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Authors: Rachel Vincent

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BOOK: Prey
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“Only from the outside of the door.” There was a pause on his end, and I thought I heard floorboards groan as he knelt. Or stood. “Yeah, there’s another scent on the front door. The wood and the knob. It’s another stray, but no one I know.”

“Good.” I was walking again, my feet whispering on concrete, my hand trailing over the long bar on the bench press. That scent belonged to the last person who’d touched the doorknob—presumably whoever had taken Marc. “Don’t touch the knob. We’ll need to smell that scent.”

I didn’t hear what he said next because of the footsteps thundering toward me from the kitchen. My dad jerked open the door and jogged down the steps, breathing deeply from exertion, his eyes wide with alarm. I’d rarely seen him so flustered, and it meant the world to me that Marc meant so much to him.

My father wore no coat other than his usual suit jacket, and only once I noticed that his cheeks were flushed from the cold did I realize that I was completely covered with chill bumps, and that I was actually shivering.

Now that I was done exercising, my sweat had dried to leave me cold in the basement chill.

“What happened?” Moving briskly, my father stepped over the corner of the mat and snatched the blanket from Kaci’s chair.

“Hang on a second, Dan,” I said into the mouthpiece, while my father draped the blanket over my shoulders. “Daniel Painter found two dead strays in Marc’s living room. Marc’s missing, and a trail of his blood leads out the house and to the driveway, where it looks like he was loaded into a car. At least one other stray was there, based on the scent on the doorknob.”

My Alpha’s expression grew bleaker with each word I spoke. “How much blood did he lose?”

“I don’t know,” I answered, just as Painter said, “A lot.” My heart thumped harder,
aching
within my chest at the thought of how much blood he’d lost, and my father motioned for me to sit in the chair Kaci had vacated.

“Are these dead strays in cat form or human form?” he asked, knowing Painter would hear him.

“Human form.” Painter sighed, and when springs squealed over the phone, I pictured him sinking wearily onto Marc’s couch. A couch I’d never sat on, or even
seen.

My father frowned, and I shared his confusion. Why would werecats attack someone they obviously meant to kill, based on the earlier ambush, without the use of their best weapons—claws and canines? For that matter, why attack Marc at all? Weren’t Manx and I the original
targets? Wasn’t the objective the usual: kidnap the women and kill the men? If so, why go after Marc when Manx and I weren’t even there?

My phone was getting hot, so I switched to my other ear.

“Are the dead men carrying anything?” My dad dug in his inside coat pocket and pulled out his own cell phone, scrolling through the menu as he spoke. “Wallets? Checkbooks? Phones? Anything that might identify them?”

“I don’t know.” More springs groaned as Painter stood again. “Want me to search ‘em?”

Instead of answering Painter, my father turned to me with his free hand outstretched. “Give me the phone.”

I hesitated, even though my father—not to mention my Alpha—had given me a direct order, because handing over my phone felt like giving up my link to Marc. Or at least to the man currently in the best position to help him. But after a second, I obeyed.

“Painter?” my father barked. His concern came through as gruffness. But then, that’s how most of his strong emotions sounded. “This is Greg Sanders, Alpha of the south-central Pride. Thank you for alerting us. Can you stay there until my team arrives?”

“Yeah, sure,” Painter said, and I pictured him nodding eagerly, pleased to be needed, in spite of the circumstances.

My concern for Painter paled in comparison to my fear for Marc, but I still didn’t want him to get hurt, especially trying to help us. “What if they come back to clean up the rest of their mess?”

My dad tilted my phone so that the mouthpiece slanted away from his lips. “Hopefully, he’ll get a good description.” To Painter, he said, “Lock the door and turn off the lights. Then Shift.” Because it would be easier to defend himself that way, should the need arise. “And if they come back, go right out the front door and call Faythe.”

“How’s he supposed to call me in cat form?” I asked, frowning.

