Stray
Page 47
“Out?” One eyebrow rose, as if he wasn’t sure what I meant.
“Out of the Pride. Like Ryan. I want to live on my own in one of the free territories. I want to be a wildcat.”
He shook his head slowly, his hands templed beneath his chin, clearly trying to decide how best to crush my dreams. “That life is not an option for you.”
“The hell it’s not.” Nervous even though I’d known what he’d say, I took a deep breath, trying to impress him with my composed, mature stance. “I’m leaving, Daddy.”
Crack.
I jumped, startled by the sudden sound. So much for not appearing weak.
“Don’t be foolish, Faythe.” His voice was low and menacing, warning me not to tread any farther onto dangerous ground. But I was pleased by his transition in tone, because it meant he was final y taking me seriously.
“I’m not being foolish.” My skin tingled a little at my own nerve. “I’m just leaving. I don’t need your money. I have an education and a good head on my shoulders. And you taught me to protect myself. I’l be fine on my own.” Of course, I could use a ride to the bus station.
His eyes never left mine, but for a moment I thought he might stand. In fact, he seemed to be resisting standing for the same reason Marc resisted yel ing. It was an issue of control. If he stood, he’d lose it, and might do something he’d regret. Or at least something I’d regret. “I can’t let you go, Faythe,” he said final y. “Even if I was wil ing to consider something temporary, like graduate school, I couldn’t do it now. Not until we know what happened to Sara and Abby.”
“I’m not asking for permission.” My smile blossomed, careful y light and casual.
And very calculated. “I’l be in Mississippi, if you want to keep in touch. Or maybe Nevada. There’s stil some free territory out there, right?”
My head seemed to float, as if it were merely tethered to my body by my neck.
I was high on rebel ion, an act I should have outgrown along with Kool-Aid-dyed hair and fake tattoos, yet somehow its appeal had only grown. But again that voice nagged me, insisting that no matter how much fun it was to play the escape artist, eventually even Houdini had to come up for air.
Frowning darkly, my father clasped his hands together, resting his chin on them, his knuckles white with tension. After a moment of consideration, he spoke, his response so soft I had to hold my breath to hear him. “I won’t discuss this any further. If you try to leave the property, I’l have you caged.”
The cage. Memories of steel bars, rough concrete, and constant darkness flooded my mind, chasing away my rebel ious euphoria. I hadn’t been in the cage since the last time I’d run away, the summer I’d turned eighteen. I hadn’t been running from Daddy then. I’d been running from my life, but Daddy took it personal y. Once they’d found me and hauled me home in the back of Vic’s SUV, my father had locked me up for fourteen days, most of which I’d spent on four paws out of protest.
I stared at my father, wanting to believe he was bluffing. But I knew better.
Daddy didn’t bluff; he had no reason to. The business suits, ties and diplomatic demeanor were only one side of my father, and it was the other side that worried me. The other side was as strong as Marc and stil nearly as fast, but Daddy’s speed and strength were enhanced by an extra thirty years of wisdom and experience. Far from a figurehead, my father was Alpha in practice as well as in name. Yes, he gave orders, but he never ordered anyone to do anything that he would not or could not do himself. My father’s word was final.
I was kidding myself, and we both knew it. I could make my stand and run away, but no matter what I said or did, Daddy would come after me. Personal y, if he had to. Eventual y he’d catch me, and I’d be back to square one, after having my spirit broken by a few nights in the cage. So the real question was, Is it worth it?
And the answer was, Hell, yeah. I might not make it if I run away, but I definitely won’t make it if I don’t try.
My feet shuffled against the soft rug as I took a single step forward, but what I felt was cold, damp concrete. I smel ed Daddy’s aftershave, but beneath that was mildew and the faint, metal ic scent of steel, like the way your hands smel after you jingle coins in your pocket. I knew what I was risking, and I knew what would happen if I failed. But I had to give it one more shot. I owed myself that much.
“You can try,” I said, my resolve reinforced by memories of the cage and determination to avoid seeing it again. “But I promise you this. Whomever you send after me wil come back blind and neutered.”
The phone on his desk rang, but he ignored it, eyeing me calmly. “You don’t mean that. You wouldn’t hurt your brothers.”
Apparently he didn’t question whether or not I’d hurt Marc.
“Don’t make me prove myself, Daddy. I—” I never got to finish my threat because Michael nearly tore the office door off its hinges. I heard his frantic heartbeat, and smel ed distress in his sweat. It was sour, and made my own heart pound harder. Something was terribly wrong.
“Owen’s on the phone for you, Dad. He says it’s urgent.”
Thirteen
“Sit, Faythe,” Daddy ordered. Then, addressing Michael, “Don’t let her off the couch.” He turned his back on us both with the phone at his ear.
Stil standing, I watched my father, trying to overhear the other side of the conversation. If I was going to be stuck in the office, I might as wel do a little eavesdropping. That was the only way I’d get any information anyway.
