Alpha (26 page)

I didn't remember that. All I remembered, other than the pain was… “Marc roared.”

“Yeah, and he took Dean down in a running tackle. Though to be fair, I was right behind him. And so were Vic and Parker.”

“Have I ever mentioned how much I love you guys?”

Jace's eyes widened, then his lips turned up in a sly grin. “Actually, no.”

“Well, I hate to break up the tender moment—” Dr. Carver said, looking anything but sorry “—but your nose is broken, and I need to set it.”

I winced. “Doesn't that sound like fun…”

Jace shrugged. “It'll hurt like hell for a minute, but then it'll feel better. And if you don't do it, you're gonna look like Rocky for the rest of your life.”

“Fine. Just get it over with.”

Dr. Carver helped me sit up, then waited until he was sure I could stay balanced on my own. When I was sure
I wasn't going to throw up, I nodded and closed my eyes. “Okay, here we go…” he warned.

The next moment was a burst of pain in the center of my face, and the grating sound of bone against bone. I screamed. Then it was over. It still hurt, but less than before, and was easily overwhelmed by the pain in the rest of my body.

“Faythe?” The bedroom door opened and Marc came in, followed by my mother, whose face was red from crying.

My mom sniffled and wiped her tears with a damp tissue. “Is she okay?”

“She's going to live,” the doc said. “But she's going to be in a lot of pain for a long time.”

Jace stood so my mother could sit by me, and the moment I saw her face, I burst into tears. “I'm so sorry! I lost it. I lost the whole Pride. Everything Daddy worked for…”

“Not everything.” Marc stood over her shoulder, his face carefully blank, which was my first clue that mine must look pretty bad. Well, actually, my first clue was my swollen-shut eye and the mass of puffy, sticky pain that my nose had become. “I don't think you'll lose many of the toms. But we did lose the house.”

“What?” I tried to sit, and the doctor pushed me firmly back onto the pillow by one shoulder. I hissed when pain shot through the joint, and he let me go. “How can we lose the house? This is our house. Dad's house. He designed it. His company built it.”

Marc sighed and my mother's eyes watered. “He paid for it in part with the Pride's money. With the tithes, just like our salaries.”

“We thought that was only fair.” My mom blotted
her eyes again. “We thought the property should belong to the entire Pride, rather than just the core family, so everyone would always know they were welcome.”

I'd had no idea. How could I not have known? “Is that even enforceable? I'm assuming the deed doesn't list thirty-something names on it, right? Just yours and Daddy's?”

“That's right, but it still belongs in part to the Pride, and it's in the Pride's territory. We could offer to buy out the Pride's half, but I doubt the new leadership will let that happen without an actual fight. And even if they did, it would take a while to work those details out. And we still couldn't live here—inside the territory—without submitting to the new ‘authority.'”

“And that's not gonna happen. So…this isn't my room anymore?” I sat up, and that time they let me. My gaze roved my shelves, my books, my dresser, and my desk. My CDs and my computer. The shelf Marc had hung for me…

“Not unless you feel like pledging loyalty to Kenton Pierce.” Marc spoke through gritted teeth. His pupils were vertical slits in the glittering golden brown of his irises. “But I think in your case, that would come with certain obligations.”

But pledging anything to Kent was the farthest thing from my mind.

“There are too many of them…” I still stared at my room, but what I saw was the line of cars. The dozens of men Malone—officially, Kent Pierce—had brought. “We can't take them.”

“We couldn't even if we were evenly matched,” Jace said, half-seated on the end of the bed. “They're armed. Ten of them, anyway.”

“They're kicking us out.” I said it. I understood it. But I couldn't believe it.

“The rest of us, yes.” Marc's face was so flushed I was afraid his eyes would pop out of his skull from the pressure. “They're trying to keep you and the doc. The most valuable resources.”

“They'd have to kill me first.”

My mother huffed, and I was relieved to see anger winning out over her tears. “They very nearly did. But I have to say, this whole maneuver seems pointless. They have to know you're not going to stay here with Kent. How long can he possibly expect to hold on to a territory with no tabby?”

“He probably doesn't realize he's actually lost Manx and Kaci yet,” I said, sparing a moment to be grateful that they'd gotten away. “Once they figure that out, they'll probably make a move for one or both of them.” And we weren't ready for that yet. I shook my head and my shoulder ached worse. “We can't wait for their next move. We'll regroup, and come back on our own terms. I have a plan.” Everyone tried to talk at once, but I spoke over them. “Let's go.”

My mother frowned. “Don't you want to rest first?”