My father shrugged, and spoke into the phone, though he was still watching me. “Autodial. If you keep Faythe’s number up on the display, you can call her with the press of one button, using a toe pad, or a claw. I’ve done it before.”

He had? I thought about asking, but decided I didn’t want to know.

“Faythe and her partner will be leaving immediately.” My father eyed me with both eyebrows raised, and I nodded, relieved that I wouldn’t have to argue with him on that point. “Is there any trouble with the neighbors? Did anyone hear or see anything?” He began to pace back and forth across the straw-strewn dirt floor. “Or call the police?”

“Oh. Nah. The nearest neighbor is ‘bout two miles away, and I doubt they coulda heard anything.”

I might have guessed Marc wouldn’t want any close neighbors. He’d lived on our compound for half of his life, and typically wanted little to do with humans.

“Good.” But my father’s face showed no real relief. With Marc missing and likely gravely injured, the
news that there had been no witnesses was decidedly bittersweet.

My dad handed my phone back to me. “Thanks, Dan,” I said, suddenly eager to be off the phone and on the road. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” I started to say goodbye, but then something else occurred to me. “They broke in the front door, right?”

“Yeah. It’s still on the hinges, but the lock’s busted.” He seemed to know where I was headed with that question.

I sank onto the padded, duct-tape-patched seat of the bench press. “Can you move something in front of the doors? That way if they come back, you’ll at least have some warning before they get in.”

“Um, just a sec.” Painter’s breathing changed as he stood, and footsteps over the line told me he was on the move. “I can push the couch in front of the front door. And the back one looks fine. I’m locking it up now.” A chain rattled, and metal scraped wood softly as he slid the dead bolt home.

“Good, but can you put something in front of that one, too? Just in case?”

“Sure. I’ll see if he’s got anything heavy in the other room.”

“Thanks, Dan.” I hesitated, wishing my gratitude for him wasn’t overshadowed by my fear for Marc. But it was. “I’m leaving now, and it’ll take me about five hours. Call me immediately if anyone shows up.”

“I will.”

I flipped my phone closed and turned to find my
father watching me from one corner of the exercise mat. Owen, Ethan, Jace and Parker stood at the bottom of the stairs, breathing hard and waiting for orders.

“Faythe, Parker, get packed.” Parker and I nodded in unison, and my father continued. “Take enough for two days, just in case. But I can’t spare you any longer than that. Not with everything else going on.”

I found myself nodding, but knew in my heart that I wouldn’t leave the free zone before we’d found Marc. Not conscious and walking upright, anyway.

“Sniff around and see what you can find out about the dead strays. Get me names, and I’ll get you addresses. Play it safe, and play it smart. Do
not
go wandering off through the woods looking for a needle in a haystack. And don’t go anywhere alone. For all we know, this is a trap designed to get you back into the free zone. Check in three times a day. Got it?”

I nodded again, and Parker mimicked me. We were itching to get going.

“And, Faythe?” My father eyed me sternly.

“Yeah?”

“I don’t have any extra backup to send with you, so it’s just you two and Dan Painter. Be careful.”

“Of course,” I said, as if his common warning meant no more this time than it ever had. But that wasn’t the case. Always before,
we’d
had the advantage of larger numbers, and I was distinctly uncomfortable with having the tables turned.

“Okay, go!” my father ordered. And we went.

Eight

W
hen I got to my room, Kaci was waiting on my bed, propped up on my pillows, and the sense of déjà vu was inescapable as I packed. She’d watched me
un
pack less than a day earlier, looking much happier than she did at the moment.

She pulled my punching pillow into her lap as if for comfort. But then I was almost amused to see her clench it in both fists, as if she might rip it in two. It was scary sometimes, how much she and I had in common. “What happened?” The tabby’s smooth, beautiful features were twisted in an odd combination of fear and irritation. “No one will tell me anything.”

“Marc’s been abducted, and he lost a lot of blood in the process.” I snatched my duffel from the floor of my closet and dropped it on the end of the bed, and when our eyes finally met, the shock in hers took me completely by surprise.