“Out of the Pride. Like Ryan. I want to live on my own in one of the free territories. I want to be a wildcat.”
He shook his head slowly, his hands templed beneath his chin, clearly trying to decide how best to crush my dreams. “That life is not an option for you.”
“The hell it’s not.” Nervous even though I’d known what he’d say, I took a deep breath, trying to impress him with my composed, mature stance. “I’m leaving, Daddy.”
Crack.
I jumped, startled by the sudden sound. So much for not appearing weak.
“Don’t be foolish, Faythe.” His voice was low and menacing, warning me not to tread any farther onto dangerous ground. But I was pleased by his transition in tone, because it meant he was final y taking me seriously.
“I’m not being foolish.” My skin tingled a little at my own nerve. “I’m just leaving. I don’t need your money. I have an education and a good head on my shoulders. And you taught me to protect myself. I’l be fine on my own.” Of course, I could use a ride to the bus station.
His eyes never left mine, but for a moment I thought he might stand. In fact, he seemed to be resisting standing for the same reason Marc resisted yel ing. It was an issue of control. If he stood, he’d lose it, and might do something he’d regret. Or at least something I’d regret. “I can’t let you go, Faythe,” he said final y. “Even if I was wil ing to consider something temporary, like graduate school, I couldn’t do it now. Not until we know what happened to Sara and Abby.”
“I’m not asking for permission.” My smile blossomed, careful y light and casual.
And very calculated. “I’l be in Mississippi, if you want to keep in touch. Or maybe Nevada. There’s stil some free territory out there, right?”
My head seemed to float, as if it were merely tethered to my body by my neck.
I was high on rebel ion, an act I should have outgrown along with Kool-Aid-dyed hair and fake tattoos, yet somehow its appeal had only grown. But again that voice nagged me, insisting that no matter how much fun it was to play the escape artist, eventually even Houdini had to come up for air.
Frowning darkly, my father clasped his hands together, resting his chin on them, his knuckles white with tension. After a moment of consideration, he spoke, his response so soft I had to hold my breath to hear him. “I won’t discuss this any further. If you try to leave the property, I’l have you caged.”
The cage. Memories of steel bars, rough concrete, and constant darkness flooded my mind, chasing away my rebel ious euphoria. I hadn’t been in the cage since the last time I’d run away, the summer I’d turned eighteen. I hadn’t been running from Daddy then. I’d been running from my life, but Daddy took it personal y. Once they’d found me and hauled me home in the back of Vic’s SUV, my father had locked me up for fourteen days, most of which I’d spent on four paws out of protest.
I stared at my father, wanting to believe he was bluffing. But I knew better.
Daddy didn’t bluff; he had no reason to. The business suits, ties and diplomatic demeanor were only one side of my father, and it was the other side that worried me. The other side was as strong as Marc and stil nearly as fast, but Daddy’s speed and strength were enhanced by an extra thirty years of wisdom and experience. Far from a figurehead, my father was Alpha in practice as well as in name. Yes, he gave orders, but he never ordered anyone to do anything that he would not or could not do himself. My father’s word was final.
I was kidding myself, and we both knew it. I could make my stand and run away, but no matter what I said or did, Daddy would come after me. Personal y, if he had to. Eventual y he’d catch me, and I’d be back to square one, after having my spirit broken by a few nights in the cage. So the real question was, Is it worth it?
And the answer was, Hell, yeah. I might not make it if I run away, but I definitely won’t make it if I don’t try.
My feet shuffled against the soft rug as I took a single step forward, but what I felt was cold, damp concrete. I smel ed Daddy’s aftershave, but beneath that was mildew and the faint, metal ic scent of steel, like the way your hands smel after you jingle coins in your pocket. I knew what I was risking, and I knew what would happen if I failed. But I had to give it one more shot. I owed myself that much.
“You can try,” I said, my resolve reinforced by memories of the cage and determination to avoid seeing it again. “But I promise you this. Whomever you send after me wil come back blind and neutered.”
The phone on his desk rang, but he ignored it, eyeing me calmly. “You don’t mean that. You wouldn’t hurt your brothers.”
Apparently he didn’t question whether or not I’d hurt Marc.
“Don’t make me prove myself, Daddy. I—” I never got to finish my threat because Michael nearly tore the office door off its hinges. I heard his frantic heartbeat, and smel ed distress in his sweat. It was sour, and made my own heart pound harder. Something was terribly wrong.
“Owen’s on the phone for you, Dad. He says it’s urgent.”
Thirteen
“Sit, Faythe,” Daddy ordered. Then, addressing Michael, “Don’t let her off the couch.” He turned his back on us both with the phone at his ear.
Stil standing, I watched my father, trying to overhear the other side of the conversation. If I was going to be stuck in the office, I might as wel do a little eavesdropping. That was the only way I’d get any information anyway.
