I took a deep breath and approached it from another angle. “In this case, Malone probably only called on the Alphas who are siding with him against Dad. Since Dad can’t vote in a matter concerning himself, there were only nine possible votes, which makes five a simple majority. Malone obviously called on Paul Blackwell, and he probably also snagged Wes Gardner and Milo Mitchell. After that, he’d only need one more.”
“So, if he can get enough surefire votes in his favor, he never even has to tell the Alphas who woulda voted against him?” Dan asked, brows raised in question.
“Exactly.”
He frowned and shoved both hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Doesn’t sound fair to me.”
“Me, neither.” In fact, I was getting angrier just thinking about it. “In an open vote, those who vote nay would have a chance to make their case, possibly convincing others to change their minds. But you don’t get that in a closed vote. Which is exactly what Malone was counting on.”
“So, who’s the fifth vote?” Owen asked.
I shrugged. I hadn’t heard another name mentioned, though we’d very possibly missed that, thanks to my bumbling explanation of Malone’s slimy political tactics.
“Don’t care what he said he was going to do. What he actually did was send four cats—three armed with claws and canines—onto the back of our property to try to take that poor, traumatized kitten by force. And when my son fought to protect her, they killed him.”
Whatever Blackwell said next was too soft for me to hear, but his tone came through loud and clear. He sounded shocked and dismayed. Maybe even a little disillusioned, which struck me as a strange emotion coming from a man well into his seventies. At twenty-three, I wasn’t sure I had many illusions left to lose, and I couldn’t imagine how Blackwell could have attained such an advanced age with even a shred of naiveté still in place.
While Blackwell was speaking, my father’s eye caught mine briefly and I stepped into the office, pulling Owen in with me. Dan followed—hesitantly, until I waved him in—and we all sat on the couch in a row, hardly daring to breathe for fear of interrupting.
“Ethan,” my father said, answering a question I hadn’t heard. He sank wearily into his chair, as if the act of speaking his dead son’s name drained some vital bit of energy from him. “And no, it could not have been an accident. I was there. Malone’s tom pounced on him from above and slashed him right across the throat.” His voice broke on the last word, and my hand clenched around the arm of the couch.
“Greg, I’m terribly sorry for your loss,” Blackwell said, but I could hear the but coming. “But if you had cooperated when you were asked to turn Kaci over, none of this would have happened. We had her best interest in mind.”
“Bullshit!” my father roared, shooting up from his chair, and I actually jumped. “If you’d had her interests in mind, you would have asked me personally to give her up, rather than delegating that responsibility to Milo Mitchell, who’s already declared his opposition to me.”
Ahh, so he’d been talking to Kevin’s father when he refused to give Kaci up…. Small world.
“You could have chosen to place Kaci with a neutral third party, rather than with Calvin Malone,” my father continued, acid practically dripping from his words. “You can’t tell me you actually thought I’d turn her over to him without a struggle. And I’d bet my future on the council that he never expected me to. He was counting on a fight. He probably already had his men in place and ready to move before I ever even got the call about Kaci.
“Hell, if you really cared about her, and if you were really convinced she’s in danger here, you’d have arranged to take her in some manner that wouldn’t put her at further risk. Malone’s men frightened her so badly she lost consciousness. So don’t try to tell me this is my fault. I’ve been in your position, Paul. I’ve been head of the council for nearly fifteen years, and I have never once let my own ambition get in the way of the common goal.” Survival of the species, of course. “And that’s exactly what Calvin Malone is doing.”
For a moment, there was only silence but for the anxious heartbeats and shallow breathing around the room, and I wondered if the other Alpha had hung up.
“No, you would never let ambition impede us,” Blackwell replied finally, sounding so calm and collected that I wanted to grab the old man’s cane and beat him with it. “I have little doubt of that. But you would let your daughter get in the way of the common goal. Did you really think we’d let you raise another young woman to turn her nose up at her duty?”
That wrinkled old bastard! I was actually on my feet for nearly a second before Owen pulled me back down.
My father turned around so fast his chair rolled backward to smack the display cabinet behind him, rattling the glass in its frame. “My daughter is none of your business!” he roared, so loud I could swear I saw pencils shake in the marble jar on his desk. On my right, Owen was breathing hard, and Dan’s pulse was racing. Our Alpha was throwing large doses of anger and aggression into the air, and we were breathing it in like secondhand smoke. The buzz was just as addictive, and every bit as dangerous.
And if it didn’t stop soon, our high would end in a serious case of community bloodlust.