Maybe I shouldn’t have been
quite
so blunt. Was this
one of those truths kids weren’t supposed to hear? What was I supposed to do,
lie
to her?

I was pretty sure that even if I tried to gloss over the facts, she’d see the truth in my eyes. Then she’d never trust me again.

I wanted to sink onto the bed next to Kaci and hug her. Then slowly, carefully, explain that sometimes bad things happen to good people, and those good people aren’t always okay afterward. But surely she knew that better than anyone, and I didn’t have time for slow and careful. I had to find Marc, to make sure he didn’t become one of those people who wasn’t okay.

Like Kaci herself.

Shit.
She needed reassurance from me almost as badly as Marc needed to be found and treated. I’d have to talk while I packed.

“Kaci, hon, I don’t know how this is going to end.” I turned from her as I opened my top dresser drawer, to keep her from seeing just how terrified I was. She needed to see me as a rock. As someone she could depend on, no matter what happened. She did
not
need to know that a hit on Marc was the one punch I wasn’t sure I could roll with.

When I had my expression under control, I met her eyes again as I stuffed a handful of underwear into the bag. “But I’m going to
find
Marc, and make sure that whoever took him lives to regret it. For a few minutes, anyway.”

She only blinked at me, and I turned back to the dresser for some shirts. “How did it happen?” Kaci asked as I pulled two long-sleeved tees from the second drawer.

“It looks like some men broke into his house and beat him up, then took off with him.”

“Somebody beat
Marc
up?” Disbelief was thick in her voice, and my pride for Marc and his reputation swelled, even under the circumstances.

“It was at least three against one.” No need to mention that the weapons were pieces of his broken furniture, or that he was in his own
home
at the time. “And he got two of them,” I said after a moment’s hesitation, hoping she wouldn’t ask me what “got” meant.

I was a little conflicted about how much to tell her. On one hand Kaci was a werecat now, a fully integrated member of our society, and she needed to know how life worked for us. Sheltering her would do little to help her adjust. But on the other hand, even though she wasn’t scratched or bitten, her entry into our secret world was heralded by violence, and I wasn’t eager to remind her of what she’d done. She needed to move past that if she was ever going to truly settle into her new existence.

“Were they werecats?” she asked, as I shoved the shirts into the bag.

“Yeah.” But the real question was whether any of the men who’d attacked Marc this time were in on the ambush two days earlier.

From the bathroom, I grabbed my hair dryer, toiletries, and what little makeup I wore on a semiregular basis. Kaci watched as I dropped it all into the duffel bag, the dryer cord dangling over one side.

“Were they in cat form?” she whispered, and dread
sifted through me at the quiet horror in her voice. She wound the cord around my hair dryer, then tucked it neatly into one end of the duffel, nestled between my shampoo and makeup bag.

“No.” I started to zip the bag, but stopped when I noticed that her eyes were shinier than usual. They were standing in tears. “Kaci, no, honey, they were in human form. This had
nothing
to do with what form they were in. These are bad men, and they’d be bad on either four legs or two. Just like you’d be good in either form.”

“But I
wasn’t
good as a cat!” she insisted, and the silent tears began to fall.

Well, hell…
Sympathy squeezed my heart to the point of pain, but her timing could not have been worse. I’d been waiting months for an opening into her psyche—to get her to talk about what she’d gone through during and after her first transformation—and when the breakthrough finally came, I didn’t have time to stay and listen. To help her work through it.

But she was crying. I’d have to
find
a minute with Kaci, then make up for it on the drive to the free zone.

I shoved my duffel aside and climbed over the footboard onto the end of the mattress, as close to her as I could get. Werecats are very physically demonstrative, and I was hoping the contact might help calm her.

“Kaci, you were
great
as a cat!” I put one arm around her shoulders and squeezed, pulling her even closer. “You’re so strong. So
amazing.
What happened when you first Shifted, that wasn’t your fault. Not Kaci-the-person’s fault, and not Kaci-the-cat’s fault.”

