Ethan had barely regained his feet when I rushed him. My shoulder slammed into his chest. I drove him backward onto the mat again, and his breath exploded from his chest in a massive oof.
Yeah! Kaci shouted, and I twisted to see her standing again, her smile almost as big as mine.
But I shouldnt have looked.
Ethan grabbed my left shoulder and rolled me over, sitting on my thighs. So much for a challenge, he taunted.
I retorted with my fist.
My first blow landed on his ribs, and I shoved him off me. But before I could flip him onto his stomach and go for my cuffs again, more music rang out from the bench next to Kaci.
Papa Roach, singing Scars. That was my phone. Marcs ring.
I was halfway to the bale of hay when something hit my back, fast and hard. I fell face-first onto the mat, Ethans weight pinning me.
Youre too easily distracted, he scolded. Are you going to ask the bad guys to stop beating on you for a minute so you can answer your phone?
I twisted beneath him but couldnt get any leverage; hed pinned my arms to my sides. Get up! I shouted, as loud as I could with his weight constricting my lungs. Thats Marc!
Ethan slid off me reluctantly. You dont see me going all starry-eyed when my girlfriends on the line, he huffed.
Youre not even taking her calls. I glanced at Kaci and held my right hand up, palm cupped. Toss it here, please.
Her aim was good, but mine wasnt. The phone flew past my hand and landed on the mat behind me. Ethan dove for it, an impish grin lighting his whole face. But I was faster. My fingers closed around the plastic just as his closed around my arm, and I put the phone in my other hand, flipping it open as Ethan groaned in defeat.
The look on his face was so comical that I was laughing when I spoke into the receiver.
Hello?
Faythe? Is that you? At first I didnt recognize the voice, either because I was expecting Marcs, or because the speaker sounded so panicked. But understanding didnt take long. This is Daniel Painter. He huffed into the phone like hed just run a marathon.
My heart stopped beating for a moment, even as my pulse tripped so fast the surge of adrenaline actually hurt. Whats wrong? I shoved Ethan when he tried to snatch the phone from me, still playing around. But my tone froze him in place, and the smile drained from his expression. He glanced at my phone, and I knew he was listening in.
Marcs gone, and there are two dead toms in his living room. Painters words all ran together and at first I thought Id misunderstood him. I must have misunderstood him. Some of the blood is theirs, but lots of it is his, too.
There was blood?
My heart seemed to burst within my chest, flooding me with more pain and confusion than I could sort through at once. I fell off my knees onto my rump and could barely feel the mat I sat on. My hands tingled as if they were on hold, waiting to receive signals from my brain, and I was afraid Id drop the phone.
Painter was still talking in my ear, babbling words I couldnt understand. Phrases that wouldnt sink in. Bastards. Dead. Blood. Missing. I could barely hear him over the static in my head, the ambient noise of my own denial.
Faythe! Ethan muttered. I blinked and shook my head, then forced my eyes to make sense of his face. Slow him down. Make him give you the facts.
Right. The facts.
And just like that, the world hurled itself back into focus around me, the entire barn tilting wildly for a moment before everything seemed to settle with an eerily crisp clarity. I met my brothers eyes, thanking him wordlessly for the mental face-slap. Take Kaci upstairs and get Dad. I think hes in the barn.
By the time Id gotten a deep breath, Ethan was on the bottom step, one hand beckoning Kaci to follow him, the other flipping open his own phone, because he could call the barn much faster than he could get there, even with a werecats speed.
Faythe? Dan was shouting now and I took a moment to be grateful that I got a strong signal in our basement. Are you there?
Im here. Calm down and explain it to me slowly. I stood, and almost lost my balance when one foot hit the concrete floor and the other sank into the thick mat. Marc is gone, but you smell his blood. Is that right?
Its everywhere, Painter said, with no hesitation, and I pictured him nodding, though I couldnt see the gesture over the line. Theres a thick trail of it leading across the carpet to the front door. Like someone dragged him off.
Oh, shit. Oh, noooo!
Stop it, Faythe. Hes lost a lot of blood, but that doesnt mean hes dead. Marc would be fine. We just had to find him.
Where does the trail go? I asked, struggling to keep my voice calm and even. If I panicked, Dan might panic, and wed lose valuable time that would be better spent looking for Marc. Does it continue out the front door?
Yeah. Across the front stoop, down the steps and over the grass. Thats how I knew something was wrong when I got here.
So, it ends in the grass?
On the edge of the driveway. Painter paused, and I heard a metallic groan, as a screen door creaked open. It looks like they put him in a car and took off with him. Therere big ruts in the gravel from where they peeled off too fast. He hesitated again, then asked the question I hadnt even posed to myself yet. Do you think hes dead?
My eyes closed, and I inhaled deeply. Then exhaled slowly. I dont know. I sucked in another breath and forced my concentration back to the work at hand, and away from thoughts I couldnt bear to entertain. Did they take his car?
No. Its up next to the house. Along the south side, where he always parks it. The screen door slammed shut with a horrid tinny screech, and Painters voice echoed slightly, now that it had four walls to bounce off again.
Should I go look for Marc, or start cleaning up the mess? Painter inhaled deeply, obviously trying to calm himself. And the bodies?
I wanted to tell him to forget about the bodies and start driving around town on the lookout for Marc. Or into the forest, keeping an eye out for fresh tire tracks. But the truth was that if there were enough of them to take Marc down, there would be too many for Painter to handle on his own. Assuming he found them.
