But this time, he couldn’t afford not to.
Twenty-One
I snuck into the office quietly, hoping to avoid my father’s notice. I shouldn’t have bothered. The Alpha was pacing back and forth between the far wall and the love seat, the living room phone pressed to his ear. He was completely absorbed in his call, but to my relief, he looked somewhat calmer than when he’d spoken to Paul Blackwell.
Dr. Carver sat hunched over behind my father’s desk, digging through the bottom filing cabinet drawer and occasionally swearing beneath his breath, evidently confident that in his current state of agitation, the Alpha would never notice.
He was right.
I had let Jace go on ahead, and he now sat on the love seat, watching me closely, feeding me courage with the confidence in his gaze. Dan sat straight on the cushion next to him, watching everything that happened around him, obviously surprised to find himself in the middle of our Pride crisis. Owen was on the couch opposite them, his cowboy hat on the end table, beside a short glass still damp with whiskey. He sat with his elbows on his knees, his head cradled in both hands. He looked lost and alone.
I sank onto the cushion beside my third brother and he looked up, his face swollen and red with tears. He spread his arms, welcoming me not with a smile, but with an expression I understood much better: shared anguish.
I turned sideways on the couch and scooted back until my spine touched his side. His left arm wrapped around me, and my head found his shoulder. He smelled like clean sweat, earth, and the mild aftershave he’d used since he was seventeen. They were familiar smells, and I loved them. But beneath them all was Owen’s personal scent, at once comforting and heartbreaking for its similarity to Ethan’s.
As if he knew what I was thinking, Owen squeezed me tighter, and I settled against him, closing my eyes for a moment.
When I opened them, they fell on Jace. He glanced at my father, then nodded at me encouragingly. I nodded back. I would talk to him as soon as he got off the phone. But first, I’d listen in on his call and try to get caught up. “What’d I miss?” I whispered to Owen.
“He’s talking to Uncle Rick.”
“Still?” It felt like I’d been in my room for an hour, but a glance at my watch told me it had been less than a third of that.
“Yeah. Uncle Rick’s bringing Abby, Aunt Melissa, and most of the guys for the funeral, on Saturday.”
Ethan’s funeral. In three days.
Of course there would be a funeral. I’d known that. I’d even thought of it in passing moments earlier. But I hadn’t really considered what that would mean. Dozens of people, Alphas, dams, toms, even the occasional tabby or child. All there to comfort us, to mourn, and to say goodbye to Ethan.
But I didn’t want to say goodbye to Ethan. I wasn’t ready, and deep down, I knew I never would be.
“What’s he doing?” I nodded toward Dr. Carver, still searching for something in the filing cabinet.
“He was getting the Pride phone directory, but I think he found that a few minutes ago,” Jace said, twisting to glance at the doc. “Now he’s trying to find Ryan.”
Of course. Because Mom would be crushed—possibly beyond repair—if Ryan didn’t make it to Ethan’s funeral. I didn’t know that Ryan was actually her favorite, though that’s probably the easiest way to explain their relationship. But my mother had a soft spot for her second-born, probably because he’d seemed to need her longer than any of the rest of us had, either for encouragement, comfort, or money.
A soft beep drew my attention to my father as his phone call ended, and he set the receiver on the bar. “Carver, hand me that list. Everyone takes a page. Start at the top and work your way down. Call them all in—everyone who isn’t looking for Marc.” A strong undercurrent of danger hummed through my father, thundering in each step he took, echoing his every word.
Dan shifted nervously on the love seat, and I shot him a small, reassuring smile. Then I swallowed thickly, clenching my hands together to hold them still as I looked for an opportunity to interrupt my father.
“I want them here by noon tomorrow,” he continued, oblivious to my nerves. “Keep it brief. Ethan has been attacked and killed on our own land by as yet unidentified assailants.” Because some of our Pride members were born into other Prides that might be loyal to Malone. News like what had really happened to Ethan would be delivered in person, so my father could watch the reactions carefully. “If you have to leave a message, just give my private number and instructions to call back immediately.”
Dr. Carver straightened and rolled his chair back to the front of the desk, where a three-ring binder lay open on the blotter. He popped the rings open and began pulling pages from the notebook.
“Daddy, wait.” I patted Owen’s knee and he lifted his arm to let me up. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
“Not now, Faythe.” He took the pages Carver handed him and gave one to Jace. “Most of these are cell-phone numbers, but since some of them are patrolling in cat form, you may have to leave voice mails. Make a note in the margin for each tom, to indicate whether you spoke to him or left a message.”
“It’s important.” My pulse racing, I stood, forcing my father to notice me.
He stalked around the love seat and held out pages for both me and Owen. “This is important.”
“I know, but…” I took the paper he handed me, because there was no other choice. So much for a private intervention… “I think charging in with our guns a-blazin’ might not be the best way to handle this one.”
