Alpha (37 page)

F
or a second, I could only stare. I'd stepped out of my childhood home and into hell.

All around me, claws flew and cats howled. Blood splattered, and birds dove screeching from the air. Bodies thunked to the ground, bones crunched, and dark forms soared, snarling toward their targets. The backyard was a cacophony of pain and rage, a stunning mosaic of violence unrivaled in my lifetime. In living memory. In U.S. Pride history…

From my left came a soft thwuk—mechanical, cold, and discordant enough among the more visceral brutality to pull me from encroaching shock. I turned to find a tom on two legs cowering in the corner formed by the back porch, aiming a silenced pistol at the air. He fired again, and overhead, a thunderbird screeched, wobbling in midflight.

I raced down the steps and grabbed the crowbar I'd dropped earlier, then rounded the porch toward the coward, glad he couldn't hear me over the general din or see me in the shadows. I rammed the straight end of my crowbar deep into his gut. The coward screamed
and dropped his gun. I yanked my crowbar free, then kicked the gun beneath the porch and moved on, flexing my sore, sticky paw as I went.

I skirted the backyard battlefield, on the lookout for my mother, Calvin Malone, and other men with guns. On my left, Michael yowled, and I dashed forward to help him, then stopped when he clamped his muzzle over his opponent's throat. He could handle himself.

“Faythe!”

I whirled around to find Jace racing toward me from near the guesthouse. I took several steps in his direction, then stopped when another thwuk sounded on my right. The shooter missed, but took aim again immediately. I swung my crowbar at his gun hand and his arm broke with a satisfying crunch. While he screamed, I bent for his gun and threw it as far away from the fight as I could.

Jace darted left around a rolling, snarling pair of cats and pulled me farther from the melee. “Are you okay?”

“Sticky. And pissed.”

He sniffed, and seemed satisfied to smell only enemy blood. “Dean?”

“Dead. The hard way.”

“Are you…” He fingered the edge of my torn shirt. “Did he…?”

“Not even close. Where's my mom?”

“I told her to stay near the guesthouse, but…” Jace suddenly shoved me over and rolled out of the way as a dark form flew toward us. The cat thumped gracefully to the ground and swatted at Jace, claws unsheathed. I swung the crowbar at his left shoulder, and the cat hissed at me, ears flattened against his head. Jace's Shifted paw
arced down, and the cat howled. “Go find your mom!” he shouted, as he and the cat faced off.

“Thanks. Here!” I tossed him the crowbar—the bad guys were less likely to kill me than they were him—and took off toward the guesthouse with my folding knife in hand, dodging snarling bodies and assessing the carnage as I went.

We'd attacked before dawn so the night would cover our approach, but that had turned out to be a mixed blessing. The dark was working against the shooters, but it wasn't helping the thunderbirds, either. They could only clearly see the bodies within the sphere of the porch lights, and when they swooped in, silenced guns thwuked.

We were outnumbered on the ground, and several of the fallen bodies wore orange tape around their front legs. And those who were left fighting now faced two and three enemy cats apiece, and many had been backed into corners and against walls.

The three allied Alphas had grouped near the side of the guesthouse, their backs to the walls, swinging makeshift weapons while a couple of allied enforcers fought alongside them, trying to protect them and being shredded for their efforts.

I veered toward them, knife held ready. “Uncle Rick!” I shouted, and he looked up.

“Faythe!” Then his eyes went wide. “Look out!”

Something heavy hit me from behind. I landed facedown in the freezing grass. Hot cat breath puffed against the back of my neck, and my attacker snarled. His claws sank through the remnants of my shirt and pierced my skin.

I froze. My breath stuck in my throat and refused to
budge. My pulse raced. This was it. I was going to die, facedown in my own backyard, killed by some faceless, nameless enemy grunt.

Something thudded over me—flesh hitting flesh. Pain pricked several points on my back as the claws were ripped loose. Someone snarled. Someone else whined. The whine ended in a gurgle, and the scent of fresh blood thickened on the air.