“I can rest in the car. For now, I want to get out of here so I don't have to see that bastard sitting in Dad's chair. Everybody pack up quickly. Mom, can you take some more stuff for Kaci and Manx?” They hadn't had time to take much.

“Of course.” She stood and helped me up, when the room threatened to slide right out from under me.

I glanced from Marc to Jace and back. “You two pack for yourselves and for the other guys. Put Vic and Brian
on watch at the front door, and Parker by the back door, where he won't have to see his father or brother.”

They both nodded, already heading out with my mom.

While the others carried out their tasks, I packed slowly and carefully, with Dr. Carver's help, desperately wishing for the use of both eyes. I hurt all over, but refused to take anything stronger than Tylenol until we were on the road. Carver's pills wore off quickly—damned Shifter metabolism—but, while they were in effect, tended to render me less than coherent. Or conscious.

I packed everything I could fit into the two suitcases in my closet, taking special care to empty my underwear drawer. Otherwise, I'd have nightmares about strangers riffling through my stuff while I wasn't around to defend it.

Fifteen minutes later, the guys were back, carrying three suitcases each. Jace went to help my mom with Kaci's stuff, and Marc sent the doc to pack some food and drinks. Then he closed my bedroom door and we were alone for the first time since my father had died.

I closed my eyes, suddenly nervous for no reason I could have named. “So…I guess I'm gonna look like Rocky for a while.” I'd intentionally avoided more than a brief glimpse of my face while I packed, but that one glance was enough. My nose was puffy and discolored. Both of my eyes were black, one swollen almost shut. My lower lip was split and bloody. And my left cheek was purple. I wouldn't even have been able to recognize myself, if it weren't for the pain—that was getting to be pretty familiar.

“You know that doesn't matter to me.”

“Good. Because if today's any indication, this may be how I spend the majority of my tenure as Alpha.”

“I thought he was going to kill you,” Marc whispered, leaning against the door.

“Sounds like he tried.” I shoved my spare work boots into the second suitcase and forced the zipper around a tight corner, one hand pressed to my throbbing cracked rib. “Thank you for stopping it.”

“Promise me you won't do this again.”

“Hell, I didn't mean to do it this time. The plan was to win.”

Marc crossed the room in an instant and pulled me up by my good arm. I winced, and he loosened his grip, but didn't let go. “I'm serious, Faythe. You can't win against Dean. Not even in a fair fight. This isn't what your dad had in mind when he named you. Being Alpha isn't just about fighting. Hell, most of them are too old for that, anyway. And I can't watch him kill you.”

“You won't have to.” I stood on my toes to kiss him, half-afraid he wouldn't kiss me back. That he'd be too mad, or…repulsed by my raw-meat face.

He kissed me like we might not for touch again for years. Like he thought he'd lost me.

I rested my forehead on his chin, glad I could breathe through my nose again, so I could inhale his scent. I hurt so badly, and I just wanted to be held. But that wasn't an option for an Alpha. Especially a disgraced Alpha.

“Are you ready?” His arms slipped around me slowly, careful of my many deep bruises.

“Yeah. Let's get out of here.” I stopped in the office to grab the Pride call tree, then we met everyone else in the hallway, all seven of the guys loaded down with suitcases. My mom pulled her own wheeled bag and
held a cardboard box loaded with my father's plaques, awards, and personal papers.

“Three cars,” I said, when I was sure I had everyone's attention, struggling to focus through encompassing pain. “Marc and I will go with Jace. Vic, you take Owen and my mom. Protect her with your life.”

Vic almost looked insulted. “As if it were in doubt.”

I nodded, pleased. “Parker, take Brian and the doc. We stay together on the road, stay in touch via cell, and don't stop until we get to the free zone border. Understood?”

Everyone nodded, and I took a deep breath, then met my mother's gaze. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, but I swear I will fix this.
We
will fix this.”

“Yes.” She nodded firmly. “We will.”

By then, the usurpers knew we were leaving, and they were buzzing with vicious excitement, eager to descend on the spoils of Kent and Dean's war. When I opened the front door, dozens of eyes watched me.

I ignored them all. I limped across the porch and down the steps staring straight ahead, pretending I didn't hear them. I was almost to Marc's car when Kenton Pierce stepped into my path.

“You know you don't have to go.”

I tried to ignore him, but he wouldn't move, and I wasn't going to walk around him. “I'm not broken,” I growled through jaws clenched shut. “I can and will drop you like bad cell service.” Even if it nearly killed me.

Kent frowned. “I'm just saying you'd be safe here. I swear no one will touch you.”

