Jace nodded and left without complaint. Marc closed the solid oak door behind him, cutting off the masculine buzz of conversation coming from the back of the house.
Suddenly nervous, I wiped sweat from my palms on my pants. I’d never been comfortable in Daddy’s office when the door was closed. Unlike the rest of the house, the wal s of the office were made of solid concrete, which made them virtual y soundproof, even for us. At least in human form. Most families use rooms like that as an indoor tornado shelter, or as safe rooms in case of home invasions.
My father used it for privacy, a hot commodity in a house full of people gifted with a cat’s hearing.
Marc leaned against the door frame with his hands in his pockets, apparently relaxed. I wasn’t fooled. Daddy hadn’t forgotten to post a guard at the door since the summer I turned eighteen, and considering how long it took them to find me that time, he probably never would again.
My mother sat on the leather love seat, patting the cushion next to her—not for me, but for Michael. He glanced at me for a moment before sitting, and I couldn’t resist a tiny smile. Michael was what you’d get if you mixed a Chippendale dancer with a Law Review editor: a handsome face crowning an athlete’s body, al dressed up in a hand-tailored suit, with silver, wire-rimmed glasses added for effect.
Seriously. His vision was better than perfect, but he thought he looked more like an attorney in the spectacles. And maybe more like our father, who’d been fitted with prescription lenses three years earlier.
Daddy sat in his armchair, where he could see everyone. And they al stared at me.
Shrugging, I plopped down on the couch, al alone. I glanced back at Marc, but he wouldn’t meet my eyes. Once again, it was me against the world. Or at least against the Pride, which, unfortunately, was my world.
I took a deep breath and held it for a moment, then let it out al at once. Time to get it over with. “So, tel me about Sara.”
“We don’t know much yet,” my mother said, crossing one ankle over the other.
“She went shopping in downtown Atlanta, and never came back. Your father sent Vic home to help with the search, and he’s promised to keep us informed.” Vic was Sara’s brother, and one of my father’s enforcers.
“That’s it?” I ignored my mother and frowned at my father. That couldn’t be al they knew.
“So far.” Daddy nodded, and I noticed absently that the gray streaks at his temples had broadened since I’d seen him last. “From the credit card bil s, they know where she actually made purchases, and her brothers have been in all the stores, discreetly questioning the salespeople. Most of the clerks remembered her, but no one saw anything unusual. Bert has his men out looking, but so far they haven’t found anything.”
Bert was Umberto Di Carlo, Sara’s father, Alpha of one of the neighboring territories. And one of my father’s closest friends.
“How long has she been gone?” I asked.
“Since the night before last.”
“I assume they’ve questioned Sean.”
Daddy shook his head.
“No one can find him,” Marc added, and I twisted around to look at him. “He was staying near Chattanooga, right outside the southeast territory, but now his apartment’s empty. The landlord said he moved out a couple of weeks ago.”
I shrugged, turning back to face Michael and my parents. “So, what are we going to do?”
“Nothing.” Disapproval traced deep lines on my father’s face; I was intimately familiar with that expression. “Bert hasn’t asked for our help. We only have details because Vic cal ed last night.”
I frowned at my father. “If we’re not going to help, why drag me home from school?” Silence greeted my question, and I glanced from face to face, anger building in a slow, hot crescendo. My mother looked away, but Michael stared right at me.
“What would you suggest?” he asked, narrowed eyes daring me to answer.
“You want us to go in uninvited?”
Did I?
Bert and Donna Di Carlo controlled the southeast territory, encompassing everything east of the Tombigbee River in Alabama, and south of the Tennessee River and the southern edge of the Smokies. My father was Alpha of the south-central territory, which was south of the Missouri River and east of the Rockies, running al the way to the Mississippi. The unclaimed portion of Mississippi between the two territories was considered free range, where strays and wildcats of any lineage could live and run without having to secure permission.
My father and Umberto Di Carlo were friends—very old friends. But in the werecat community, even the strongest of friendships was defined by strictly observed boundaries, both geographical and personal. Breaching a territorial boundary, even with an offer of assistance, would do more harm than good, because the Di Carlos—and likely the rest of the werecat community—would see it as an insult. Our interference would undermine Umberto’s authority and cal his leadership into question. We might as well announce to the world that we don’t think the southeast Pride can handle its own problems. No Alpha could afford to let such an insult go unpunished.
Did I want my father to breach another Pride’s territorial boundaries and risk breaking the peace, just to reassure me that everything possible was being done?
Just so I could return to my life as soon as possible?
Hmm. Tough cal .
Though my father was clearly disappointed by Umberto’s failure to seek his aid and advice, without being invited to help, he would take no action. Our boundaries were older than the U. S. Constitution and written in stone—almost literal y, in the case of several mountain ranges.
