“The truth. Is your dad doing this? Did he sic the birds on us?”
“Faythe, I can’t…He’ll kill me.”
“Jake Taylor’s dead, Brett. And Charlie Eames may never walk again, if he survives.” I shouldn’t have disclosed our damages to the enemy; that was on page one of the don’t-screw-your-own-Pride handbook. But you don’t make gains without taking risks, and I believed in Brett.
Of course, I’d believed in Dan Painter, too, but then his double agent act had nearly gotten me killed. But Brett would come through for us. He had to.…
“I’m sorry. I—”
“Apologies aren’t good enough, Brett. They almost got Kaci. You know what your father will do if he gets his paws on her.”
“He would never hurt her.”
“No, he’d just whore her out to one of your brothers the day she turns eighteen. Earlier, if he can pass it off as in the best interest of the species. Are you going to let him do that? Are you going to let him sell her in marriage just so he can get his sticky hands on our territory? Or the Di Carlos’?” Because Umberto Di Carlo had no heir, thanks to his daughter’s murder, and once he retired—or was forced into retirement—someone would have to take over his territory.
And in our world, he who has the tabbies has the power.
“Is that what you want for Kaci?” I asked when Brett didn’t answer. “Hell, is that what you want for Mel?” Melody Malone was only fourteen, and already being courted by several toms handpicked by her father. By all accounts she’d bought into his propaganda and believed that her decision had the power to make or break her Pride. She took the responsibility very seriously and would have done anything to please her father.
Poor, warped kid.
“Of course not,” Brett said at last, and his next pause was long. “But if I do this, I can’t stay here.” If his father found out he’d betrayed his Pride, Malone would take his claws and his canines and throw him in their cage so fast he’d still be reeling from the first blow. And he’d never get out. I had no doubt of that.
My toes curled in the thick carpet, as if they alone anchored me to the floor. Was he saying what I thought he was saying? “What can I do?”
“I need sanctuary. If your dad gives his word, I swear I’ll tell you everything I know.”
I exhaled in relief and actually felt the beginnings of a smile coming on. This was what Blackwell needed. With proof, he would have to revoke his allegiance to Malone and begin prosecuting him instead. The pendulum of power would shift back to my father. Or at least away from Malone.
“Let me see what I can do.”
“Hurry…”
I threw open my bedroom door and tapped and shoved my way through the crowd to Owen’s room, the tile cold against my bare feet. Dr. Carver sat in the chair by Charlie Eames’s bed, drawing more clear liquid into a syringe from a small, inverted glass bottle.
I glanced briefly at Charlie and noticed that his skin was paler than I’d ever seen it. And that his stomach looked…puffy. But then my gaze caught my father’s, and I waved for him to follow me. Dr. Carver only looked up briefly, but both Marc and Jace followed us into the hall.
Once we’d escaped the crowd, I held up Jace’s phone, blocking the sound, already heading toward the living room since Blackwell still occupied the office. If Brett came through like I hoped he would, we could let him speak directly to the old man who would then have no choice but to believe Malone’s involvement. “I have Brett Malone on the line, and he’s willing to tell us what he knows, in exchange for sanctuary.”
Marc’s brows rose; he was obviously impressed. Jace beamed. “I wish I’d thought of that.” But even if he had, half brother or not, Brett might not have talked to Jace. Not like he would talk to me. I’d saved his life. Plus, I was a girl, and like it or not, most toms weren’t threatened by me. At least, not until I’d had reason to prove they should be.
My father frowned and sank wearily into an armchair angled in front of the picture window. “What makes you think we should trust him?”
I perched on the arm of the overstuffed couch, facing him. “He told us his dad was going to challenge you. For what little good that did us.”
“Exactly.” He templed his hands beneath his chin, a sure sign that he was considering my proposal, even if he sounded skeptical. “That made him look loyal and grateful, but the information came too late to be of any use. It sounds to me like he’s been studying his father’s playbook.”
“He didn’t know Cal was going to move so quickly,” Jace insisted, sitting on the edge of another chair pulled near the window.
My father thought, and I bit my lip to keep from rushing him. “What does he know?”
I could only shrug, still holding the phone up with my hand covering the mouthpiece. “He’s waiting for your word that you’ll take him in.”
“Then how do you know he knows anything?”
Jace frowned. “If Calvin’s involved, Brett knows.”
Marc nodded solemnly. “And he’s probably risking a lot, just talking to Faythe.”
“He is. And he doesn’t have a lot of time.” Too nervous to sit, I stood, watching my father anxiously. My heartbeat ticked off each endless second of silence. Then, finally, he opened his eyes and held one hand out.