“If I thought you actually had the power to guarantee
that, I might… No, I wouldn't.” I could hear disgust dripping from my voice. “Enjoy it while it lasts.”

“Fine, if that's the way you want it.” His face flushed—I'd embarrassed him. “But you know that if you won't stay and eventually accept me, we'll have to go get either Manx or Kaci. You're not leaving us much of a choice.” Because without a dam, there could be no permanent Alpha.

“We won't let you take them.” In fact, we'd die defending them.

Kent nodded stiffly, then glanced at Malone, and his next words sounded rehearsed. “If you, Marc Ramos, or Jace Hammond set foot in this territory without permission again, you'll be rearrested and tried on the outstanding charges.”

I ignored the threat and walked on, tensing the closer we drew to Dean. Marc stiffened on my left, and I knew he wanted to put himself between me and Dean. But he didn't, and I had enormous respect for his self-control.

Dean crowded us on purpose, standing as close to the car as he could without actually touching it. When I opened the door, he leaned close. “I'm ready to finish the job whenever you are…” he whispered.

I dropped my suitcase and he lurched away from my right fist—and directly into the path of my left.

Dean stumbled back, one hand over his jaw. But he came up laughing, while I struggled not to show how much the blow had hurt my ribs and my shoulder.

The guys loaded the luggage, and as Vic held the door open for my mother, Malone approached her with his hand out, like he'd shake hers. Like they were sharing an amiable parting. “I'm sorry about the trouble,
Karen,” he said, loud and clear, so everyone could hear how reasonable he was being.

She scowled up at him, eyes narrowed. Her arm flew almost faster than I could see. The smack of flesh against flesh was loud in the silence, and a small red handprint stood out starkly on his left cheek. “You have no idea how sorry you're going to be.”

I
lay across Jace's backseat in the rapidly descending darkness, my head on a pillow, but they wouldn't let me sleep for long, because I'd lost consciousness—twice—and my pupils were dilated. Or not dilated. Whichever is bad after a head injury. Marc kept his window open at the top so the cold air would help keep me awake, and he kept checking on me. Talking to me.

But I didn't want to talk. I wanted to sleep. And I really wanted to punch something, but that train had already left the station and I wasn't on it. Evidently I'd been fucking
hit
by it.

“Faythe, it really is going to be okay, one way or another,” Jace said, and I wished I could see him, but the rearview mirror was out of my line of sight.

“I know.” But not anytime soon. “When can I Shift? What did the doc say?”

“He didn't. And I'm assuming that means not yet.” Marc twisted in the front passenger seat to face me again, but I could hardly stand to look at him. I'd lost. I'd been humiliated, dominated, beaten, and nearly killed. And I'd let them down. All of them. All my men. Kaci.
My mother. And my father. Somehow, knowing I'd failed him hurt the worst. Even worse than my head.

“You want some more Tylenol?” Jace asked, and leather creaked as he shifted in the driver's seat. “You can't have anything stronger yet—nothing that will knock you out—but we have plenty of Tylenol.”

“No, thanks.” The pain was unbelievable, and as impossible as it seemed, I literally hurt everywhere. Even in my fingers. The incessant roar in my head was the worst, but my ribs and face took a close second place. But physical pain couldn't compare to the knowledge that I'd lost the Pride. The whole damn thing. Now Malone's puppet regime had settled into my father's house. They would sleep in my parents' room, go through our things, and generally rub salt into the open wound that my very existence had become.

I closed my eyes and sighed, trying to put it all away. Self-pity and self-doubt were not Alpha-worthy traits, and I did not have time to indulge them. Not if I was going to reclaim what I'd lost, either through challenging Kent—though I couldn't fight Dean again; that much was clear—or by full-scale attack.

Bracing myself for more pain, I sat up slowly, hissing when the Pathfinder hit a bump and my entire body was jostled.

Marc scowled at me. “Lie back down.”

“I need the call tree and my phone.” He'd held my cell while I'd fought, so it wouldn't get smashed.

“You need to rest for now. We'll start making calls when we get there.”

“By then Malone will have gotten to most of them, and there's no telling what his version of the hostile takeover will sound like. Give me the phone. Please.”

“We took the records,” Jace insisted, as a passing highway light briefly lit the entire car. “It'll take him a while to get in touch with all the Pride members with no list and no numbers.”

“Which is why we need to press our advantage. Now. They're still our toms—those who choose to stand with us—and they deserve to know what really happened.” They all knew about my father, of course. We'd made those calls two days earlier. But they didn't know he'd been buried, and until Malone—or Kenton Pierce—got in touch with them, they wouldn't know about the regime change.

