Rogue (22 page)

Out front, I heard the growl of an engine, and I turned toward the door in anticipation. But then I recognized the sound as Owen’s truck.
Where the hell had Owen gone?
I’d hoped it was Marc. I needed to see his face, to settle the unease taking hold in the pit of my stomach. I needed to know he’d forgiven me for not telling him about the calls. That we were going to be okay, no matter what happened with Andrew. And considering he still didn’t know I’d infected my ex, a good outcome for us was far from guaranteed.

The front door opened, and footsteps clomped on the tiles. Owen was back from wherever he had gone.

“I’m sure you’re all going to start yelling at me for this…” Vic began, glancing around at the room in general. “But this may be a good time to bring the council up to speed. We have enough information now that they can’t afford to waste time arguing. They’ll have to—”

“Absolutely not!” I glared across the rug at him, then turned to face my father when he didn’t immediately back me up. To my horror, he sat with his eyes downcast and his hands
templed beneath his chin, apparently actually considering Vic’s suggestion.

“What are we going to say?” I demanded, already picturing the shocked faces of the other Alphas. “‘The council chairman’s daughter accidentally infected her human boyfriend during a rough-’n’-tumble nooner, then he followed her home, leaving a trail of missing strippers in his wake.’”

My father released a tired, weighty sigh. “Faythe, they have a right to know. And they can help. The more men we have, the faster we can find Andrew and the tabby, and be done with this whole mess.”

My hand clenched the arm of the leather couch, my pulse racing. “Daddy, no! We have to take care of this on our own. If we bring the council in before we get Andrew under control, they’re going to want my head mounted on a spike in the front yard.”

Behind me, the footsteps stopped. I was already turning as my last word faded into a heavy, tortured silence, and too late, it occurred to me that the clomping in the hall hadn’t come from cowboy boots.

Marc stood in the doorway, each arm wrapped around a brown paper bag. Our eyes met. I had a second to register the pain in his. Then the bags thumped to the hardwood floor, and he was gone.

J
ace and Vic ran after Marc, vaulting over the fallen bags and into the hall. Neither spared me a glance.

I leapt off the couch, a silent scream of anguish splitting my skull in two. On the floor in front of me, a half gallon of triple-chocolate-chunk ice cream rolled across the hardwood, stopping only when it bumped the toe of my sneaker. My favorite flavor. He’d gone out for ice cream, to apologize and make up.

Son of a bitch!

I stepped over the cardboard carton, and my father called my name. I ignored him and took off after the guys, stepping over four more cartons of ice cream, each a different flavor. In the hall, I tripped over a box of waffle cones and had to catch myself against the wall.

As I looked up, Vic disappeared out the back door, Jace and Marc ahead of him.

I ran down the hall after the guys, my sneakers slapping the tile. I called Marc, screaming his name with a desperation that bruised my soul. I knew he could hear me, but he didn’t answer.

I was only feet from the back door when someone grabbed my arm from behind. Ethan pulled me backward and stepped in front of me, completely blocking my path. “Get out of the way!” I screamed, trying to bump him aside and run past him. But he wouldn’t budge.

“Faythe—”

“Move!”

Ethan held me back, his hands gentle on my shoulders, his eyes oddly imploring. “Give him some time.”

“No! The last thing he needs is time to brood and get madder. He doesn’t understand what he heard. I have to explain.” I shoved him in the chest, but he only bounced back an instant later, wrapping both hands around my upper arms.

“You’ll only make it worse.”

Fighting tears, I twisted out of his grip. “If you don’t want to get hurt, get out of my way.”

“I’m trying to help y—”

“I’m sorry.” I let my right fist fly. It smashed into his jaw.

Ethan stumbled backward into the wall. “Fine, go make it worse!” he shouted, his hand covering the fresh red splotch on his face.

By the time I made it to the back porch, the guys were gone, having holed up in their overgrown dormitory, surrounded by the staples of masculinity: beer, day-old pizza, and mountains of dirty socks.

Lightning flashed across the sky the moment I stepped onto the grass. For an instant, it lit the entire backyard in a stark relief of light and shadow. The image was still stamped into my retinas when thunder roared across the sky, the ageless creak of ancient floodgates opening. Rain poured from the clouds in a sudden deluge the likes of which Texas—
even East Texas—rarely ever saw. I was completely drenched in less than five steps.

Pushing wet hair back from my face, I jogged across the yard, stomped up the front steps, and tore open the screen door. It flew back to smack the siding. Dripping water onto the porch, I grabbed the front doorknob, already shoving forward as I turned it. Nothing happened. Well, almost nothing. I walked right into the door, expecting it to open. Instead, I nearly broke my own nose.

