace’s Pride—seemed to be considering my points. Then…
“Why should we trust a stray?” Mitchell demanded.
Faythe held up one hand before I could unclench my jaw, and she carefully pushed herself to her feet, one hand on her round belly. “We agreed to hear Mr. Alexander out,” she reminded the room in general. “And bickering is beneath the stature of this council.”
“Nonsense. Bickering is a time-honored council tradition,” Blackwell insisted. A couple of the older men chuckled, and Isaac dared a hesitant smile.
“Do your strays want to be governed?” one of the Alphas asked, as the laughter faded, and I had to mentally grasp for his name.
Nick Davidson. Widowed Alpha of the New England Pride.
“Excuse me?” That was the last question I’d expected to be asked by a panel of mostly-men who’d been virtual dictators for their entire adult lives. Since when do they care whether their Pride members want to be governed? Shifter Prides are not a democracy.
“Your ‘Pride’ is made up of strays and rogues, right?” Davidson demanded softly. “The strays grew up human, and—like Robyn—they have no real concept of the Alpha-centric hierarchy. And the rogues presumably defected to the free zone specifically to escape that hierarchy. So my question is this: do they want you there at all? How are we supposed to believe you can control an element of our society that is, by definition, rebellious and out of control?”
I met his gaze. “You’re supposed to believe I can do it because I’ve been doing it for more than a year now, without recognition or assistance from this council. And in that year, the number of infections and shifter-related homicides in the free zone has had a distinct downward trajectory, as my statistics clearly show.” I laid one hand on my laptop, and one of the Alphas actually rolled his eyes. So much for fair consideration. “Can that be said about your own territories?”
Faythe groaned over my departure from the script. She, Marc, and Jace—the co-authors of my proposal—had given me detailed instructions about how best to address the council without pissing anyone off. But the Alphas weren’t taking my respectful, sycophantic approach seriously. Time for a dose of the truth.
I stood straight and looked around the room, making eye contact with each Alpha. Making them look up at me. “Many of you seem to be misunderstanding my intent. I’m not asking for a favor. I’m offering to do you a favor. It’s in your best interest to acknowledge my Pride and establish an open line of communication.”
Mitchell snorted. “How is that?”
“For decades, you’ve been banishing strays and rogues from your territories, waiting for them to break one of your laws so that you can justify executing them. And eventually they all break the laws—rules they don’t understand and aren’t even always aware of—because you’ve thrown them out without any guidance or advice. You don’t help them through scratch fever. You don’t teach them to control their new instincts and impulses. You toss them out like garbage. I’m out there standing in the Dumpster, cleaning up the mess you made.”
“Titus…” Faythe began, and I could practically see the warning building behind her eyes. “Never mind.” She waved one hand for me to continue, then sank carefully into her spot on the left-hand couch. “They need to hear the truth. Give it to ‘em.”
So I turned back to the room full of scowls aimed at me. “Your council recognizes three free zones, and each of them is a dark spot on your collective radar. I’m offering to turn the lights on in what was once the Mississippi free zone. To share information, so you know which of the strays and rogues in my territory are a threat to you and which could be assets.”
“We don’t need your assets,” Ed Taylor, Alpha of the Midwest Pride insisted.
Faythe rolled her eyes. “Yes, we do, Ed.”
“You’re living in the past,” I told them. “Information moves at the speed of Wi-Fi now, and if you keep shunning strays and rogues, they’re going to break your secret to the world, and no threat of execution will be enough to keep them quiet. You’ve created a second class of citizens you can’t monitor or control, and it’s time to open the door and let them in. Let them work with you, rather than against you. I’m offering to help you do that.”
“He’s right.” A bulge rippled across Faythe’s belly as the baby kicked, and she rubbed it in small circles.
“The hell he is,” Blackwell snapped, his fist tightening around his cane. “We didn’t create this problem. We’re not the ones out there making more strays. These days, its strays infecting other strays. Back in my day, we had a simple solution for that.”
The old man’s threat went unspoken, but we all knew what he wasn’t saying. Back in Blackwell’s day, strays had been executed on sight, to prevent the spread of infection.
If he were in charge, I’d be dead.
“Back in your day, forensics was an infant science and the internet wasn’t even imagined.” Faythe stood again and began pacing, stretching with every awkward step, as if she couldn’t get comfortable. “We live in a different world now. It’s time to open our eyes, gentlemen.”
Paul Blackwell scoffed, his bony grip tight on his knobby cane. “Hush, Jerold, the boy’s not threatening us. The free zone is overrun with strays and rogues. He doesn’t have enough time or resources—even with his dozen men—to make trouble for us.”