“Fine.” Marc sighed, already digging in his bag for the member list. “But let me make the calls. If you're planning to try Shifting soon, you need to rest.”

I thought about that for a moment, then nodded and laid down on my side again, my legs bent at the knee, in spite of the pain in my hips. I felt like I was shirking a big responsibility by not telling the other Pride members myself, but Marc was right. I'd be little good to them until I was healed.

However, listening to the calls was torture. Hearing my own failure and humiliation—even through Marc's blessedly biased perspective—made me feel like crawling into a hole and never coming out. At least, not until I'd redeemed myself. Which would be hard to do from my hole.

Other than Dr. Carver and Carey Dodd, I hadn't had much personal contact with the other nonenforcer toms. Most of them hadn't yet been contacted by Kent's men and they were all shocked and outraged by what we had to tell them. Most made informal vows of loy
alty over the phone and promised to leave the territory immediately.

But they were not all eager to forswear the new leadership in favor of an unproven young female Alpha who'd lost a challenge—and almost lost her life—during her first week on the job. We lost about a third of our men, and the real bitch was that I couldn't blame them for having no faith in me.

After Marc made all his calls, I asked for my phone again so I could start calling our allies. Marc tried to talk me into letting him make those calls, too, but I refused. I had to be the one to call the other Alphas.

We compromised. I would call my uncle, then I'd let Uncle Rick call Di Carlo and Taylor.

Marc handed over my phone, and I sat up to autodial. I was sure Malone would have already called him, but I should have known better. Malone wouldn't be eager to advertise what he'd done until his new puppet Alpha had had a chance to recruit as many of our former Pride members as possible.

“Hello? Faythe?” my uncle said into the phone. My silence was the only reason he had to suspect trouble; I'd already spoken to him twice that morning, planning our now-defunct attack.

“Yeah, it's me.” I leaned with my head on the window, letting the cold glass leach some of the heat from my utter humiliation. “Call your men back, if you've already sent them. There's been a change in plans.”

“What happened?”

“Malone found out about the funeral and came in early with eight cars full of toms. Kenton Pierce challenged me, and Colin Dean fought in his place.”

“What happened?” He sounded sick, and he hadn't even heard the worst yet.

“He nearly killed her,” Jace called from the front seat as he steered us around a sharp curve, and I groaned, but couldn't argue.

“Marc called the fight when I lost consciousness.” I closed my eyes, and realized I never wanted to open them again. “I lost, Uncle Rick. They kicked us out. We're on the way to Marc's house in the free zone now, and the only good news I have is that we got Kaci, Manx, and Des out before Malone and his men saw them. And Holly, too. She was there for the funeral.”

There was silence, other than the highway wind, as my uncle considered the new information. “Are you okay?”

“No,” Marc answered for me. “She has a concussion, a broken nose, two black eyes, a cracked rib, a possible skull fracture, and more bruises than I can count. She's supposed to be resting.”

“I'm fine,” I insisted, speaking through pain I refused to elaborate on. “And we're going to get it back. All of it. We're gonna go back in, and this time we
will
surprise them. If you're still with me.” Because the third time was a charm. Right?

“You know I am. But you have to heal first. Call me tomorrow, and we'll make more concrete plans. Okay?”

“Of course.”

“Guys, make sure she gets some rest, okay?”

I smiled in spite of myself as the guys answered. Uncle Rick sounded so much like my father that I was both happy and sad at the same time. I couldn't be
lieve how much I missed him, though I knew how disappointed he'd be in me if he were still there.

By the end of a nine-hour drive spent sandwiched between the other two cars in our caravan, the least significant of my injuries had become dull throbs and most of my sore muscles had stiffened up. But my cracked rib and pummeled face hurt like Dean had come back to kick me while I was down, and my head had become the source of all earthly misery.

When we turned into Marc's driveway, my heart leaped into my throat. I didn't want to go in the house. I didn't want them to see me in my current state, and I didn't want to face them after my failure. But they already knew what had happened—my mother had called Michael from the car right after we'd left—and I couldn't avoid facing my own Pride. Not if I claimed to be their leader.

Vic pulled his car in behind Marc's—which he'd left when we'd brought him back to the ranch—and we parked beside him, behind Ryan's POS. Parker stopped right behind us.

Marc was out of the car before Jace could kill the engine. He opened the rear passenger door, but instead of helping me out, he got in next to me. “Are you okay?”

I put my head on his shoulder and let him hold me. “I have honestly never been less okay in my life.”