Suddenly nervous, I wiped sweat from my palms on my pants. I’d never been comfortable in Daddy’s office when the door was closed. Unlike the rest of the house, the wal s of the office were made of solid concrete, which made them virtual y soundproof, even for us. At least in human form. Most families use rooms like that as an indoor tornado shelter, or as safe rooms in case of home invasions.
My father used it for privacy, a hot commodity in a house full of people gifted with a cat’s hearing.
Marc leaned against the door frame with his hands in his pockets, apparently relaxed. I wasn’t fooled. Daddy hadn’t forgotten to post a guard at the door since the summer I turned eighteen, and considering how long it took them to find me that time, he probably never would again.
My mother sat on the leather love seat, patting the cushion next to her—not for me, but for Michael. He glanced at me for a moment before sitting, and I couldn’t resist a tiny smile. Michael was what you’d get if you mixed a Chippendale dancer with a Law Review editor: a handsome face crowning an athlete’s body, al dressed up in a hand-tailored suit, with silver, wire-rimmed glasses added for effect.
Seriously. His vision was better than perfect, but he thought he looked more like an attorney in the spectacles. And maybe more like our father, who’d been fitted with prescription lenses three years earlier.
Daddy sat in his armchair, where he could see everyone. And they al stared at me.
Shrugging, I plopped down on the couch, al alone. I glanced back at Marc, but he wouldn’t meet my eyes. Once again, it was me against the world. Or at least against the Pride, which, unfortunately, was my world.
I took a deep breath and held it for a moment, then let it out al at once. Time to get it over with. “So, tel me about Sara.”
“We don’t know much yet,” my mother said, crossing one ankle over the other.
“She went shopping in downtown Atlanta, and never came back. Your father sent Vic home to help with the search, and he’s promised to keep us informed.” Vic was Sara’s brother, and one of my father’s enforcers.
“That’s it?” I ignored my mother and frowned at my father. That couldn’t be al they knew.
“So far.” Daddy nodded, and I noticed absently that the gray streaks at his temples had broadened since I’d seen him last. “From the credit card bil s, they know where she actually made purchases, and her brothers have been in all the stores, discreetly questioning the salespeople. Most of the clerks remembered her, but no one saw anything unusual. Bert has his men out looking, but so far they haven’t found anything.”
Bert was Umberto Di Carlo, Sara’s father, Alpha of one of the neighboring territories. And one of my father’s closest friends.
“How long has she been gone?” I asked.
“Since the night before last.”
“I assume they’ve questioned Sean.”
Daddy shook his head.
“No one can find him,” Marc added, and I twisted around to look at him. “He was staying near Chattanooga, right outside the southeast territory, but now his apartment’s empty. The landlord said he moved out a couple of weeks ago.”
I shrugged, turning back to face Michael and my parents. “So, what are we going to do?”
“Nothing.” Disapproval traced deep lines on my father’s face; I was intimately familiar with that expression. “Bert hasn’t asked for our help. We only have details because Vic cal ed last night.”
I frowned at my father. “If we’re not going to help, why drag me home from school?” Silence greeted my question, and I glanced from face to face, anger building in a slow, hot crescendo. My mother looked away, but Michael stared right at me.
“What would you suggest?” he asked, narrowed eyes daring me to answer.
“You want us to go in uninvited?”
Did I?
Bert and Donna Di Carlo controlled the southeast territory, encompassing everything east of the Tombigbee River in Alabama, and south of the Tennessee River and the southern edge of the Smokies. My father was Alpha of the south-central territory, which was south of the Missouri River and east of the Rockies, running al the way to the Mississippi. The unclaimed portion of Mississippi between the two territories was considered free range, where strays and wildcats of any lineage could live and run without having to secure permission.
My father and Umberto Di Carlo were friends—very old friends. But in the werecat community, even the strongest of friendships was defined by strictly observed boundaries, both geographical and personal. Breaching a territorial boundary, even with an offer of assistance, would do more harm than good, because the Di Carlos—and likely the rest of the werecat community—would see it as an insult. Our interference would undermine Umberto’s authority and cal his leadership into question. We might as well announce to the world that we don’t think the southeast Pride can handle its own problems. No Alpha could afford to let such an insult go unpunished.
Did I want my father to breach another Pride’s territorial boundaries and risk breaking the peace, just to reassure me that everything possible was being done?
Just so I could return to my life as soon as possible?
Hmm. Tough cal .
Though my father was clearly disappointed by Umberto’s failure to seek his aid and advice, without being invited to help, he would take no action. Our boundaries were older than the U. S. Constitution and written in stone—almost literal y, in the case of several mountain ranges.