I sat up, my pulse roaring in my ears. Ryan stood over the body of my attacker, blinking at me. He licked blood from his muzzle. The other guy gurgled, then breathed his last, blood pouring from his ruined throat.

Ryan nudged my hand with his head, then clamped his teeth closed over the tail of my torn shirt and tugged me away from the action.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I demanded. But I knew the answer, even if he couldn't say it. Mom had come, so he'd followed to protect her. And saved my life in the process. “Thank you.” I whispered, giving his head a quick scratch. “Now find Mom.”

His head bobbed, then Ryan was gone, off on the only mission he'd probably ever accept from me.

I knelt, groping for my knife in the dark. My fingers closed around cold steel just as a new growl rumbled behind me. I turned slowly, backing away in an awkward crab crawl. The cat followed me, snarling, baring his teeth. I didn't know him. I didn't know half these cats, and of those I did recognize, few of them were Malone's men. His allies had sent toms, too.

“You want me?” I whispered, and the tom's head bobbed. “What are you waiting for?”

He pounced, and I dropped onto my back. His paws landed on my shoulders. I shoved my knife into his
stomach and dragged it through his flesh until it snagged on his sternum. Blood poured over me. He fell over sideways without another sound.

I stood and glanced around, counting the orange strips flapping in the predawn wind. Eight. There were only eight of us left in cat form. The others were all down, and though some were still breathing, they weren't getting up. And Malone was nowhere to be found.

On my left, Michael was backing away from three toms. Halfway across the yard, Owen limped away from two more. Teo Di Carlo stood guard in front of his father, bleeding from countless gashes, yet snarling and swiping at four toms.

We've lost….

My heart ached, and fresh tears rolled down my cheeks, unbidden. I'd led them all into the slaughter.

Then, suddenly, a thunderbird swooped out of the air, blowing my hair back with the wind he created. He soared toward Owen and raked deadly talons into the side of one of the enemy cats, digging into the flesh at the last minute. His powerful wings flapped, and both bird and squalling, kicking cat rose into the air. Twenty feet up, the thunderbird release his prey. The enemy tom crashed to the ground, unmoving, a fur-covered bag of broken bones and torn flesh.

I felt like cheering. If the thunderbirds weren't giving up, even as they were slowly shot from the sky for a fight that wasn't even theirs, we couldn't, either.

We hadn't lost until I'd bled my last.

I rushed the toms growling at Michael and shoved my knife between the ribs of the nearest, then swiped my claws across the back of a second. The third jumped Mi
chael, and the other two turned on me, hurt, but not out. I backed away slowly, and suddenly Jace was there.

He swung the crowbar. The curved end smashed through the first cat's skull. But before I could swing my blade, a sudden surge of light caught my eye. I glanced up to find my mother standing in the guesthouse doorway, backlit from inside. She stumbled onto the porch, and Malone came out behind her, holding her by one arm.

The bastard had taken a hostage!

I pressed my knife into Jace's palm and had gone two steps when my mother whirled on Malone and punched him in the face. Malone let her go to hold his cheek, then stormed after her.

My mom ran down the steps. In my peripheral vision, Jace slashed the knife across our opponent's throat. A dark blur flew out of the shadows toward my mother. A second blur intercepted it, and both bodies fell to the ground.

Ryan roared. The other cat slashed. His claws raked over Ryan's abdomen, and my brother collapsed.

No!

My mother fell to the ground at his side. Malone tried to pull her up. Jace raced toward them. I ran after them all, then froze when a deep, unearthly roar ripped through the air.

I turned, and something burst through the tree line. I stared across the yard in confusion as a second huge, dark form emerged from the woods, shoving an entire tree out of the ground in the process.

“What the hell?” Jace asked, from ten feet away, and I smiled, suddenly warm all over.