“Yeah.” He hesitated, and I knew there was more. “I only have the one bed. I want you to take it. You need to rest, and I'll…I'll just watch you sleep.” They'd have to watch me for a while, because of the head trauma. “I'll have everyone else leave you alone until you feel like…being with people.”

“No.” I shook my head firmly, in spite of the pain. “I
appreciate the bed—I feel like I could sleep for a month. But I have to talk to them first. How can I claim to be their Alpha if I can't even face them?”

“It can wait a couple of hours,” Jace said from the front seat, twisted so that he could see us both.

“No, it can't. It's already waited more than nine,” I insisted. Someone knocked on the car window, and I looked up to see my mother peering anxiously at us. “Let's go. They're probably worried enough as it is.”

I made it to the house under my own power, but my left hip hurt with every step, so I let Marc help me onto the porch. Jace held the door open for me, and the collective gasp when I stepped into the living room could have silenced the crowd at Texas Stadium.

Michael stood from the couch, where he'd been talking softly to Holly, and briefly, I wondered how he'd explained all this to her. We could always tell her I'd fallen out of a tree….

“Faythe…?” Kaci stood in the middle of the kitchen, holding an unopened can of Coke, staring at me as if she didn't quite recognize me. Or didn't want to.

“I'm fine. Really,” I insisted. But as soon as she heard my voice—thus had to believe what she saw—she dropped the can, and it rolled under the nearest cabinet.

“Yeah.” Michael came closer, studying my face in the inadequate light. “Wherein ‘fine' means ‘beaten to within an inch of your life.'”

“More like half an inch.” I tried to smile, but the expression felt all wrong. “But I really am fine. I wouldn't mind sitting down, though.”

Marc led me to the couch where I sat next to Holly, who stared at me with her mouth hanging open. Her face
was tearstained, her makeup a distant memory, yet she was stunning next to me, I had no doubt.

“What…? What…? What…?” But she couldn't complete the thought.

“She keeps saying that,” Kaci said, sinking onto the couch on my other side. “Pound her on the back, and she may actually finish a sentence.”

The rest of the enforcers followed us in, carrying suitcases, and the minute he saw Manx, standing near one wall, rocking the sleeping baby in her arms, Owen dropped the bag he carried and made a beeline in her direction.

“You're okay?” He peeked at the baby, then stared down at her like the sun couldn't shine on a world without Manx in it. “Both of you?” The obvious fear and love in his expression broke my heart. Owen didn't have a poker face; everything he felt could be read clearly on his features and there wasn't a mean cell in his entire body. His heart could be broken so easily.

“We are fine.” She smiled up at him, her features mirroring the transparent relief on his. “Now.”

No, Manx wouldn't break his heart. But life just might. Owen wasn't a leader, and he was only a competent fighter. And in our world, men like that, ordinary, bighearted gentlemen, didn't get to marry and raise families, because they couldn't protect them.

At the sound of my mother's heels on the scarred hardwood, I looked up to find her watching Owen with a mixture of pride and fear, as if she were thinking the very same thing. Then she glanced around the room for Ryan, and for the first time I noticed him standing in the corner alone, watching. His gaze met mine, but I
couldn't read his expression, and I didn't have the energy to deal with him at the moment.

“Dean did this?” Michael knelt in front of me for a better look. He started to tilt my face toward the light, then seemed to think better of it. “How bad is it?” But he was talking to the doctor, who'd just come in the door with his medical bag.

“Who's Dean?” Holly asked, her eyes still glazed with shock. “Some kind of mafia hit man? Why was he after Faythe? Is this some kind of…safe house?”

“You didn't tell her?” I frowned at Michael, though the movement hurt every muscle in my face.

He shrugged miserably. “No matter how I start, it sounds ridiculous. And, I have to admit, the automatic death sentence is a damn strong deterrent.” He turned to Holly then, still kneeling, and put one hand on her leg, and his love shone even through his fear and frustration. “But I swear on my life that I am not in the mafia. None of us are.” Before she could argue, he turned back to the doc for an answer.

“Obviously Faythe's nose is broken,” Carver said. “And I suspect she has a hairline skull fracture and a cracked rib. Other than that, she's basically one big bruise. And there seems to be residual pain and soreness in her left hip and shoulder, from impact with the ground.”

“Impact…?” Michael raised one brow, at me this time, but Marc beat me to it.

“The bastard picked her up like a clean and jerk, and threw her at the ground. Then he tried to kick her face in.”

“Damn it, Faythe…” Michael swore, standing, and
his green eyes darkened with rage like I'd rarely seen in him. “I'll kill him.”

“You'll have to wait in line,” Jace said, just as Holly squeaked, “You kill people?”