I let go of her shoulders and gently turned her face toward mine, staring into big hazel eyes magnified by tears. “That wasn’t
anyone’s
fault. It was just a tragedy. A horrible, devastating tragedy, and I know you’re dealing with it the only way you know how, but we have to figure out some other way for you to handle this, or you’re going to wind up hurting yourself. You’re nearly there now.”

“I know.” She wiped tears from her cheeks with both hands, then clenched my punching pillow as if it alone anchored her to her human form. “But I don’t think I can do it. I don’t think I can
control
it.”

“Yes, you can.” I twisted on the comforter to face her more directly, hoping my conviction was contagious. “Kaci, when I first met you, you were in cat form, and you didn’t hurt me. You didn’t even come near me. And that’s when you were terrified and in a strange place. It will be different this time. We can do it in the barn. Just you and me, if you want. And if you’re worried about losing control, I’ll close the doors so you can’t get out. All you need is one good Shift to prove to yourself that you can do this. That your inner cat isn’t some rabid tiger looking for its next meal. It’s just another part of you. A part you’re going to
have
to come to terms with.”

Her forehead crinkled. “But what if I hurt you?”

I laughed out loud, letting her see my genuine amusement. “Honey, you couldn’t hurt me if you tried. I’ve faced down bigger and badder cats than you under much worse circumstances. That’s my job, and I’m pretty damn good at it. You’ll be fine. I won’t let anything happen to either of us.”

For the first time, I saw belief in her eyes. And trust. She was coming around. And if I didn’t have to leave immediately, she might have been willing to give it a try right then.

But I
had
to go. I had to find Marc, and each minute I spent on the ranch when I should have been out looking for him weighed on my mind like a pile of bricks, threatening to crush me.

“I tell you what.” I swung my legs over the side of the bed. “You think about it for the next couple of days. Get yourself ready mentally. Then, when I get back, we’ll do it together. It’ll be fine, and you’ll feel so much better. And then you can go to school—finally get out of this house. Okay?”

She nodded, but looked unconvinced, and I knew I might have to repeat my little pep talk when I got back.

I gave her another reassuring smile as I dug through my bag to make sure I wasn’t forgetting anything. And I was. Pants.

Groaning over my own oversight, I whirled toward the dresser and pulled a pair of jeans from the bottom drawer.

“I probably already know what you’re gonna to say, but can I come with you?” Kaci held the duffel open while I shoved my pants inside, then tugged the zipper shut. “I wouldn’t get in the way. And I could help look for Marc.”

I smiled to soften the coming blow. “I’m sorry, Kaci, but this is way too dangerous.”

The frustration and disappointment in her eyes were achingly familiar. Even with my father’s liberal stance
on a woman’s place in the Pride, I’d spent much of my childhood being left out of things for my own safety. I’d even heard that line a time or two since becoming an enforcer, though staying behind had yet to actually keep me out of the action. But that didn’t change anything for Kaci. At the moment, she wasn’t well enough for a brisk walk through the woods, much less a risky trip across two states and a desperate hunt…wherever Marc’s trail should lead us.

“This is a job for enforcers, Kaci. You’re not old enough, and you don’t have any training.”

“Can I be an enforcer someday?” she asked, as I dropped my bag on the carpet near the door.

I couldn’t resist a grin. “Absolutely. You can do anything you want. But first, you have to get healthy. And enforcers do a lot of their work in cat form, so you have to get used to Shifting. We’ll work on that when I get back, ‘kay?”

This time when she nodded, she didn’t look quite as hesitant, and I took that as a very good sign.

“Okay, I have to go, but I hear my mom messing around in the kitchen.” Pots clanged together at the front of the house, as if to punctuate my claim. “Why don’t you go see what she’s making for lunch.”