But even with his face violently flushed and his fists clenched, my father seemed unaware of the tension building in the room. “And you know damn well that if it weren’t for Faythe, both Abby Wade and Carissa Taylor would be dead by now. Or worse.”
“So, if he can get enough surefire votes in his favor, he never even has to tell the Alphas who woulda voted against him?” Dan asked, brows raised in question.
“Exactly.”
He frowned and shoved both hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Doesn’t sound fair to me.”
“Me, neither.” In fact, I was getting angrier just thinking about it. “In an open vote, those who vote nay would have a chance to make their case, possibly convincing others to change their minds. But you don’t get that in a closed vote. Which is exactly what Malone was counting on.”
“So, who’s the fifth vote?” Owen asked.
I shrugged. I hadn’t heard another name mentioned, though we’d very possibly missed that, thanks to my bumbling explanation of Malone’s slimy political tactics.
“Don’t care what he said he was going to do. What he actually did was send four cats—three armed with claws and canines—onto the back of our property to try to take that poor, traumatized kitten by force. And when my son fought to protect her, they killed him.”
Whatever Blackwell said next was too soft for me to hear, but his tone came through loud and clear. He sounded shocked and dismayed. Maybe even a little disillusioned, which struck me as a strange emotion coming from a man well into his seventies. At twenty-three, I wasn’t sure I had many illusions left to lose, and I couldn’t imagine how Blackwell could have attained such an advanced age with even a shred of naiveté still in place.
While Blackwell was speaking, my father’s eye caught mine briefly and I stepped into the office, pulling Owen in with me. Dan followed—hesitantly, until I waved him in—and we all sat on the couch in a row, hardly daring to breathe for fear of interrupting.
“Ethan,” my father said, answering a question I hadn’t heard. He sank wearily into his chair, as if the act of speaking his dead son’s name drained some vital bit of energy from him. “And no, it could not have been an accident. I was there. Malone’s tom pounced on him from above and slashed him right across the throat.” His voice broke on the last word, and my hand clenched around the arm of the couch.
“Greg, I’m terribly sorry for your loss,” Blackwell said, but I could hear the but coming. “But if you had cooperated when you were asked to turn Kaci over, none of this would have happened. We had her best interest in mind.”
“Bullshit!” my father roared, shooting up from his chair, and I actually jumped. “If you’d had her interests in mind, you would have asked me personally to give her up, rather than delegating that responsibility to Milo Mitchell, who’s already declared his opposition to me.”
Ahh, so he’d been talking to Kevin’s father when he refused to give Kaci up…. Small world.
“You could have chosen to place Kaci with a neutral third party, rather than with Calvin Malone,” my father continued, acid practically dripping from his words. “You can’t tell me you actually thought I’d turn her over to him without a struggle. And I’d bet my future on the council that he never expected me to. He was counting on a fight. He probably already had his men in place and ready to move before I ever even got the call about Kaci.
“Hell, if you really cared about her, and if you were really convinced she’s in danger here, you’d have arranged to take her in some manner that wouldn’t put her at further risk. Malone’s men frightened her so badly she lost consciousness. So don’t try to tell me this is my fault. I’ve been in your position, Paul. I’ve been head of the council for nearly fifteen years, and I have never once let my own ambition get in the way of the common goal.” Survival of the species, of course. “And that’s exactly what Calvin Malone is doing.”
For a moment, there was only silence but for the anxious heartbeats and shallow breathing around the room, and I wondered if the other Alpha had hung up.
“No, you would never let ambition impede us,” Blackwell replied finally, sounding so calm and collected that I wanted to grab the old man’s cane and beat him with it. “I have little doubt of that. But you would let your daughter get in the way of the common goal. Did you really think we’d let you raise another young woman to turn her nose up at her duty?”
That wrinkled old bastard! I was actually on my feet for nearly a second before Owen pulled me back down.
My father turned around so fast his chair rolled backward to smack the display cabinet behind him, rattling the glass in its frame. “My daughter is none of your business!” he roared, so loud I could swear I saw pencils shake in the marble jar on his desk. On my right, Owen was breathing hard, and Dan’s pulse was racing. Our Alpha was throwing large doses of anger and aggression into the air, and we were breathing it in like secondhand smoke. The buzz was just as addictive, and every bit as dangerous.
And if it didn’t stop soon, our high would end in a serious case of community bloodlust.
But even with his face violently flushed and his fists clenched, my father seemed unaware of the tension building in the room. “And you know damn well that if it weren’t for Faythe, both Abby Wade and Carissa Taylor would be dead by now. Or worse.”
