Pride

“How would you say he came by his wound?”

I rolled my eyes at Malone’s phrasing, but Dr. Carver looked like he wanted to smile. “I would say someone shoved a railroad spike into his neck. In fact, it was still lodged there when I examined him.”

“So someone killed him.” Malone glanced expectantly at the other tribunal members. “And by her own admission, Ms. Sanders was the only person present when Mr. Wallace died.”

“I’ve already told you I did it,” I shouted, jumping from my chair. “But it was self—” My father jerked me back into my seat by one arm, just as Michael slapped a hand over my mouth.

Malone tried to look angry, but his satisfied smirk ruined the image. “Miss Sanders, if you lose control of your mouth one more time, we will have you removed from the room.”

“Like it matters,” I mumbled, staring at the battered stress ball clenched in my fist. I can hear just as well from the living room.

Michael pinched my arm hard enough to leave a welt, and I glared at him. I would have pinched him back if I hadn’t seen concern behind the irritation etched across his face.

“I don’t think you understood what I was saying,” Dr. Carver said, shifting attention away from me. “Because I wasn’t finished.” His pointed look at Malone made me smile. “Yes, Faythe killed Andrew Wallace. She’s never denied it. But she says she had no choice, and I have no reason to doubt that.”

Uncle Rick leaned forward in quiet eagerness. “So you could tell it was self-defense based on the body?” I have no doubt he meant to help my case. Unfortunately, his question forced Dr. Carver to backtrack.

“Well, not for sure, no.” He moved uncomfortably in his chair. “But neither could I say for certain that it wasn’t. But beyond that, her story checks out, medically speaking.”

Uncle Rick nodded encouragingly. “Meaning…?”

“I also examined Faythe that night, and her injuries are consistent with her explanation of what happened. Cuts on the backs of her arms, from being pinned to the floor on top of broken glass. Severely bruised cheeks, from several blows to the face. Bruised ribs from blows to the torso. She was obviously the one on the ground—that much is clear from her injuries. And that implies that Mr. Wallace was the aggressor. Faythe says she was acting in self-defense, and I believe her.”

I exhaled in relief. I wasn’t out of the proverbial woods yet, but it felt so damn good to know someone else was willing to stand up for me. Someone who had no personal stake in my future.

“Dr. Carver, we have no doubt that Ms. Sanders was injured in the exchange. But we can’t ignore the possibility that Mr. Wallace was the one acting in self-defense, injuring Ms. Sanders in an attempt to preserve his own life. An effort which ultimately failed. So, implications aside, can you say for certain, based on the state of his remains and Ms. Sanders’s injuries, that this was not the case?” Malone’s voice was as persuasive as he could get.

“I most certainly can say that.” Dr. Carver’s tone was firm, and anticipation pulled my spine straight in my chair. “I just can’t prove it.”

The frustration in his voice was mirrored in my posture as I slouched lower in my seat.

Malone rolled his eyes. “Dr. Carver, we are interested in actual evidence here.”

“Only because you don’t have it,” the doctor snapped.

The room went completely, eerily silent as all eyes settled on Danny Carver, in his chair at the end of the table, face pink with irritation, gaze focused intently on Malone.

“If you had proof it was an accident, you’d want expert testimony to tell you that proof was wrong. But there is no irrefutable evidence in this case, and when that happens, you have to make your decision based on the testimony and opinions of others. And my testimony—my gut instinct—is that Faythe had no choice but to defend herself against Andrew Wallace. As she’s said repeatedly.”

“So she has.” Malone’s disbelief sent a fresh surge of irritation through me. My fist clenched around the stress ball again, and I glanced down to see that I’d carved a new tectonic-plate boundary down the middle of Central Europe. Thank goodness I wasn’t into voodoo.

“Speaking of Ms. Sanders’s testimony…” Blackwell began. “Are you aware of her claims that the infection was an accident, caused by a—” he glanced at his notes “—’partial Shift.’”

The doctor nodded curtly.

“And have you ever seen this…phenomenon?”

“Unfortunately…no.”

“What a coincidence,” Malone spat. “Neither has anyone else.”

