Pride. Rachel Vincent

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СКАЧАТЬ nod. It was nothing big, and certainly nothing as obvious as a smile. Yet it warmed my insides as much as the thought of the fresh air I was about to breathe. My father had just acknowledged my gesture—and the effort it had taken—with a sign of respect and approval.

      And though I didn’t want anyone else’s opinion of me to hold value over my own, my father’s did.

      It always had.

       Six

      Shortly after seven, I set off toward the woods with Marc on my right, Jace on my left, a canteen of water clipped to my belt and a ham sandwich in each hand. Moonlight lit the yard around us, with no sign yet of the clouds in the forecast. My smile was so big it had taken over my face. I hadn’t felt so good in weeks, even with the tribunal withholding the verdict on my murder charge.

      Uncle Rick had explained the delay. He’d refused to cast his vote because Paul Blackwell still thought I was guilty, and two votes were enough to convict me. His delay had bought us more time to change Blackwell’s mind.

      My hiking boots crunched on dead grass, and the rich brown leather of my coat sleeves swooshed as they rubbed against my sides. I inhaled deeply and my smile broadened as crisp fall air brought with it the scents of pine needles, several species of forest animal, and wood smoke from some camper’s grill in the distance.

      No, I hadn’t been completely confined to the cabin. I’d walked to and from the main lodge several times since our group arrived in the mountains. But somehow the great outdoors smelled so much sweeter when I wasn’t dreading my return to captivity.

      At the tree line, as I munched on the first of my sandwiches, Jace handed Marc the nature-trail map my brother had marked with the location where the cop’s body was found. Marc stuffed the map into the inside pocket of his own leather jacket, then reached out for the hypodermic needle Jace handed him. Next came my uncle’s handheld GPS, which Marc kept out, to guide us on our hike.

      Then Jace stripped, handing his clothes to Marc to be stuffed into his backpack. Naked now, he dropped to his hands and knees on a bed of dead leaves and began his Shift.

      I tried not to be jealous. I really did. Part of me felt fortunate to be outside at all, even confined by my human form. But there was still that stubborn part of me that refused to be satisfied with receiving only a portion of what should have rightfully been mine. I hadn’t intentionally done anything wrong, and “permission” for one evening hike in human form wasn’t going to make up for weeks of desk duty and stolen freedom.

      “This is really a compliment, you know,” Marc said, his gaze sliding from Jace’s writhing form to my face.

      “How do you figure?”

      “They know they can’t keep up with you on four paws. Their refusal to let you Shift is an admission of their own inferior abilities. See?” He smiled. “A compliment.”

      “A backhanded compliment, maybe.” I tore another bite from my sandwich before I could indulge in any more verbal abuse against Malone.

      “Well, this one’s for real.” Marc tugged up the hem of his jeans and dug at something from inside one sturdy hiking boot. “In light of your recent interest in nontraditional weapons, your dad thinks you may be ready for a real one.”

      Something thin and hard hit my palm, still warm from Marc’s body heat. When I held it up, moonlight revealed a simple, sturdy folding knife.

      “It’s just in case. Since they’re not letting you Shift. That button opens it—” he pointed out a small raised circle on one side “—and you can close it one-handed by folding it against your leg. But please don’t cut yourself.”

      I huffed in response and pressed the button. A two-and-a-half-inch stainless-steel blade popped out, and I gripped the knife for business, testing it out.

      I liked the feel of the knife. It wasn’t as good as having claws at my disposal, but at least I wasn’t defenseless and completely dependent on Jace and Marc to protect me in the big bad woods. “Thanks. Where’d you get this?”

      “Your dad borrowed it from Lucas. But if you don’t have to use it, let’s not mention it to anyone else, okay? Malone and Blackwell would not be pleased to find out you’re walking around armed.”

      “Spoilsport.” I grinned and folded the knife closed, then slid it into my back right pocket. The bulge felt good. Comforting, though enforcers don’t usually carry weapons, other than what they’re naturally gifted with.

      A hoarse grunt drew my attention to the ground, where Jace was in the last stages of his Shift. He looked like a huge shaved cat with a deformed head. No, it wasn’t pretty, but werecats grew accustomed to such sights early in life—long before puberty brought on a cat’s own first Shift.

      The potential horror inherent in the in-between stages of a Shift was balanced by its temporary duration. By the knowledge that the very body currently suffering serious pain and monstrous mutation would soon be a beautiful, sleek, graceful animal capable of feats of speed and balance a human could never even imagine, much less experience.

      But apparently—based on my fellow werecats’ reaction to the partial Shift—the knowledge that my partially Shifted face was the goal of my transformation, not just a necessary transition, made my fellow cats uncomfortable, all except for Marc. And Dr. Carver, who no doubt thought of me as a living science experiment.

      As I chewed the last bite of my sandwich, dense black fur sprouted in a thick wave across Jace’s back. He opened his mouth and his canines elongated, growing to match the other sharp, curved teeth in his newly feline jaw.

      A moment later it was over. Marc and I stood in front of a one-hundred-eighty-pound stalking, hunting machine. I’d seen the transformation a thousand times—hell, I’d done it nearly as often—but it never failed to amaze me.

      Jace padded over to us and sniffed Marc’s feet. Marc chewed his sandwich with no regard for the cat. His tolerance was all Jace needed as a sign of approval.

      Then Jace twisted around with a smooth, slinky grace, rubbing the entire right side of his body against Marc’s leg as he glided toward me. His head nudged the empty hand at my side, and I held my palm out for him to rub against. It was a familiar greeting, and a show of trust and affection. Not too much affection, because Jace knew better than to linger too close to me while Marc was around. Even though we’d broken up, and even though Marc was in human form, he wouldn’t hesitate to show Jace his place—which was nowhere near me, according to Marc.

      I put up with Marc’s conduct because I didn’t want anyone else in my life—or in my bed—and I wanted him to know it. But we both knew that if Marc’s protective—or possessive—behavior got out of hand, I’d put an end to it. So far, that knowledge had been enough to keep him in line.

      Jace purred, rubbing his head against my palm. I smiled and scratched between his ears. Then, with no warning but the tensing of muscles between his shoulder blades, he leapt out from under my hand and soared between two trees. He bounded up a steep bluff, around a clump of thorny bushes and out of sight.

      Marc and I glanced at each other. I raised one eyebrow. He nodded, and we were off, legs flying, arms pumping, Marc still clutching the uneaten half of his sandwich in one hand. My canteen bumped my thigh and I laughed as I ran. It was probably a waste of air in my inefficient human lungs, but I didn’t care. Running wasn’t СКАЧАТЬ