Twenty-One
I snuck into the office quietly, hoping to avoid my father’s notice. I shouldn’t have bothered. The Alpha was pacing back and forth between the far wall and the love seat, the living room phone pressed to his ear. He was completely absorbed in his call, but to my relief, he looked somewhat calmer than when he’d spoken to Paul Blackwell.
Dr. Carver sat hunched over behind my father’s desk, digging through the bottom filing cabinet drawer and occasionally swearing beneath his breath, evidently confident that in his current state of agitation, the Alpha would never notice.
He was right.
I had let Jace go on ahead, and he now sat on the love seat, watching me closely, feeding me courage with the confidence in his gaze. Dan sat straight on the cushion next to him, watching everything that happened around him, obviously surprised to find himself in the middle of our Pride crisis. Owen was on the couch opposite them, his cowboy hat on the end table, beside a short glass still damp with whiskey. He sat with his elbows on his knees, his head cradled in both hands. He looked lost and alone.
I sank onto the cushion beside my third brother and he looked up, his face swollen and red with tears. He spread his arms, welcoming me not with a smile, but with an expression I understood much better: shared anguish.
I turned sideways on the couch and scooted back until my spine touched his side. His left arm wrapped around me, and my head found his shoulder. He smelled like clean sweat, earth, and the mild aftershave he’d used since he was seventeen. They were familiar smells, and I loved them. But beneath them all was Owen’s personal scent, at once comforting and heartbreaking for its similarity to Ethan’s.
As if he knew what I was thinking, Owen squeezed me tighter, and I settled against him, closing my eyes for a moment.
When I opened them, they fell on Jace. He glanced at my father, then nodded at me encouragingly. I nodded back. I would talk to him as soon as he got off the phone. But first, I’d listen in on his call and try to get caught up. “What’d I miss?” I whispered to Owen.
“He’s talking to Uncle Rick.”
“Still?” It felt like I’d been in my room for an hour, but a glance at my watch told me it had been less than a third of that.
“Yeah. Uncle Rick’s bringing Abby, Aunt Melissa, and most of the guys for the funeral, on Saturday.”
Ethan’s funeral. In three days.
Of course there would be a funeral. I’d known that. I’d even thought of it in passing moments earlier. But I hadn’t really considered what that would mean. Dozens of people, Alphas, dams, toms, even the occasional tabby or child. All there to comfort us, to mourn, and to say goodbye to Ethan.
But I didn’t want to say goodbye to Ethan. I wasn’t ready, and deep down, I knew I never would be.
“What’s he doing?” I nodded toward Dr. Carver, still searching for something in the filing cabinet.
“He was getting the Pride phone directory, but I think he found that a few minutes ago,” Jace said, twisting to glance at the doc. “Now he’s trying to find Ryan.”
Of course. Because Mom would be crushed—possibly beyond repair—if Ryan didn’t make it to Ethan’s funeral. I didn’t know that Ryan was actually her favorite, though that’s probably the easiest way to explain their relationship. But my mother had a soft spot for her second-born, probably because he’d seemed to need her longer than any of the rest of us had, either for encouragement, comfort, or money.
A soft beep drew my attention to my father as his phone call ended, and he set the receiver on the bar. “Carver, hand me that list. Everyone takes a page. Start at the top and work your way down. Call them all in—everyone who isn’t looking for Marc.” A strong undercurrent of danger hummed through my father, thundering in each step he took, echoing his every word.
Dan shifted nervously on the love seat, and I shot him a small, reassuring smile. Then I swallowed thickly, clenching my hands together to hold them still as I looked for an opportunity to interrupt my father.
“I want them here by noon tomorrow,” he continued, oblivious to my nerves. “Keep it brief. Ethan has been attacked and killed on our own land by as yet unidentified assailants.” Because some of our Pride members were born into other Prides that might be loyal to Malone. News like what had really happened to Ethan would be delivered in person, so my father could watch the reactions carefully. “If you have to leave a message, just give my private number and instructions to call back immediately.”
Dr. Carver straightened and rolled his chair back to the front of the desk, where a three-ring binder lay open on the blotter. He popped the rings open and began pulling pages from the notebook.
“Daddy, wait.” I patted Owen’s knee and he lifted his arm to let me up. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
“Not now, Faythe.” He took the pages Carver handed him and gave one to Jace. “Most of these are cell-phone numbers, but since some of them are patrolling in cat form, you may have to leave voice mails. Make a note in the margin for each tom, to indicate whether you spoke to him or left a message.”
“It’s important.” My pulse racing, I stood, forcing my father to notice me.
He stalked around the love seat and held out pages for both me and Owen. “This is important.”
“I know, but…” I took the paper he handed me, because there was no other choice. So much for a private intervention… “I think charging in with our guns a-blazin’ might not be the best way to handle this one.”