I shot up from my chair in indignation, my latest warning forgotten. “That’s—” Michael’s hand clamped over my mouth again, and he shoved me back into my seat, much harder than necessary.

—not true! My protest ended in my head, as my teeth sank into my brother’s finger. He snatched his hand from my mouth, shaking it. And too late it occurred to me that biting was probably a bad idea, considering I was on trial, in part, for that very offense.

Still, Malone’s crack was an outright lie. Several people had seen the partial Shift. Of course, one of them—Eric, the psycho kidnapper—was now dead, so his testimony would be pretty damn hard to scrounge up. And none of my other potential vouchers—Marc, Michael, my father, and my cousin Abby—were considered reliable witnesses because they all loved me and would presumably lie to save me.

The tribunal had voted in favor of excluding their testimony by a margin of two to one, and no matter how fiercely Uncle Rick had argued, he was unable to gain even one vote. Stubborn bastards.

But he wasn’t done trying to help me. “Dr. Carver, do you think such a Shift is possible, medically speaking?”

Dr. Carver sighed. “No. Medically speaking, no Shift is possible. Our very existence should be a physical impossibility. But we do exist. And so does the partial Shift. I see no reason for it not to. It takes intense concentration to Shift intentionally, so it stands to reason that intense concentration focused on a particular part of the body would cause only that part to Shift.”

His gaze swung left to include only Malone and Blackwell. “What makes no sense to me is that men like you—creatures whose very existence humanity has denied for centuries—refuse to believe something that requires only a small portion of the transformation you put your entire body through on a near-daily basis. The only reason you don’t believe in the possibility of the partial Shift is because you don’t want to believe.”

Yeah! I wanted to stand and clap, or cheer, or…sing the national anthem. In a matter of minutes, Dr. Carver had driven home the very point I’d been trying to make for the last five months. And he’d made it look easy, and honorable, as if he were saying something that needed to be said, for the moral well-being of all involved.

To my utter surprise, though Malone still scowled, Paul Blackwell looked half-convinced. He placed one thin, wrinkled hand on the table. “Dr. Carver, I have to admit this partial Shift gibberish is starting to sound less and less like nonsense. But we still need proof Ms. Sanders can actually accomplish such a thing, even if it is possible.”

Okay, it could have been worse. Blackwell was the swing vote, and he was definitely coming around. But he wanted proof—which I still didn’t have.

In a real court of law, where the burden of proof was on the prosecution, I would have been good to go. There was plenty of doubt about my guilt. But here, I had to prove myself innocent beyond all doubt, which seemed less and less likely with each hour that passed.

The doctor nodded. “Of course. But let me point out that Faythe’s explanation for why she can’t prove it yet makes sense. Medically speaking.” Carver was taking no chances on his testimony being thrown out because it didn’t pertain to his area of expertise. “We all know most werecats experience their first Shift at puberty. But you may not know, or recall, that many of these first Shifts are actually brought on by bouts of strong emotion. Anger, fear, excitement…even lust.”

Calvin Malone squirmed in his chair. Rumor had it his first Shift was triggered at age fourteen by heavy involvement with his human girlfriend. He’d reportedly barely made it into the empty field behind her house, shedding his clothes along the way like a madman.

So if anyone understood about emotion bringing on a Shift, it should have been Calvin Malone. But his stiff posture and angry eyes said Malone was not pleased by the trip down memory lane. Nor was he willing to acknowledge it, even in-directly—especially not to help me.

“Dr. Carver, what happens to preteenagers at the mercy of their hormones is not relevant to this hearing,” he snapped. “Ms. Sanders is twenty-three years old. She had her first Shift at least a decade ago, and should long ago have learned to rule her emotions, rather than being ruled by them. The fact that she has yet to reach that level of control does not speak in her favor here. It is simply one more example of her inability to restrain her impulses, which no doubt led to both Mr. Wallace’s infection and his death. If you have another point, I suggest you make it before you bury the defendant any further in the pit you’re digging for her.”

That son of a bitch!

Every pleasant, tingly feeling left over from Dr. Carver’s speech drained from me, leaving behind a cold, clammy feeling of exposure. And…shame. Had my lack of control really caused all my problems?

