“Definitely a cat.” Jace took a turn too hard, and I had to grab the door handle to keep from landing in his lap. He still didn’t drive like an Alpha; all the rest of them were old. “But probably not ours.”
“You think it’s a stray,” I said, as more of the pieces fell into place.
“We didn’t get to examine the bodies, because the cops got there first, and we don’t have anyone on the inside. But we know for a fact that there are no natural wildcats in Appalachia.” Or anywhere else heavily populated with shifters. Natural cats avoided us like the plague. “So, itbetterbe a stray,” he continued. “Because if one of our own’s gone rogue, we’re all in big trouble.”
But what he didn’t say aloud—what I could see etched into the brand-new Alpha lines on his otherwise youthful forehead—was that we couldn’t afford for it to be a stray either. Not when they were so close to voting on the resolution he and Faythe had sponsored in the territorial council.
For the first time in US history, the council was being asked to formally acknowledge a Pride made up entirely of strays who wished to carve out a territory of their own in one of the free zones. Faythe’s husband Marc, a stray adopted as a teenager by her father, had been acting as ambassador to the potential new Pride, helping them get all their t’s crossed and their i’s dotted, in order to present themselves at the next meeting.
If the council discovered that the murderer was a stray, that resolution would never pass. The project Jace, Faythe, and Marc had hoped would bring lasting peace between strays and Pride cats would fail before it ever even had a chance.
“That’s why I have to go with you to the ranch,” I guessed, and Jace gave me a small nod. With a murderous stray loose in the Appalachian territory, my dad wouldn’t want me to stay at the lodge for the holidays, even though Jace had probably tripled his security measures to protect his mother and sister.
Tabbies were too rare and too precious to risk and having two of them of childbearing age in the same house would only strengthen the temptation for a stray who’d probably never even met a female of his own species.
“So, this is history repeating itself? The big, strong tomcat has come to drag the helpless council chairman’s daughter home from school for her own good?”
“It was the right thing to do for Faythe, and it’s the right thing to do for you. But you’refarfrom helpless.” Jace’s voice rang with admiration that warmed me all over. “I know a few hunters rotting in shallow graves in the woods who could attest to that.” His pride in me morphed into misplaced nostalgia, and alarms went off in my head. “Faythe taught you well.”
The warm smile he gave me would have felt wonderful—if it were meant for me. “Jace, I’m not Faythe.”
He laughed again, and those inner alarms began to fade. “Glad to hear it. Things never seem to work out in my favor when she’s involved. You, however…” He aimed another blue-eyed glance at me, and I caught my breath. “You’remy new lucky charm. Kiddo.”
TWO
Jace
During my first four years as Alpha of the Appalachian Pride, I’d struggled with many things. Expelling my own half brother. Convincing my baby sister that she doesn’t have to voiceeverythought that pops into her head. Assembling and training my own team of loyal enforcers from scratch. But sitting next to Abby for hours at a time had turned out to be its own special challenge.
She’d transferred into my territory as a withdrawn but determined college freshman interested in nothing but personal barriers and schoolwork. Which made sense, considering what she’d been through. But at some point since, little Abigail Wade had come out of her shell.
I’d first noticed her new grit during her fall break, when she took out three homicidal human hunters without waiting for backup. But it wasn’t the reckless disobedience that stood out. It was her relentless insistence that she’d done the right thing. The thingIwould have done in her situation. She wasn’t afraid of the hunters, and she sure ashellwasn’t afraid of me, and I found something captivating in her unflinching confidence. Somethingexciting.
Even if it led her to questioneverydecision I made.
Her disposition wasn’t the only part of her that had come out of its shell. After hours in a car and on a plane with her, I still couldn’t decide whether she had no idea how amazing she looked in that skirt or she knewexactlyhow amazing she looked in that skirt.
It only took me five minutes to realize I had no business knowing which of those was true.
We were three miles from the ranch, stuffed into the cramped front seat of my rental car, when Abby turned to me with a familiar look in her big brown eyes. That look said she knew that curiosity would eventually kill the cat, but she really didn’t give a damn. “When was the last time you saw her?”
I squinted at the windshield as a car passed us with its brights on, though the sun hadn’t quite set. “Saw who?”
As if I didn’t know.
“Faythe. You guys have been working together to present this new resolution, right? To officially recognize a Pride made up of strays?”
A long rope of red curls fell over her shoulder, and I had to stop myself from reaching out to touch it.
“They prefer to be called ‘wildcats.’” Even though Pride cats had a slightly different definition for the same term. “But yes. Most of that’s been done over the phone, though.” Thank goodness. “If the resolution passes, we’ll be making history.”
For the first time ever, strays—werecats infected by a scratch or a bite rather than born into our world—would have a place to go for help, sanctuary, and company. They’d have an official presence and avoice. And their Pride would have a vote on the council, of equal worth to that of all the other Prides.
This potential new Pride wouldn’t have an official name until it was formally recognized, but unofficially, we were calling it the Lion’s Den.
“Working with her must be difficult for you,” Abby said.
Understatement of the millennium.