“Bruins. It's Keller.” And someone else. Hopefully
someone else friendly. And as I watched, several smaller forms poured out of the woods behind them. Toms, in cat form. Fresh, and uninjured. Who the hell were they? Where on earth had they come from?

One stopped in front of the crowd, looking over the carnage. Searching for something. He planted his feet firmly, and roared.

And my heart plummeted into my stomach.

“Marc!” I shouted, euphoric, in spite of the bloodbath all around me.

Jace hesitated. He looked at me, then at Marc. Then he raced toward Malone.

Marc twisted my way and the other cats surged around him, and absently I noticed that they all wore orange bands around their front legs. And suddenly I understood. Strays. He'd recruited strays to fight for us. And they'd arrived just in time.

Marc met my glance briefly and bobbed his muzzle. Then he leaped into the fray.

I picked up the crowbar and wiped it on my torn shirt. Then I jumped back into the fight.

I swung metal at everything that didn't have orange tape flapping around its leg. The newcomers were fresh and uninjured. They tore into our enemies like dogs into fresh meat, and the screams that accompanied their involvement gave me a giddy smile.

Something swiped at my leg, but I barely noticed. I lived for the crunch of bone, the flow of blood. I fed on the screams and the whimpers, working my way through the carnage toward Malone. He was the whole point.

When I was twenty feet away, Malone screamed. I looked up from the body at my feet to see him backing away from Jace. But he was out of room, and out
of options. Malone's back hit the porch rail. Jace's fist slammed into his stepfather's gut. Malone flinched all over, and suddenly I understood. Jace still held my knife. He hadn't punched Malone; Jace had stabbed him.

“This is for my mother!” Jace shouted, and his fist flew again. “And for Brett!” He shoved the knife home again, and by then I could smell Malone's blood. Jace pulled the knife out and pinned Malone to the porch rail by one shoulder. “And this is for my father…” He looked straight into his stepfather's eyes, and slid the blade across Malone's throat.

Jace stepped back and dropped the knife. The body fell to the ground. He turned to face me, and Malone twitched at his back. Jace made it three steps, then he fell to his knees.

I ran for him and dropped to the ground at his side. I wrapped my arms around him, and he shook in my grip. Jace clung to me, and I let him. Feet away, my mother knelt over Ryan's body, crying, oblivious to the slaughter around her. I stared out at the yard over Jace's head, and exhaled silently. Then I blinked.

It was over. The strays had made short work of the remaining opposition.

In the new quiet, the rush of air overhead caught my attention, and I looked up as the remaining birds dropped onto the ground, already Shifting into mostly human form.

“Faythe Sanders?” Beck called, and I let go of Jace to stand. The bird approached me, almost fully human, and bleeding from a bullet wound to the side. “It seems you have won your war, and it was a glorious battle indeed. Unless you have changed your mind about feasting on the bodies of your enemies, we will take our leave.”

I nodded, shocked beyond logic for the moment, then shook my head abruptly. “No. No feasting. But thank you all.”

He tilted his head to one side, like he didn't understand gratitude. “We will consider our debt paid, and we look for no further contact with you or your species.” He reached up for something hanging from a cord around his neck, and I only recognized my phone when he handed it to me.

I nodded. “Fair enough.” Especially considering that half a dozen bird bodies lay scattered about the battlefield.

With that, the birds lifted into the air almost as one. Several swooped in pairs to pick up the bodies of their fallen Flightmates, then they took off together toward the west.

I stared after them, in awe and in gratitude.

The sun was just peeking over the trees to our east when I turned to look over the battlefield. Bodies lay all around me, many still breathing, but seriously injured. Our losses were grave. Our victory was bittersweet. And our road to recovery would be rockier than the tumble we'd taken to get to this point, I had no doubt.

But the war was over. We had won.

And Marc had come back.

“I
called Holly,” Michael said, coming to a stop at my side with his hands in his pockets. “I asked her to take Manx, Des, and Kaci to our house. I don't think they should come back here just yet.”