Before I could decide whether I should be ashamed or royally pissed, footsteps pounded down the hall, and all heads turned toward the door as it flew open. On the other side stood Jace, his face grim, full lips drawn into a taut line.

My father rose in one easy, graceful motion. “What’s wrong?”

“They found a body.”

“Who found a body?” Dr. Carver asked, rising just as Michael said, “Is it one of the hikers? The man or the woman?”

Every man in the room stood in the next two seconds, and I followed suit, not about to be left behind.

Jace shook his head sharply. “Neither. According to the radio, the victim’s an off-duty cop—one of the human volunteers. His own search group found him.”

“Wonderful.” My father exhaled in frustration. “I’m assuming this cop didn’t fall on his own gun?”

“They haven’t released the details yet, but I seriously doubt it,” Jace said, and around the room, heads nodded in agreement. “Should I bring the radio in here?”

“No, thank you, Jace. We could all use a break.” Without waiting for permission to suspend the hearing, my father marched past the long dining-room table and out the door, Michael and Dr. Carver on his heels. I jogged to catch up with them before Malone could detain me without my familial-support system.

In the kitchen, Marc stood next to the ancient radio, and when we filed into the room, he turned the volume up. “They’re supposed to give an update on the search in about ten minutes.”

In the interim, the Alphas waited in the living room, and the rest of us gathered around the kitchen table, where we demolished two cartons of cookies and a bag of chips before the radio announcer fulfilled his promise of more information.

The dead volunteer, who was indeed an off-duty policeman, had wandered away from his group and been mauled by some kind of large animal—possibly a cougar. Searchers had withdrawn from the woods for the evening and would resume in the morning, with each group led by an armed forest ranger on the lookout for the offending cat.

“Well, I’d say that changes things a bit.” Uncle Rick turned down the volume on the radio.

My father nodded. “Since the humans’ search is over for the night, our men can Shift into cat form. But no one goes out furry after dawn. Spread the word.”

The other three Alphas dug out their cell phones and began calling their men. Including Blackwell, who’d been forced into the twenty-first century when he’d lost an enforcer because he was unable to pass along crucial information in time.

When the calls were made, my father sent Jace into the sickroom to check on the injured toms. He came back an instant later, smiling at me in anticipation. “Colin’s waking up.”

Malone rose immediately, but Dr. Carver beat him to the door—then blocked the Alpha from entering. “Let me examine him, then you can all ask him your questions.” Doc stepped back and closed the door before Malone could reply.

I bit into another cookie to keep from smiling when Malone turned his furious gaze on the rest of the room.

A few minutes later, Dr. Carver emerged from the bedroom. “He’s fine. Dizzy, and a bit cranky, but he should be able to tell you what happened.”

The Alphas filed into the bedroom. I started to follow, but my father shook his head and pointed to the couch. Scowling, I sat, trying to bolster my mood with thoughts of the apologies I’d soon bask in. Colin would tell them what happened. He was no doubt pissed about the big bump on his head, but he’d have to admit to trying to stop me, and I’d be cleared of suspicion in at least one crime. Which was a damn good start.

“…bitch is crazy. Homicidal. She nearly took my head off.” Colin’s voice floated to me from the bedroom.

“Now, that’s hardly fair.” I glanced around for support from my fellow enforcers. “It was just a little left hook.”

Marc frowned and shushed me. Jace turned off the radio.

My irritation mounted as I realized no one was yelling at Colin for cussing in front of four different Alphas. Which was just plain wrong. I’d probably be brought up on more charges.

I crossed the room silently, and Michael scooted to make room for me in front of the closed door.

“Do you remember why she hit you?” Paul Blackwell asked, and I tensed, bracing myself for vindication. Absolution. Complete exoneration.

What I got was total bullshit.

“Yeah.” Springs creaked as Colin shifted on the bed. “I was trying to stop her from going out. Just doing my job.”

Yeah, right, you worthless lump of fur. Tell them why I was going out.

“Where was she going?” Malone asked. “Was she trying to get away?”

