Rachel Vincent - Shift

“I’m sorry.”

I shrugged and grabbed my mug, then followed him into the hall. Marc hung back to keep from crowding Owen’s room, but I pressed my way through the throng and stood against one wall with Kaci. My mother sat in a chair by Ethan’s bed, holding Charlie’s hand because she could do little else for him. Manx sat on the floor beside Owen’s bed, one mangled hand on his arm.

Carver headed straight for Charlie, whose clothes had been cut off but left under him, because lifting him again would have hurt him worse. The doc shook his head when my mother started to give up her chair, then he knelt to dig in his medical bag. Seconds later he pulled out a plastic-wrapped disposable syringe and a small vial of something clear. Carver drew some of the liquid into the syringe, then carefully felt for a vein in Charlie’s arm.

“Let’s give this a chance to help with the pain, then we’ll see what we can do for you,” he said softly as he slid the needle into Charlie’s skin. Charlie didn’t even flinch. What was a shot, compared to being dropped from thirty feet in the air?

My mother took the used syringe, and Dr. Carver crossed the room to Owen, then sank into the desk chair to examine my brother’s stomach. “These stitches look good, Karen.” She murmured her thanks, and the doc turned to Owen’s leg, which my mother hadn’t been confident she could stitch up properly. “These are deeper. They’re going to hurt for a while, but if you Shift a few times tomorrow, you should be good to go in a couple of days. Let’s get you stitched up.”

The doctor talked while he worked, to set his patient at ease, and it helped. I could attest to that personally. “This isn’t so bad,” he said when Owen flinched. “Faythe had similar injuries a couple of months ago, but Brett Malone had it much worse than either of you.…”

But I missed the rest of what he said, because that name echoed in my head. Brett Malone. Jace’s brother, whose life I’d saved with a meat mallet. Brett had insisted he owed me, even after he’d given us the heads-up about my father’s impeachment. I’d tried to brush off his IOU—I was just doing my job—but he was insistent.

And now I knew exactly how he could repay his debt.

I ran one hand over Kaci’s hair and whispered that I’d be right back. “Where are you going?” my father asked as I passed him, and when I gestured, he followed me into the hall, where Jace now stood with Marc and Vic.

“I’m getting evidence for Blackwell.” Before he could press for details, I turned to Jace. “I need your phone.”

Jace dug it from his pocket with neither hesitation nor questions, and I smiled at him gratefully. No one else would have done that. Even Marc would have asked why I wanted it.

I took Jace’s phone and headed toward my room, calling over my shoulder as I ran. “I’ll fill you in after I consult my source.”

“Hello?” Brett sounded cautious and suspicious—and he didn’t even know who was calling yet. Jace had his half brother on speed dial, as I’d known he would. Other than his mother, Brett was the only family member in his contacts—which I’d also guessed.

“Hey, Brett, it’s me.”

“Faythe?” he whispered, then something scratched against the receiver as he covered it. A few seconds later, he was back, and the background chatter was gone, leaving only the wind—a hollow-sounding echo in my ear. “My dad will kill me if he finds out I’m talking to you!”

“Yeah, well, welcome to the game. He tried to kill me in November.” I was too nervous and upset to sit, so I walked the carpet at the foot of my bed, occasionally running the fingers of my casted hand over the scarred posts.

“It’s not a good time, Faythe. What do you want?”

I took a deep breath and tried to keep in mind how difficult this whole thing must have been for Brett. He knew his father was a lying, ambitious, hypocritical, sexist, bigoted bastard, and there was nothing he could do about that. Unlike Jace, he was Malone’s actual son and couldn’t just walk away from his Pride. Not without leaving his mother and the rest of his family. And not without permission, which Malone would never give.

But the time for easy choices had passed.

I sighed and let a hint of true fear and frustration leak into my tone. “There’s never going to be a good time, Brett. I need a favor. Information.”

For a moment, I heard only the whistling wind and the heavy rustle of evergreen boughs. He was in the woods behind his house, hopefully out of hearing range of the rest of his Pride, because if anyone overheard what I was about to ask for, he could be locked up for the rest of his life. Or worse.

Finally Brett spoke, and each word sounded like it hurt coming out. “I’m all out of favors, Faythe. Things are bad around here. They’re going to notice I’m gone.”

My heart ached for Brett. I knew what it was like to stand in conflict with the rest of my family. The rest of my Pride. But lives weren’t at stake when I argued with my parents. My Alpha wasn’t psychotically ambitious.

However, as strongly as I sympathized with his position, I had to think of my Pride first. Of Kaci and Manx. Of my father’s precarious position on the council. If he lost it, he’d lose the ability to protect us all. So I steeled my spine and forged ahead.

“Are you enjoying life, Brett? Truly treasuring each breath? Because if it weren’t for me, you’d be rotting in the ground right now.”

“I know, but—”

“You owe me. You said, ‘Let me owe you, Faythe.’ So I’m going to let you.”

His sigh seemed to carry the weight of the world. “I already repaid you.”

“Yeah, well, that bit of information didn’t come in very handy.” When he woke from the attack that nearly killed him, Brett had warned me that his father would try to take the council chair. “Your dad jumped the gun and challenged mine before I even had a chance to warn him.”

“I had nothing to do with that.”

“I know.” I sank into my desk chair and picked up a novelty pen with a fuzzy purple feather sticking up from one end. “Okay, forget the favor. I’m asking you as a friend. We need this, Brett. You know what’s going on with the thunderbirds, don’t you?”

“Thunderbirds? What are you…?”

“Save it.” I dropped the pen on my desk. “Don’t insult me with lies. You’re better than that. You’re better than Calvin.”

Brett’s next exhalation was ragged, and twigs crunched beneath his boots. He was walking. Hopefully moving farther from the house. “I only have a minute. What do you want?”

“The truth. Is your dad doing this? Did he sic the birds on us?”

“Faythe, I can’t…He’ll kill me.”

“Jake Taylor’s dead, Brett. And Charlie Eames may never walk again, if he survives.” I shouldn’t have disclosed our damages to the enemy; that was on page one of the don’t-screw-your-own-Pride handbook. But you don’t make gains without taking risks, and I believed in Brett.

Of course, I’d believed in Dan Painter, too, but then his double agent act had nearly gotten me killed. But Brett would come through for us. He had to.…

“I’m sorry. I—”

“Apologies aren’t good enough, Brett. They almost got Kaci. You know what your father will do if he gets his paws on her.”

“He would never hurt her.”

“No, he’d just whore her out to one of your brothers the day she turns eighteen. Earlier, if he can pass it off as in the best interest of the species. Are you going to let him do that? Are you going to let him sell her in marriage just so he can get his sticky hands on our territory? Or the Di Carlos’?” Because Umberto Di Carlo had no heir, thanks to his daughter’s murder, and once he retired—or was forced into retirement—someone would have to take over his territory.