“Agreed.” It would take hours to dispose of the bodies, and hours more to hose down the grass to wash away the blood. “Maybe they can stay for a week or so? Until I can…get this place put back together?” My carpet would have to be replaced before Kaci could come back inside, even once we'd cleaned up the yard. The smell of Dean's blood in the house would traumatize her.

Hell, it would traumatize me, too.

“Of course.”

“How's Mom?” I asked, watching as she knelt beside an injured tom, aiding Dr. Carver on autopilot. Her movements were stiff, her eyes glazed with shock. “How is she really?”

“She's dealing, for the moment, but it's going to hit her the minute she stops moving long enough to get a deep breath. He saved her life, Faythe,” Michael said,
and I knew he was talking about Ryan. “She wants to put him next to Ethan. And I think you should let her.”

I nodded slowly, crossing my arms over the clean shirt and jacket I'd changed into. “Yeah. He saved my life, too.” If he'd lived to be one hundred, Ryan could never have made up for what he let happen to me, Abby, and Sara. Even by saving my life. But in dying for our mother, he'd done it in a single instant. In the end, he'd died protecting someone he loved. It wasn't quite like Ethan, but I wasn't going to dishonor his sacrifice. Nor was I willing to break my mother's heart. Not after all she'd been through already.

“Do you have the count?” I asked, already dreading his answer.

“Yeah. Eighteen dead on their side, and there may be a couple more in a few hours. Everyone who's left is hurt pretty badly, but most of them will live.”

I struggled to keep my horror hidden. So many lives. So much loss. So much death. But revolution comes with a price, and the best we could do now was try to deserve it. “On our side?”

Michael swallowed thickly, and I made myself look at him. “Ten dead, not counting Ryan. Three of Uncle Rick's, two of Di Carlo's, and two of Aaron Taylor's.”

“Lucas?” I asked, my heart thumping painfully.

“No. He broke an arm, and got a pretty good gash on his thigh, but he's going to be fine. Teo, too. He dropped six toms on his own.”

I didn't doubt that. Teo Di Carlo was one hell of a fighter.

“And our three, other than Ryan?” I asked, dreading the answer like I'd never dreaded anything in my life.

“Tom Hagarty and William Wright.” Two of our
nonenforcer volunteers, who'd believed in me enough to die for our cause. But that left one more.

I turned slowly to the sheet-covered body I'd avoided looking at for the past hour. And to the tom who sat on the ground next to it, head in his hands, crying steadily.

“You're going to have to deal with him soon,” my brother insisted.

“I know.” I sighed and uncrossed my arms. Michael put one hand on my shoulder and I squeezed it, then crossed the ten feet of bloodstained grass between me and our greatest battlefield loss. I knelt on the ground next to Kenton Pierce, heedless of my blood-soaked jeans, and carefully pulled back the sheet to expose Parker's face, so cold and pale in death.

He looked peaceful, in spite of his violent end, and I couldn't stop more tears, in spite of all I'd already cried.

“I don't know how all this happened…” Kent sobbed. “A month ago, everything was fine, and now I have two dead brothers, and one barely breathing.” He glanced across the yard, to where a gravely injured Holden Pierce was being treated by Dr. Carver.

“We all have choices, Kent,” I said, running one finger down Parker's cold cheek. His chin stubble was rough on my skin, and somehow that characteristic of growth—of life—made his death seem more real than it should have without more time for it to sink in. He'd evidently shifted to try to heal mortal wounds, but it wasn't enough. “You and Lance dug your graves, and now Parker's lying in his.”

Kent sobbed harder, and I wanted to hit him for whining and feeling sorry for himself over the destruction
he'd helped bring about. But I didn't, because of what he'd tried to do for me. Kent wasn't a bad guy—he was just weak enough to be used by his father and Calvin Malone. But weakness wasn't a killing offense. Not in the south-central Pride. Not under my command.

“Get yourself together.” I pulled the sheet gently over Parker's face and stood, tugging Kent up with me. “You're going home today.”