Objection, Your Honor? Leading the witness? I glanced at Michael, but he only frowned and shook his head, telling me to keep my mouth shut. Clenched jaws kept my complaint locked up tight. Clenched fists kept my temper in check. Barely.

“Yeah.” Colin grasped eagerly at the straw Malone had just given him. “That’s exactly what she was doing. She was trying to escape.”

Fury blazed its way through my veins, scorching me from the inside out. The rotten bastard was outright lying to a room full of Alphas! On those not-so-rare occasions when I needed to avoid telling the whole truth, I simply evaded the question, but Colin was pinning his lie to his chest like a fucking medal of honor. And he seemed completely unaware that such a badge was not of courage, but of cowardice and shame. Or maybe he didn’t care. Either way, enforcers should not possess such traits. Ever.

I opened my mouth to protest, but again Michael shook his head, this time adding a severe frown to his silent warning.

“What about the stray?” Uncle Rick asked, and when Colin made no reply, he continued. “Wasn’t Faythe trying to save Brett Malone from a stray in cat form?”

Colin hesitated for a moment. Then he cackled with laughter so sudden and forced that everyone surely knew it was fake. That he was overcompensating. But no one questioned Colin’s sincerity. Not aloud, anyway.

But the bedroom door opened, and I jumped back to avoid Dr. Carver when he stomped out, a disgusted look plastered on his normally jolly face. When no one closed the door behind him, Michael and I stepped silently into the room, where all four Alphas stood around the twin bed on which the towheaded tom lay propped against several pillows.

“Faythe? Save Brett? Is that what she said?” Colin glanced from face to face in overplayed incredulity, daring a grin when he caught sight of me watching. “No. I was trying to save Brett. She was trying to get away while I was distracted.”

“Are you sure that’s what happened?” my father asked, and the disbelief thick in his voice did little to smother the flames of anger shooting up and down my spine. My Alpha wasn’t the one I needed to convince.

“Of course I’m sure. I was about to go out after Brett when Faythe took off for the front door. I had to choose between the two of them. Her stupid stunt could have gotten him killed.”

My fingernails bit into my palm. My teeth ground together. My nostrils flared as my body demanded more oxygen to feed the fire of indignation burning deep in my chest. If Colin didn’t spit the truth out soon, I was either going to spontaneously combust or lose my temper. I could not stand there and watch that lying coward of a pussycat ground my name and reputation beneath his filthy paws.

I should have hit him harder.

“If she was trying to get away…” Uncle Rick asked, eyes narrowed at Colin, “why would she kill the stray? Why not just run?”

“You think a girl on two feet could outrun a tom on four?” Calvin Malone demanded, glaring across the room at my uncle. “She had to kill the stray to keep him from killing her. She wasn’t trying to save Brett. She was trying to save herself.” He practically spat the last word, and a fresh flare of anger shot up my spine and over my neck, where little flame-tongues licked at my chin. Pain lanced through my jaw, and I gasped.

Michael turned toward me with that same warning on his face, but it drained from his features with one look at the pain on mine. “You okay?” he whispered.

I nodded, even as dread and rage churned in my stomach. Stress sent bolts of pain through my forehead, and tension made my face ache, probably from clenching my teeth.

Or maybe not. That pain was familiar, and more than welcome…

Suddenly Marc’s scent enveloped me, and he took my hand. I should have been surprised by that, but I could barely think through the throbbing in my mouth. He squeezed my hand as my jaw popped, and I turned to find him watching me intently. Watching my jaw intently. He knew what was about to happen. What would happen, if I could exploit my anger without losing my temper.

A harsh smile hovered behind his expression, and he glanced at Colin. He had an idea; I could see it. “Actually.” He spoke loud and clear, drawing glances our way. “Faythe can outrun any one of us. If she’d wanted to escape, she would have.”

I started to squeeze his hand in thanks, but winced instead as my jaw…rippled. Then Colin opened his big fat lying mouth again, sucking up all the attention before anyone could look at me too closely.

“She was trying to run. I was getting ready to Shift—so I could go fight the stray—and she took off for the front door. She was taking advantage of me trying to save Brett, and she could have gotten us both killed. She ought to be locked up for her own good. For the good of us all.”