Kaci went reluctantly, and I changed quickly into a fresh pair of jeans and a dark green sweater with a cowl neck and too-long sleeves, then hurried outside to throw my bag in the backseat of Parker’s car. When I came back in, Kaci sat at the bar in the kitchen, sipping the broth from my mother’s homemade chicken
soup. I ignored the rumble of my own stomach and headed into my father’s office to tell him Parker and I were ready to go.

The office door was closed, but I barely noticed in my hurry to get on the road. I twisted the knob and walked in. My father stood in front of his desk, facing the glass display case against the wall. He clutched the phone to his ear, face flaming in rage so consuming he hadn’t even noticed my entrance. Which he probably hadn’t heard over his own shouting.

“…a child, and I will
not
hand her over just to satisfy some scheming, underhanded Alpha’s selfish political ambitions!”

Whoa…

My hand tightened on the doorknob in surprise, and my father heard the creak. He whirled to face me fully, one hand on the edge of his desk, and slammed the cordless phone onto the receiver. “Didn’t I ever teach you to knock?” he demanded, eyes flashing in fury.

I should have apologized and meekly backed out of the room. But the sick feeling twisting my stomach wouldn’t let me. “What was that about?” I asked from the doorway, not daring to come any farther into the office.

If my father had taken his phone call in any other room of the house, we all would have heard his side of the conversation, and likely most of the other side. But the office was a special room, designed for privacy in a house whose occupants all had supernatural hearing. The walls were solid concrete, without so much as a
window for sound to leak through. The door was a panel of solid oak, and while not as soundproof as the walls themselves, it held a definite advantage over the hollow interior doors in the rest of the house.

My father sighed, and in that moment he looked a decade past his fifty-six years. “Come in and close the door.” He propped one hip on the corner of his desk next to the phone and waved me inside, lowering his voice to a weary whisper. “I’m going to tell you what happened, before your imagination kicks into overdrive. But you will
not
tell anyone else. I’ll make the announcement myself, when the time is right.”

Nodding, I hesitated a moment—I really needed to go after Marc—then stepped into the office and pushed the door shut, twisting the lock to keep someone else from walking in, like I had. I had no doubt that if my father had been expecting the call he’d just fielded, the door would have been locked before.

The flimsy twist-lock wouldn’t stop a werecat who really wanted in, but it wasn’t supposed to. It was merely a signal that my father required a little privacy, and the lock would be respected for its intent rather than its strength.

“Who was that?” I sank onto the edge of the couch nearest the desk, acutely aware that every passing second was another one-second delay in getting to Marc. But I had to know…

My father gripped the edge of the desk he sat on. “That was Milo Mitchell.” Kevin Mitchell’s father, who was currently in Georgia for Manx’s trial. Kevin had
been expelled from the south-central Pride for accepting bribes to sneak a stray into New Orleans. “Milo claims he represents a ‘concerned faction’ of the Territorial Council, but I have no doubt he’s working with Calvin Malone.”

“And they want Kaci?” That sick feeling in my stomach grew to encompass most of the rest of me, and I was suddenly sure I would be violently ill right there on my father’s Oriental rug.

“Yes. Mitchell says several of the Alphas are worried, in light of Malone’s claims, that I’m acting against the best interest of the council. They want me to relinquish custody of Kaci to the council at large, which will then appoint a guardian for her. But you know exactly where she’ll wind up.”

“With Malone.” I scowled so hard my face hurt. The bastard was scheming to get control of both Kaci and Manx, just like we’d feared he would.

My father nodded solemnly and rose from the desk to sink into his armchair on my left.

“So, what are you going to do?” Even if I hadn’t just heard him refuse to give up Kaci, I knew my dad would never bow to threats from another Alpha. Much less hand over a mostly innocent child to be used as a political pawn.

Malone wanted control of Kaci for the same reason he’d tried to strong-arm me into marrying one of his sons—to put more territory under his misogynistic, bigoted, politically ambitious metaphorical thumb.

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