“You're going to let me go?” He scrubbed tears from his face and stared at me like he'd heard me wrong.

“I'm going to
make
you go. You're not welcome here, Kent. Ever again. And Parker stays with us. The rest of your family can come to the funeral, but you keep your father at home. Do you understand?” Because I couldn't afford to let him close enough to launch a counterattack with what men he had left.

Kent bobbed his head. “Thank you.”

I nodded curtly, then left him to mourn his brother in relative solitude, while I made my way toward Owen. He sat on the grass at the end of the triage line, a makeshift bandage wrapped around his thigh, cell phone cradled in his lap.

I sank onto the ground next to him. “How you doing?”

“I'm scared,” he said, and I could tell from his expression that his fear had nothing to do with the battle, and everything to do with the phone call he'd just finished. “I talked to Manx, but Teo had already called her. He brought down six toms, Faythe, and he said he did it for her. To protect her freedom. He can protect her better than I can. But…”

“But she loves you,” I finished, when he couldn't.

“Yeah.” However, his obvious despair belied such
good news. “I know it's crazy, but she does. She swore she did. But we don't have a Pride, and even if we did, I'm not Alpha material. I know that. But I love her, and I love Des, and I want him to be mine. I want to give her more, if she wants, to make up for what she lost.”

I put one arm on his shoulder. “Owe, that's not crazy. That's love, and love doesn't always make sense.” It didn't
ever
make sense, in my experience. “And you
do
have a Pride. You have this one. And you both always will.”

“But we already have a tabby,” he pointed out, obviously meaning me.

“No, you have an Alpha bitch. And even if I become a dam someday, so what? We're already the weird Pride. Why can't we have two tabbies? Or three? This is a brave new territory now, Owen. Manx and her children will be safe here. We'll all protect them. And you will love them.”

And maybe someday, if Bert Di Carlo was willing to institute a similar compromise, depending on her own romantic interests, Kaci might see fit to give his territory a second chance at life. At a new generation.

“You're serious?” Owen's expression hovered on the edge of a smile, as if he didn't dare make that leap.

I grinned. “Are you questioning your Alpha?”

“Hell, no.”

“Good. Make your phone call.”

Owen was grinning from ear to ear, already dialing when I stood to make my way back to Jace, my heart thumping painfully. I dreaded the next moment with every cell in my body. But the universe had delivered my miracle—given me a second chance—and I could not mess this up again. Not and live with myself.

Jace leaned against the back porch rail, alone, and I stood close enough that my arm touched his. “Are you okay?” I asked, and he only hesitated an instant before nodding.

“Calvin's dead. I'm better than I've ever been. With one exception.” He looked up, and I followed his gaze toward the woods. To where the strays and the bruins had congregated. With Marc.

I sighed, and my heart felt so bitterly, unbearably bruised. “He came.”

“Yeah. He did.” Jace stared at the ground and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Jace…”

“Don't.” He turned to face me and ran one hand down my arm slowly, as if to make the contact last. “I know. I knew the moment you saw him. You were happier that he came back than you were that I stayed. I know when I've lost.”

I sniffed back tears and reached up to hug him. “I'm so sorry, Jace,” I whispered, as his arms wound around me for the last time, squeezing me hard enough to hold my fractured heart together, even if just for the moment.

“Don't be.” His cheek scratched mine, and I breathed in his scent, trying to memorize it. “We do what we have to do.”

“This doesn't mean I don't—”

“Stop.” He pulled away from me, and the pain in his eyes echoed deep inside me. “Don't say you still love me. That'll just make this harder.”

I nodded, swallowing the words that wanted to be said. “What are you going to do?”

He sighed. “I'm going to take Cal's body home to
my mother. Then I'm going to kick Alex's ass and take back my father's Pride. Someone's going to have to run things until Melody eventually has a husband qualified to take over. Who knows, maybe I can undo some of what Cal did to her. Show her that she has options.”

I smiled. “If anyone can do that, it's you. Is there anything I can do to help?”

