Prey. Rachel Vincent

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      Michael cleared his throat. “I can’t tell you how much my father appreciates your support, especially at a time like this.”

      Di Carlo nodded gravely, and I could see that his decision to back our dad hadn’t been made lightly. “The council’s going to hell in a handbasket, Michael, and if someone doesn’t stand up to Calvin Malone, it’s only going to get worse. But I’m afraid this one won’t be won easily.”

      “Nothing worthwhile ever is.” Michael frowned sagely, and I knew the conversation would turn quickly to unpleasant politics. If I didn’t deliver my message soon, I’d lose my chance.

      “Mr. Di Carlo…”

      “Child, call me Bert.” He grinned, and leaned toward me conspiratorially. “I saw you streak through your father’s office in the buff when you were no higher than my knee. I’d say that makes us friends.”

      I flushed, but nodded. “Bert, my father has an idea he wanted me to mention to you. About Manx. Mercedes. Assuming the tribunal finds in her favor… Well, she’s lost her whole family, and you’ve lost your daughter…” I broke off, unsure how to continue. Saying it aloud made it sound like I was trying to restructure the Di Carlo family—sticking my nose in where it definitely didn’t belong.

      But Bert finished the thought for me. “Your father thought we might want to keep her?”

      “Well…” I wouldn’t have phrased it quite that way, but… “Yes. Assuming she gets along with everyone. And wants to stay, of course.”

      Bert nodded and sipped from his glass. “I have to admit I’ve had similar thoughts. Your father assures us that her crimes were the result of severe physical and emotional trauma…”

      “Of the worst sort,” Michael interjected solemnly.

      “…and that she’s no longer dangerous. Do you agree with his assessment?”

      I really wished he hadn’t asked me that. But sure enough, the Alpha was looking at me, rather than at my older, wiser brother, and I wasn’t going to bullshit one of my father’s few sworn allies.

      “Mr. Di Carlo—Bert—Manx has survived things I can’t even imagine suffering. Horrors no one should ever have to experience. For years, she was never touched by a man who didn’t hurt her. Years. And the very thing that pulled her through—an iron-hard survivalist instinct—is what led her to kill those toms. They touched her. She thought they were going to hurt her, or her unborn baby. So she defended herself. Preemptively.”

      I hesitated on the next part, then finally leaned forward to let him see how earnest I was. “Is there a possibility it could happen again? Yes. Unfortunately, I think there is. If she feels threatened, I think she would lash out in self-defense. Or baby-defense. But she’s been with us for four months now and has never raised a hand to anyone. I think if you give her a chance to get used to your family, and to the idea that no one here means her any harm, she’ll come around eventually. I think she wants a normal life, and it won’t take too much effort to convince her that you can be trusted.”

      For a moment, the southeast Pride’s Alpha only stared at me, still processing my blunt speech. As was Michael. “I see,” Di Carlo said finally. Then he smiled. “Well, I suppose it’s worth a shot. Assuming the tribunal sees fit to let her live.”

      And I knew from personal experience just how big an if that really was.

       Six

      “Well, this looks nice.” Once you get over all the pink. I ran my hand along the crib railing and nudged one of the mobile’s lace butterflies into motion. Vic said his parents had set up a crib for Des, but he hadn’t mentioned any of the other stuff. My gaze took in a white wicker rocking chair, some kind of bouncy seat with stuffed bumble bees suspended over it, a changing table piled high with accessories and necessities, and a dirty-diaper storage…contraption…thing. Which I was pretty sure hadn’t even been invented when Sara was born.

      The Di Carlos had gone shopping for Manx’s baby.

      “Very nice,” Manx agreed. But tears stood in her eyes, and in spite of the room full of furnishings, she still clutched the baby to her chest, as if he were the only thing keeping her above water in a swirling, churning whirlpool of fear and confusion.

      “What’s wrong?” I asked, then immediately regretted the question. What wasn’t wrong? “Do you want to…maybe… put him down while you get settled in?” I gestured awkwardly toward the crib, and Manx glanced at the baby bed as if seeing it for the first time.

      But instead of moving toward it, she met my gaze, her gray eyes magnified by tears. “What will happen to me, Faythe? The truth. Vic says all will be fine. What do you say?”

      Well, shit. I picked up a stuffed lamb from one corner of the crib and played absently with the soft, curly wool. “Manx, I honestly don’t know. This is kind of unprecedented.” I was the only other tabby who’d ever been on trial in the U.S., and my case wasn’t much like hers, in spite of the surface similarities. The charges against her were more serious—three counts of murder to my one count each of murder and infection—yet her chances of getting off were much greater than mine.

      Which was probably exactly what she needed to hear.

      “Okay, on the bright side, I don’t think they’ll vote to execute.” I glanced at Manx, then at the door open into the hall. Everyone else was downstairs, and none of the tribunal members had arrived yet, but I wasn’t taking any chances. “Why don’t you sit? I need to explain something to you.”

      Manx’s beautiful lips thinned in dread, but in the end her curiosity won out. While I closed the door, she laid the sleeping baby in the crib, then collapsed into the rocker as if it were a massage chair. I settled cross-legged onto the bed.

      “Okay…” In the absence of my own punching pillow, I had to make do with a frilly sham from Manx’s temporary bed. I pulled it onto my lap and traced the lacy pattern as I spoke. “You’re on trial for killing three toms, but that’s not all this hearing is about.”

      Her forehead knit into several thin lines. “What does that mean?”

      I wasn’t sure how much my mother had already explained to her, so I started at the beginning. “It’s political.” From what I’d gathered, the South American Prides’ council held much less authority over individual Prides than ours did, so our political struggles were largely foreign to her. “You know my dad was suspended as head of the Territorial Council a little while ago, right?” I asked. She nodded. “Well, his enemies will probably try to use your trial to manipulate more Alphas into siding against my father. This is as much about him and the way he dealt with your…crimes as it is about you.”

      Her frown deepened. “I do not understand.”

      I exhaled slowly, struggling with how best to explain. “Some people think my father should have punished you for killing Jamey Gardner. Jamey’s brother Wes is Alpha of the Great Lakes Pride, and Wes is pushing for the death penalty for you.”

      Manx nodded, but her hand began to tremble on the arm of the rocker. She’d known execution was a possibility, of course, but knowing something and hearing it spoken aloud were two entirely different СКАЧАТЬ