think you’re guilty, and they’re now debating your sentence.”
“What? No.” My head shook in denial of the truth even as it sank in. “Uncle Rick wouldn’t do that.”
Michael took my hand in his, drawing my attention along with it. “They don’t need him to find you guilty. They need a simple majority. Two out of three.” His focus shifted back and forth between my eyes, searching them for understanding.
“This can’t be happening.” I pulled my hand from his grip and rose from the bed, pacing the width of the room before I realized what I was doing. “This isn’t real. I didn’t mean to kill him. I infected him, but that was an accident. It was all an accident.”
“I know.” Michael followed me with his eyes, trying to comfort me with the right words and a gentle tone. But I didn’t want comfort. I wanted answers.
“What does this mean? The cage?” I stopped pacing to look at Michael. “How long can they keep me locked up?” No one answered, so I asked again. “Daddy? How long?” Two weeks in the cage had nearly driven me crazy. My father had threatened to put me away for a year once, but I couldn’t imagine surviving that long without sunlight. Without trees, and grass, and hunting, and physical contact with…well, with anything.
But before he’d answered my first question, another, more startling one occurred to me. “Where?” They wouldn’t leave me at home; I knew that with a sudden devastating certainty. “Where will they put me?” I was not spending the next year of my life in Malone’s cellar.
My father closed his eyes and inhaled deeply as another knuckle cracked. “They aren’t planning to lock you up.”
“What then? Declawed? I’m going to be declawed?” My pitch rose on the last word, and I heard panic in my voice. Michael glanced at my father, and fear danced up my spine. “No. I can’t be declawed.” My nails bit into my palms, as if to remind me they were still there. “I can’t work as an enforcer without my claws. I can’t fucking defend myself without them.”
Maybe that was the whole point. If I couldn’t take care of myself, I’d have to let someone else do it. I’d have to stay home and get married and have babies.
“Faythe, they’re going for the death penalty.” My father spoke so softly that at first I thought I’d misunderstood him. “They think you murdered Andrew, and they want to execute you for it.”
“No.” I couldn’t think clearly enough to say anything else. It wasn’t possible. “Tabbies don’t get the death penalty. We’re too valuable. You’ve said it all my life.” And that’s when I finally understood. “That’s why they’re asking me about children…”
Michael nodded. “To them, you’re only as valuable as the service you provide the werecat community. If you aren’t willing to perpetuate the species, you’re no more valuable than any enforcer would be. And an enforcer can be replaced far easier than a dam.”
A sudden wave of nausea made my stomach clench. I leaned against the dresser, then let myself slide to the floor. My spine scraped three drawer handles on the way down. I couldn’t seem to draw a deep breath.
“Faythe?” Michael knelt at my side, but I barely heard him.
I’m going to die.
The hard wood was cold against my legs, even through my slacks, and I shivered uncontrollably. For what I did to Andrew, I was going to die. And the real bitch was that I probably deserved it.
I hadn’t meant to infect him, much less to kill him, but that made no difference in the long run. None of it would have happened if I hadn’t insisted on doing things my own way, on going to school instead of getting married. Dating humans, instead of tomcats. If not for me, Andrew would still be alive, probably dating some grad student who never did anything more violent than crush spiders.
But it was too late to take it back now. The only way to save my life was to prove my own worth—by agreeing to have some random tom’s baby.
Manx had known the truth all along. No wonder she was so happy, in spite of her constant heartburn and swollen feet. Her unborn child had saved her life, and she damn well knew it.
A warm hand touched my shoulder, then smoothed my hair down my back. “We won’t let this happen, Faythe. I swear on my life that we will not let this happen. We’ll find a way around it.”
I lifted my head to find my father kneeling next to me. My father the Alpha—head of the Territorial Council for as long as I could remember—was on his knees on a dusty, rented cabin floor, still wearing his usual suit and tie. I smiled at him. It was either that or cry, and I was determined not to cry in front of him again.
“I know you will. Just tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.” For once, I’d do exactly what he wanted. No questions asked.
He opened his mouth, but before he could speak, the bedroom door flew open behind him, and Jace burst into the room. “Greg! There’s a bruin out front, and he’s demanding to see whoever’s in charge.”
Two
“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,