Jace glanced at the ground, then met my gaze again. “Yeah, if you believe in me, recognize me. As Alpha. I'll have to be confirmed, even for temporary control, and I could use a few votes…”

“You'll have mine.” And I was sure my own allies would help too. We could all use the extra support a Jace-controlled Appalachian Pride would represent.

Jace's smile faded, and his gaze intensified. “Thank you, Faythe.”

“For what?”

“For giving me a chance. It was all worth it. Every single minute. Even this one.”

I couldn't stop tears then, even when Jace kissed me, for the last time. When he pulled away, he leaned with his forehead against mine. “Damn, this is harder than I thought, and that doesn't seem possible.”

“I know.” I was shivering, and not from the cold.

He let me go, and I stepped back. “Go on. He's waited long enough.”

I nodded and made myself turn away from him, my shoulders shaking. I'd only gone a few feet when the back door squealed shut behind me, and Jace was gone.

I took a deep breath and headed toward the tree line.

There were six toms, other than Marc, and two bruins—Elias Keller had brought a friend.

I owed them my life. My Pride. My eternal gratitude. And I had no idea how to say that.

Marc saw me coming and met me halfway. My heart thumped as I watched him walking toward me, wearing nothing but jeans, in spite of the cold. He had a gash in his left arm and blood had soaked through the material over his right calf, but other than that, he looked good. Very, very good.

“Hey,” I said, when he stopped less than a foot in front of me.

“Hey.” He shoved his hands into his pockets, and his glittering brown gaze bored into mine.

“Thank you.” I sniffled and blinked away tears, but my eyes just filled again. “If you hadn't shown up…”

He crossed both arms over his bare chest, half covering the clawmark scars. “I made a promise.”

“How did you know about the orange tape?”

Marc shrugged. “I called the Flight and made them swear not to tell you. My name was on the list of approved phone calls, remember?”

I did remember.

He hesitated, then glanced at the men he'd brought. “You want to talk to them?”

“Please.”

“Come on…” He led me to the others without taking my hand or my arm. Without touching me at all.

“Hey, kitten,” Elias Keller said as soon as I was within hearing range. The trees at his back swayed beneath a frigid breeze, including the one he'd knocked over during his grand entrance.

“Elias…I can't thank you enough.” I cleared my throat, choking back a sob of gratitude, so I could at
least aim for composedly appreciative. “You guys…you're all amazing. I don't even have the words…”

“And you don't need them.” Keller's massive, warm hand swallowed mine, and he squeezed gently. “Cat or bear—or evidently bird—we fight for what's right.”

I didn't think the birds really gave a damn about our ideas of right and wrong, but I wasn't going to argue. “Who's this?” I asked, glancing at the other bruin, who was every bit as big as Keller, though not quite so tall.

“This is Evert.” Keller slapped one massive hand on the other bear's broad shoulder. “I needed a ride, and he said he'd only drive me if he could get in on the action. Worked out well for everyone, don't you think?”

“Very well.” My smile could not have been wider. “It's wonderful to meet you, Mr. Evert.”

“Likewise,” the new bruin boomed, pushing long, pale hair from his face. “I haven't had exercise like that in years, even if it did interrupt my nap.”

I smiled and turned to the only stray I recognized: John Feldman. “Mr. Feldman, I am in your debt. If there's any way I can return the favor, please don't hesitate to ask.”

“I won't.” His voice was hard, but still as smooth, and dark, and gorgeous, as his skin. “Marc assures us that any Pride run by you will be stray-friendly, and we figured it can't hurt to establish a good relationship with our neighbors.”

“I completely agree.” And my relief had no limit. I'd been afraid that after what Malone had done to several members of the stray population, they would think the rest of us beyond redemption. “And you're all welcome here as our guests. I can't thank you enough for what you've done for us.”

We chatted for a few more minutes and I invited them all to stay over. Then I said goodbye and Marc followed me across the yard for a little privacy.