Rachel Vincent - Rogue

I happened to agree, and since she let me teach Abby the basics of self-defense during her stay—after all, nothing puts repressed rage to better use than kicking the shit out of a big punching bag with a scary face drawn on it—I didn’t think to question what my mother was doing during our “therapy” sessions. I’d assumed she was in her room, knitting something for one charity auction or another. Evidently I’d been wrong.

It started the day we’d returned from Missouri with the body of Vic’s younger brother, Anthony, along with the remains of Miguel and Sean, his accomplice. I’d assumed my mother was trying to deal with what had happened, with the loss of one tabby and the near loss of two more, including me. After all, our very existence had been threatened, our collective vulnerability exposed. But I should have known better. My mother was stronger than that. She was the silent backbone of our family and a former power on the Territorial Council. As such, she could deal with threats and disasters on a large scale, because they weren’t aimed at her personally.

But she couldn’t deal with Ryan.

Ryan was her Achilles’ heel. He had wounded her twice now, the first time when he left us, and the second when he teamed up with Miguel to save his own fur. But there was more to my mother’s personal crisis, to the guilt that drove her into isolation in the woods, than everyone else knew. My mother had a secret, and it was eating her alive.

I snuck back through the woods as soon as I was sure my mother was asleep, and during the entire twenty-minute walk back to the ranch, I debated whether or not to tell her I knew her secret. And that I wasn’t the only one.

To my knowledge, only two others knew, and I was sure neither of them would ever tell. Ryan’s motivation for keeping his mouth shut was the same as always: to save his own hide. Our father had agreed to let him live against the wishes of most of the rest of the Territorial Council. In fact, our father was the only thing standing between Ryan and a very slow, very painful death. Ryan would never do anything to piss off the one man keeping him alive, and nothing would put his existence in greater peril than telling our father that he’d used our mother to spy on the Territorial Council.

The only other person who knew that my mother had unwittingly fed our abductors privileged information was Abby. She’d been locked up in the basement cell across from mine when we found out about Ryan betraying his family to save his own life, and she’d been just as disgusted with him as I was. But she’d promised me never to breathe a word about it to anyone. For my mother’s sake, not for Ryan’s.

In the clearing just inside the edge of the forest, I stopped to Shift back, my mind still on my mother.

I’d never really questioned my decision not to tell her what I knew. Technically, it was none of my business, but more important, I didn’t want to be the cause of problems between my parents. She had meant no harm. On the contrary, she’d been trying to mend the rift between Ryan and the rest of the family.

Shortly after Ryan left, when I was thirteen, my mother became secretly obsessed with tracking him down to talk him into rejoining the Pride. After two years of searching, she found him, and though he eagerly accepted her money, he steadily refused to come home. In retrospect, I think that was the closest he ever came to standing up for something he believed in.

When Ryan got tangled up in Miguel’s kidnapping scheme and began using her to spy on the council, my mother never had a clue. I could only assume she figured it out when Owen dragged Ryan home in shame, not to mention shackles. I couldn’t be sure, though, because I’d never asked either of them. But as far as I knew, she hadn’t spoken one word to Ryan since the night my father locked him up.

My Shift complete, I forced thoughts of my mother and brother from my mind as I stepped into the backyard to find my clothes.

Normally I wouldn’t have bothered dressing until I’d showered. Werecats are accustomed to seeing one another in all variations of undress, as well as all stages of mid-Shift. But hopefully there would be a delivery boy on the property soon, for whom we’d have to make allowances. Walking around nude in front of humans was not a good way to keep a low profile with the local community. It was an excellent way to make new friends, though.

Unfortunately, Marc didn’t like new friends.

Dressed, except for my bare feet, I crossed the yard and stepped into the back hall, shoes dangling from the fingers of my left hand. Before I reached my room, Ethan stepped out of the kitchen with a stack of cheddar Pringles cradled in one hand. He smiled, extending his snack toward me. “Bite?”

I hesitated, then shrugged. “Actually, yeah. Thanks.” We met halfway, only a few feet from my open bedroom door, and I snatched the entire stack from his hand, grinning as I danced out of reach. I was still dodging my brother’s long-armed grasp when my father’s office door opened and he appeared in the threshold.

“Karen!” he bellowed to the house in general. “We’re supposed to be there in an hour.”

Clearly expecting an answer, he paused, glancing down the hall in our direction. But no response came.

“Karen?” he called again, stepping into the center of the foyer. Still no answer. My father’s eyes locked onto mine, and my heart started to pound. Surely he could hear it. He knew I knew something. I barely resisted the urge to hide behind Ethan. “Have either of you seen your mother?”

“Yeah,” Ethan said, and my heart actually skipped a beat.

He knew Mom was in the woods? If so, why hadn’t he mentioned it? He knew as well as I did that she only Shifted when she was upset about something.

But I should have known Ethan was joking. “Slim lady. Blue eyes and a gray pageboy,” he continued, his eyes glistening in appreciation of his own humor. “Answers to the name ‘Mom.’”

Our patriarch frowned, his eyes darkening. Fortunately, he thought Ethan was answering for us both, which was fine with me. I tossed another chip into my mouth and started to duck into my room before my father could question me separately. But my foot froze in midair when my mother’s voice rang out from my parents’ bedroom.

“Gracious, Gregory,” she called out. The door opened, and my mother stepped into the hall with a towel wrapped around her hair, tying the sash of a pale pink bathrobe. Her feet peeked out from beneath the robe. Two entirely human feet with neatly polished toenails.

My jaw dropped open, and I was glad no one was watching me. How the hell did she get past me?

“What on earth are you shouting about?” my mother demanded, and for a moment, I thought she’d read my mind. But then she propped her hands on her hips and glared in irritation at my father. “Have I ever made us late?”

“There’s a first time for everything,” Daddy said. But as stern as his voice was, his eyes were gentle when he looked at my mother. His eyes were always gentle when he looked at her, as if something about her melted his heart, even when she was second-guessing him or slapping his hand for trying to sneak a bite of raw cookie dough. And that was probably a pretty good assessment. She thawed him out. It was a damn good thing someone could.

“Well, I’m still waiting for the first time you let me get ready in peace.” Her mouth twitched in an effort to keep from smiling. “Meet me in the car in twenty minutes.” She backed into her room and closed the door gently. I followed her example.

In my room, I stripped for the third time that day and headed straight to the bathroom for a quick shower.