My arms went stiff at my sides. My jaw cracked again, but I barely noticed. Colin’s lie would add another charge to the list against me, and Malone would have more ammunition than he needed to cleave my head clean off my shoulders. My good deed had become Colin’s get-out-of-jail-free card, and he was using it against me. The bastard.

Suddenly my tongue seemed to take up too much room in my mouth. It broadened and flattened, itching unbearably. My teeth rolled along my gums. I groaned as my jaw stretched, the bones lengthening. All eyes turned my way. And while everyone else stared at me, I stared at Colin, who had become the focus of all my rage and frustration.

Then, as suddenly as my face had begun to change, his did too. His pale blond hair and bright blue eyes lost some of their real-world color. The green and yellow hues in the room deepened as everything else melted into muted shades of gray.

And that’s when I realized Colin wasn’t really changing.

Cat vision and cat teeth. I’d partially Shifted in front of the entire tribunal.

I should have been delighted, having just proved I could partially Shift. And even better, that the process was unintentional. Unfortunately, I wasn’t thinking clearly enough to experience relief or pride. I felt only instinctive fear and aggression. My inner cat—now peeking out through my human face—was threatened by this tomcat and his homicidal lies.

While everyone stared at me in shock, I watched Colin, unable to look away from the focus of my rage.

Marc whispered in my still-human ear, so softly I could barely hear him. “You want to pay him back?”

I nodded.

“Pounce.” Marc’s lip brushed my earlobe, combining with his scent to add a new layer of emotion to those already fueling my partial Shift. “Pretend you want to rip his lying head off.”

Pretend? No problem. I did want to rip his head off. My rage was overwhelming. The human in me wanted justice, but the cat wanted blood. I’d spent most of my life curtailing such urges, and now Marc wanted me to indulge one instead?

I raised an eyebrow at him, not entirely sure what he had in mind, but absolutely certain it wasn’t a good idea. The last thing I needed was more trouble.

Trust me, he mouthed silently. And I did. Even after all we’d been through together—because of what we’d been through—I trusted him with my life. So I took a deep, noiseless breath, then I let my anger unfurl like a whip snapping loose of its coil.

I leapt between my father and uncle, and the floor lurched past beneath me. Startled gasps surrounded me. My feet hit the carpet, and I jumped again. I landed on my knees on Colin’s bed, straddling his shins. The mattress squealed beneath my weight. My fingers curled in the ancient afghan.

I was dimly aware of movement and frantic whispers around the room. But I left the shocked Alphas to Marc. I only had eyes for the terrified tom beneath me.

Colin stared at me in horror. His jugular vein jiggled madly in his throat. The stench of fear trickled into my nostrils, and I realized my nose had Shifted too. Or maybe the scent sensors in my brain had changed.

“Get her under control, or I’ll do it myself!” Malone shouted. But I neither heard nor felt movement in the room around me.

“Calvin, look at her face,” my uncle ordered softly, and I caught a twitch of movement in the mirror on the edge of my vision—someone moving to better see my reflection.

Fine, let them see. Turning my head, I bared my canines and hissed into the glass without actually looking at my face. I was oddly pleased by the resulting gasps. My smaller stature would afford them no advantage this time; if I caught an arm between my jaws, my cat teeth would cleave straight through to the bone in a single bite. No one seemed willing to risk that. Yet.

The blankets moved beneath me, and my attention snapped back to the bed. Colin edged away from me slowly, cautiously, his legs sliding between my knees. He scooted until his spine hit the headboard. A growl of warning rumbled from my throat, and he jumped. Sweat trickled down his bare chest.

Bloodlust surged through my veins. Chill bumps burst to life on my arms as some distant, still-human part of me understood what was happening—what my cat-self wanted—and was horrified. But before I could impose logic on my feline brain, Colin glanced to his right, clearly considering an escape, and the sudden movement triggered my pouncing instinct.

A roar ripped free of my throat. I lunged the last few feet. Something heavy landed on the bed behind me. Strong hands grabbed my upper arms, holding me inches from my goal. Marc’s scent washed over me. “Good,” he murmured in my ear. “Let it loose. I’ve got you.”