My mind was flooded by the possibilities. Maybe theyd taken him alive. But if so, why? And where?
Maybe theyd killed him, and had left to dispose of the body. My eyes watered, and my fist clenched around the phone, the nails of my opposite hand biting into my flesh. No. Thats not what happened. If theyd killed him, why not dispose of all three bodies at once? Why leave the others?
Unless the killers drove a compact
Okay, lets take it one thing at a time. My feet moved as I spoke, and I found myself on the aisle formed by two rows of weight-lifting equipment. The other bodies. Are they strays? Do you know them? I thought about going upstairs, but didnt want Kaci to overhear anything that might upset her.
Yeah, theyre strays. I recognize the scents, but dont know the names.
There are two of them, right? I ran my hand over the leg press, cursing silently when a flake of paint slid beneath my fingernail. And they bled on the carpet?
There are two of them, right? I ran my hand over the leg press, cursing silently when a flake of paint slid beneath my fingernail. And they bled on the carpet?
Yeah. Floorboards creaked, and I pictured Painter leaning over the bodies. The carpet, themselves, each other. The biggest one has a huge gash on the top of his skull. Near the back. And the coffee tables broken and covered in his blood. Looks like he fell and hit it. Or else someone hit him with it.
Yeah, that sounded like Marc. An odd pang of pride and pain rang through me, as I hoped fervently that he was still alive to repeat that performance someday.
What about the other one?
Side of his heads caved in. Looks like someone took a rung-back chair to im.
Okay, now I need you to sniff around. Concentrate. Do you smell any scents that dont belong to either Marc or the dead strays? Did anyone else bleed in there recently? Or sweat? Or touch anything? Sniff the doorknobs first, then anything that might have been used as a weapon. Did you touch the doorknob?
Only from the outside of the door. There was a pause on his end, and I thought I heard floorboards groan as he knelt. Or stood. Yeah, theres another scent on the front door. The wood and the knob. Its another stray, but no one I know.
Good. I was walking again, my feet whispering on concrete, my hand trailing over the long bar on the bench press. That scent belonged to the last person whod touched the doorknobpresumably whoever had taken Marc. Dont touch the knob. Well need to smell that scent.
I didnt hear what he said next because of the footsteps thundering toward me from the kitchen. My dad jerked open the door and jogged down the steps, breathing deeply from exertion, his eyes wide with alarm. Id rarely seen him so flustered, and it meant the world to me that Marc meant so much to him.
My father wore no coat other than his usual suit jacket, and only once I noticed that his cheeks were flushed from the cold did I realize that I was completely covered with chill bumps, and that I was actually shivering.
Now that I was done exercising, my sweat had dried to leave me cold in the basement chill.
What happened? Moving briskly, my father stepped over the corner of the mat and snatched the blanket from Kacis chair.
Hang on a second, Dan, I said into the mouthpiece, while my father draped the blanket over my shoulders. Daniel Painter found two dead strays in Marcs living room. Marcs missing, and a trail of his blood leads out the house and to the driveway, where it looks like he was loaded into a car. At least one other stray was there, based on the scent on the doorknob.
My Alphas expression grew bleaker with each word I spoke. How much blood did he lose?
I dont know, I answered, just as Painter said, A lot. My heart thumped harder, aching within my chest at the thought of how much blood hed lost, and my father motioned for me to sit in the chair Kaci had vacated.
Are these dead strays in cat form or human form? he asked, knowing Painter would hear him.
Human form. Painter sighed, and when springs squealed over the phone, I pictured him sinking wearily onto Marcs couch. A couch Id never sat on, or even seen.
My father frowned, and I shared his confusion. Why would werecats attack someone they obviously meant to kill, based on the earlier ambush, without the use of their best weaponsclaws and canines? For that matter, why attack Marc at all? Werent Manx and I the original targets? Wasnt the objective the usual: kidnap the women and kill the men? If so, why go after Marc when Manx and I werent even there?
My phone was getting hot, so I switched to my other ear.
Are the dead men carrying anything? My dad dug in his inside coat pocket and pulled out his own cell phone, scrolling through the menu as he spoke. Wallets? Checkbooks? Phones? Anything that might identify them?
I dont know. More springs groaned as Painter stood again. Want me to search em?
Instead of answering Painter, my father turned to me with his free hand outstretched. Give me the phone.
I hesitated, even though my fathernot to mention my Alphahad given me a direct order, because handing over my phone felt like giving up my link to Marc. Or at least to the man currently in the best position to help him. But after a second, I obeyed.
Painter? my father barked. His concern came through as gruffness. But then, thats how most of his strong emotions sounded. This is Greg Sanders, Alpha of the south-central Pride. Thank you for alerting us. Can you stay there until my team arrives?
Yeah, sure, Painter said, and I pictured him nodding eagerly, pleased to be needed, in spite of the circumstances.
My concern for Painter paled in comparison to my fear for Marc, but I still didnt want him to get hurt, especially trying to help us. What if they come back to clean up the rest of their mess?
My dad tilted my phone so that the mouthpiece slanted away from his lips. Hopefully, hell get a good description. To Painter, he said, Lock the door and turn off the lights. Then Shift. Because it would be easier to defend himself that way, should the need arise. And if they come back, go right out the front door and call Faythe.