Pride. Rachel Vincent

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      “A bruin? Are you sure?” my father asked.

      Jace snorted. “Um, yeah. He’s huge, and he smells like a bear. He’s arguing with Calvin, and it looks like it’s about to get ugly.”

      My father turned from Jace back to me. “I meant what I said, Faythe. This isn’t over.”

      I nodded. I recognized the dismissal, but knew it wasn’t personal. As the head of the council, he had to go deal with the new crisis, even if we hadn’t yet resolved the previous one. “Go.”

      My father was off the floor in an instant, rising with the speed and grace of a tom half his age. In spite of the circumstances, I was happy to see him move like that because each new line that appeared around his eyes and each gray hair that grew at his temple reminded me that he was just as susceptible as the rest of us to the devastation of time, the wear and tear of constant use. One day he would retire, and that would break my heart. But one day further down, he would die, and that would crush my soul.

       If I’m still around to see it…

      Michael followed our father from the room, and Jace started to go after them, then stopped when he noticed me sitting on the floor. “Faythe? What’s wrong?”

      “I killed Andrew, haven’t you heard?”

      “What are you talking about?” In several long steps, he was in front of me, pulling me off the floor. “It was self-defense. The panel will see that eventually. They have to.” He wrapped his arms around me, and I let my head fall on his shoulder, breathing in his scent, which brought with it memories of warmth, and safety, and comfort.

      I shook my head, and my cheek rubbed against his cotton T. “They think I did it on purpose. All of it. They’re going after the death penalty.”

      “What?” Jace held me at arm’s length, searching my face for an explanation. He frowned in confusion. “Calvin told you that?”

      “No, my father. And Michael.”

      He shook his head. “That makes no sense. You’re a tabby,” he said, echoing my own thoughts.

      “They don’t seem to have noticed that yet.”

      Jace smiled, and his eyes roamed south of my chin. “I don’t see how they could keep from—”

      In the main room, the front door creaked open, and heavy footsteps clomped on the hardwood floor. Voices spoke over one another, in every pitch and timbre, until finally one broke through them all “—don’t care what you’re in the middle of.” The voice was deep enough to rumble, and loud enough to shake the walls around us.

      “The bruin,” Jace whispered, and I nodded, still listening.

      “I wanna speak to someone in charge, and if you point that finger at me again, I’m gonna break it off and shove it someplace uncomfortable.”

      Jace grinned and tossed his head toward the sound of the voice. I nodded again and followed him into the main room, mingling with the various enforcers standing against the walls, most with their hands clenched into fists at their sides. They were agitated, on high alert from having our rented territory invaded by a stranger. A very large stranger of another species.

      The bruin wasn’t hard to spot. In fact, he would have been impossible to hide.

      The largest tomcat in the room was my cousin Lucas Wade, who’d accompanied my uncle Rick to the hearing. In human form, Lucas was six and a half feet tall and more than three hundred pounds of solid muscle. He had to enter most rooms sideways. Running into him was like hitting the side of a house.

      The bruin was more than a foot taller than Lucas, and I couldn’t begin to imagine how much he weighed. His hair was light reddish-brown, which I hadn’t expected, and plentiful, which I had. It hung to his shoulders in thick, tangled waves, blending seamlessly with a beard of the same length and color. His cheeks were ruddy from the cold, and above them shone eyes that were proportionately small, dark brown and surprisingly expressive. And what I saw in them at the moment was anger. Unfiltered, unmistakable anger.

      “You can’t just walk in here and demand an audience,” Calvin Malone insisted from the center of the room where he, like everyone else, was dwarfed by the angry bear. “This is neither the proper place, nor the proper way to address our council. I’m going to have to ask you to—”

      “Calvin.” My father’s voice cut through Malone’s with the confidence of long-held authority. Malone faded into silence, but he didn’t move. My father was unfazed. “I’m sure we can spare the time to meet with a member of our brother species. In fact, I think that’s the least we owe our guest. That, and perhaps a cup of coffee?”

      On his left, Uncle Rick nodded, as did Paul Blackwell, who watched from the kitchen doorway. Malone scowled, then conceded the point with a brisk nod. “Of course.”

      My father’s gaze settled on me and Jace. “Jace, bring some coffee for…” He paused, addressing the bruin again. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

      “Elias Keller,” the giant rumbled.

      “Some coffee for Mr. Keller?” my father continued, and Jace nodded, already headed toward the kitchen. “Mr. Keller, will you have a seat?”

      Keller nodded, apparently surprised by the offer of hospitality. But there was barely enough space to breathe, much less sit, in the crowded room. My father looked almost amused by the extra security. “Gentlemen, could you give us a little room?”

      The tomcats hesitated, glancing around at one another. Then, almost as one they migrated toward the exits, some headed for the front door, others for the hallway. When the room had cleared, except for the four Alphas, my father considered me for a moment, then tossed his head toward the kitchen. I went willingly, because if I sat quietly and chose my seat carefully, I’d be able to see and hear everything that happened in the main room. A minor bright spot in what was shaping up to be one of the worst days of my life.

      Jace stood in front of the coffeepot, pouring creamer into a plain white mug. “You think he takes it with hazelnut creamer?” I leaned with one hip against the counter next to him.

      “I’m guessing black.” He stirred, then tapped the spoon against the rim of the mug before dropping it into the sink. “This one’s for you.” Winking, he handed me the cup of doctored coffee, then carried a second mug—black—into the living room. He was back a minute later, pouring a third mug for himself.

      I sat at the small round table, my chair positioned as far to the right as possible. From there, I could see the bruin, who took up most of the ugly beige sofa all on his own. I could also see my father, in the armchair nearest the couch, and Malone, opposite him in a matching chair.

      “…can we do for you, Mr. Keller?” My father asked, his hands templed beneath his chin, fingertips brushing a slight shadow of stubble.

      Across from him, Malone faced mostly away from me, so that I saw only a slice of his profile. But that was enough for me to recognize the scowl dominating his expression. He was clearly irritated with my father for taking charge, which sent a petty surge of glee through me. Did Malone think chairing the tribunal sitting in judgment of me gave him enough power to displace Greg Sanders as the СКАЧАТЬ