The old man was right, but I knew better than to admit that. “I’m not threatening you. My point is that my Pride has been designed after the model you established. I’ve conformed to all of your requirements. And to answer your question, Mr. Mitchell, you should recognize my Pride because it will benefit you all to have the free zone under control. Those of you in the south can rest easier knowing that our border is friendly. Knowing that the men in my territory follow all the same rules your own members follow. Knowing that we’re no threat. That we are, in fact, your allies.”
For a second, Gardner, Pierce, and the young one—Abby’s brother, Isaac Wade, who’d inherited Jace’s Pride—seemed to be considering my points. Then…
“Why should we trust a stray?” Mitchell demanded.
Faythe held up one hand before I could unclench my jaw, and she carefully pushed herself to her feet, one hand on her round belly. “We agreed to hear Mr. Alexander out,” she reminded the room in general. “And bickering is beneath the stature of this council.”
“Nonsense. Bickering is a time-honored council tradition,” Blackwell insisted. A couple of the older men chuckled, and Isaac dared a hesitant smile.
“Do your strays want to be governed?” one of the Alphas asked, as the laughter faded, and I had to mentally grasp for his name.
Nick Davidson. Widowed Alpha of the New England Pride.
“Excuse me?” That was the last question I’d expected to be asked by a panel of mostly-men who’d been virtual dictators for their entire adult lives. Since when do they care whether their Pride members want to be governed? Shifter Prides are not a democracy.
“Your ‘Pride’ is made up of strays and rogues, right?” Davidson demanded softly. “The strays grew up human, and—like Robyn—they have no real concept of the Alpha-centric hierarchy. And the rogues presumably defected to the free zone specifically to escape that hierarchy. So my question is this: do they want you there at all? How are we supposed to believe you can control an element of our society that is, by definition, rebellious and out of control?”
I met his gaze. “You’re supposed to believe I can do it because I’ve been doing it for more than a year now, without recognition or assistance from this council. And in that year, the number of infections and shifter-related homicides in the free zone has had a distinct downward trajectory, as my statistics clearly show.” I laid one hand on my laptop, and one of the Alphas actually rolled his eyes. So much for fair consideration. “Can that be said about your own territories?”
Faythe groaned over my departure from the script. She, Marc, and Jace—the co-authors of my proposal—had given me detailed instructions about how best to address the council without pissing anyone off. But the Alphas weren’t taking my respectful, sycophantic approach seriously. Time for a dose of the truth.
I stood straight and looked around the room, making eye contact with each Alpha. Making them look up at me. “Many of you seem to be misunderstanding my intent. I’m not asking for a favor. I’m offering to do you a favor. It’s in your best interest to acknowledge my Pride and establish an open line of communication.”
Mitchell snorted. “How is that?”
“For decades, you’ve been banishing strays and rogues from your territories, waiting for them to break one of your laws so that you can justify executing them. And eventually they all break the laws—rules they don’t understand and aren’t even always aware of—because you’ve thrown them out without any guidance or advice. You don’t help them through scratch fever. You don’t teach them to control their new instincts and impulses. You toss them out like garbage. I’m out there standing in the Dumpster, cleaning up the mess you made.”
“Titus…” Faythe began, and I could practically see the warning building behind her eyes. “Never mind.” She waved one hand for me to continue, then sank carefully into her spot on the left-hand couch. “They need to hear the truth. Give it to ‘em.”
So I turned back to the room full of scowls aimed at me. “Your council recognizes three free zones, and each of them is a dark spot on your collective radar. I’m offering to turn the lights on in what was once the Mississippi free zone. To share information, so you know which of the strays and rogues in my territory are a threat to you and which could be assets.”
“We don’t need your assets,” Ed Taylor, Alpha of the Midwest Pride insisted.
Faythe rolled her eyes. “Yes, we do, Ed.”
“You’re living in the past,” I told them. “Information moves at the speed of Wi-Fi now, and if you keep shunning strays and rogues, they’re going to break your secret to the world, and no threat of execution will be enough to keep them quiet. You’ve created a second class of citizens you can’t monitor or control, and it’s time to open the door and let them in. Let them work with you, rather than against you. I’m offering to help you do that.”
“He’s right.” A bulge rippled across Faythe’s belly as the baby kicked, and she rubbed it in small circles.
“The hell he is,” Blackwell snapped, his fist tightening around his cane. “We didn’t create this problem. We’re not the ones out there making more strays. These days, its strays infecting other strays. Back in my day, we had a simple solution for that.”
The old man’s threat went unspoken, but we all knew what he wasn’t saying. Back in Blackwell’s day, strays had been executed on sight, to prevent the spread of infection.
If he were in charge, I’d be dead.
“Back in your day, forensics was an infant science and the internet wasn’t even imagined.” Faythe stood again and began pacing, stretching with every awkward step, as if she couldn’t get comfortable. “We live in a different world now. It’s time to open our eyes, gentlemen.”