“Give me the phone.”
“Faythe, I can’t…He’ll kill me.”
“Jake Taylor’s dead, Brett. And Charlie Eames may never walk again, if he survives.” I shouldn’t have disclosed our damages to the enemy; that was on page one of the don’t-screw-your-own-Pride handbook. But you don’t make gains without taking risks, and I believed in Brett.
Of course, I’d believed in Dan Painter, too, but then his double agent act had nearly gotten me killed. But Brett would come through for us. He had to.…
“I’m sorry. I—”
“Apologies aren’t good enough, Brett. They almost got Kaci. You know what your father will do if he gets his paws on her.”
“He would never hurt her.”
“No, he’d just whore her out to one of your brothers the day she turns eighteen. Earlier, if he can pass it off as in the best interest of the species. Are you going to let him do that? Are you going to let him sell her in marriage just so he can get his sticky hands on our territory? Or the Di Carlos’?” Because Umberto Di Carlo had no heir, thanks to his daughter’s murder, and once he retired—or was forced into retirement—someone would have to take over his territory.
And in our world, he who has the tabbies has the power.
“Is that what you want for Kaci?” I asked when Brett didn’t answer. “Hell, is that what you want for Mel?” Melody Malone was only fourteen, and already being courted by several toms handpicked by her father. By all accounts she’d bought into his propaganda and believed that her decision had the power to make or break her Pride. She took the responsibility very seriously and would have done anything to please her father.
Poor, warped kid.
“Of course not,” Brett said at last, and his next pause was long. “But if I do this, I can’t stay here.” If his father found out he’d betrayed his Pride, Malone would take his claws and his canines and throw him in their cage so fast he’d still be reeling from the first blow. And he’d never get out. I had no doubt of that.
My toes curled in the thick carpet, as if they alone anchored me to the floor. Was he saying what I thought he was saying? “What can I do?”
“I need sanctuary. If your dad gives his word, I swear I’ll tell you everything I know.”
I exhaled in relief and actually felt the beginnings of a smile coming on. This was what Blackwell needed. With proof, he would have to revoke his allegiance to Malone and begin prosecuting him instead. The pendulum of power would shift back to my father. Or at least away from Malone.
“Let me see what I can do.”
“Hurry…”
I threw open my bedroom door and tapped and shoved my way through the crowd to Owen’s room, the tile cold against my bare feet. Dr. Carver sat in the chair by Charlie Eames’s bed, drawing more clear liquid into a syringe from a small, inverted glass bottle.
I glanced briefly at Charlie and noticed that his skin was paler than I’d ever seen it. And that his stomach looked…puffy. But then my gaze caught my father’s, and I waved for him to follow me. Dr. Carver only looked up briefly, but both Marc and Jace followed us into the hall.
Once we’d escaped the crowd, I held up Jace’s phone, blocking the sound, already heading toward the living room since Blackwell still occupied the office. If Brett came through like I hoped he would, we could let him speak directly to the old man who would then have no choice but to believe Malone’s involvement. “I have Brett Malone on the line, and he’s willing to tell us what he knows, in exchange for sanctuary.”
Marc’s brows rose; he was obviously impressed. Jace beamed. “I wish I’d thought of that.” But even if he had, half brother or not, Brett might not have talked to Jace. Not like he would talk to me. I’d saved his life. Plus, I was a girl, and like it or not, most toms weren’t threatened by me. At least, not until I’d had reason to prove they should be.
My father frowned and sank wearily into an armchair angled in front of the picture window. “What makes you think we should trust him?”
I perched on the arm of the overstuffed couch, facing him. “He told us his dad was going to challenge you. For what little good that did us.”
“Exactly.” He templed his hands beneath his chin, a sure sign that he was considering my proposal, even if he sounded skeptical. “That made him look loyal and grateful, but the information came too late to be of any use. It sounds to me like he’s been studying his father’s playbook.”
“He didn’t know Cal was going to move so quickly,” Jace insisted, sitting on the edge of another chair pulled near the window.
My father thought, and I bit my lip to keep from rushing him. “What does he know?”
I could only shrug, still holding the phone up with my hand covering the mouthpiece. “He’s waiting for your word that you’ll take him in.”
“Then how do you know he knows anything?”
Jace frowned. “If Calvin’s involved, Brett knows.”
Marc nodded solemnly. “And he’s probably risking a lot, just talking to Faythe.”
“He is. And he doesn’t have a lot of time.” Too nervous to sit, I stood, watching my father anxiously. My heartbeat ticked off each endless second of silence. Then, finally, he opened his eyes and held one hand out.
“Give me the phone.”