In my entire life I’d never seen the guesthouse locked. I’d always been welcome. Always. And now Marc had locked me out. Literally.

I did
not
take it well.

“Open the fucking door!” I shouted, pounding on the wood with both fists.

“My dad’s not mad at me!” I yelled, straining to be heard over the storm. “Doesn’t that tell you anything?”

No response. I glanced over my shoulder and saw my mother’s form silhouetted in Ethan’s bedroom window. She watched me with her arms crossed over her chest, making no attempt to interfere.

“I can go get a key!” I yelled, turning back to the guesthouse door. “You can’t keep me out forever. Hell, I’ll just kick in the door if you don’t open up in the next two minutes.” I gave the wood another good pounding, thoroughly bruising both fists, then paused again to listen, pressing my ear against the door. This time I heard results: footsteps clomping down the stairs. So, did I stop and wait patiently?

Hell no. I’d forgotten the meaning of the word patience by then. All I could think about was explaining to Marc what really happened before it was too late.

“I hear you in there. Come open this damn door before I break it down.”

“Give it a rest, Faythe.” It was Vic, speaking calmly from the other side of the door. The still infuriatingly
closed
door. “You’re waking up people in the next county.”

“Let me in so I can talk to him.” Rain rolled slowly down my spine beneath my shirt, tracing the line of fear building inside me. I had to make Marc understand. This couldn’t be the end for us. Not like this. “I can fix this,” I shouted, dismayed to hear the edge of panic in my voice. “I swear I can.”

“I’m sorry. He’d skin me alive. You’d better give him some time to get over it.”

“That’s just it.” I pounded on the wood again, and Vic swore, then jumped back. Too late, I realized he’d been leaning against the door. “If you don’t let me in so I can explain it to him, he’s not
going
to get over it. He doesn’t understand what he heard.”

“I’m sorry, Faythe,” he said again. “He just doesn’t want to see you.”

This isn’t possible,
I thought, wringing rain from my ponytail. Of course, Marc had been mad at me before. He’d been mad at me for five straight years after I’d broken up with him. But he’d never refused to speak to me. He’d never locked me out. I’d spent holidays with Sammi and her family to escape his relentless pursuit, and still he’d called me at least once a week for three years, baring his soul to my voice mail with so much pain in his voice that I couldn’t listen to the messages without tearing up.

When he finally stopped calling, the hush felt strange. It felt like the whole world went silent when Marc did, as if I could see people’s mouths moving, but I couldn’t hear what they were saying. Like I’d gone deaf.

That emotional silence didn’t stop until Marc came for me at school. And it descended on me again as I stood on his front porch. All I could hear was the rain, as if the very heavens were crying for us both.

I glanced at my mother again, only to see her turn away from the window. She looked back once and shook her head. Then she was gone. My resolve strengthened in the face of my mother’s desertion. She might or might not know what I’d done, but she believed I’d lost Marc for good. After years of nagging me to go back to him, she’d given up on us.

But I hadn’t.

I backed down the steps, facing the front door as I descended into the rain. Water poured down on me, replastering loose strands of hair to my cheeks and forehead. I wiped my face with both hands, blinking rain and tears from my eyes as I assessed the door. It was solid, and strong in spite of its age. But so was I, in spite of my youth.

And anyway, the frame would break long before the oak panel would.

I pushed back my hair one more time and ran up the steps. At the top, I grabbed the support post for balance and kicked the door as hard as I could, concentrating the blow just below the doorknob. Wood splintered, and I smiled in satisfaction. I grabbed the doorknob and shook it with both hands. Nothing happened. It didn’t even budge.

Damn it!

Fingers appeared in the window, pushing aside a set of cheap white miniblinds to reveal a pair of dark blue eyes and a lock of brown hair. “Faythe, what the hell are you doing?” Jace yelled through the glass. His face disappeared and the
steel chain rattled as he tried to unlock the door. But then something heavy hit the wood, probably someone else’s hand.

Vic laughed. “That’s not Faythe,” he said. “That’s the Big Bad Wolf, come to blow us all away.”

“She’s gonna get in one way or another,” Jace said.

Vic laughed again. “She’s gonna
try.
”

“You bet your ass,” I shouted, and kicked the wood again. More splintering this time, but still the door wouldn’t budge. However, this time the problem wasn’t the strength of the door, but the strength of the guys holding it in place from the other side.

For a long moment, no one spoke. I was almost convinced they’d gone out the back door when Parker said, “Okay.”

“What? No!” Vic insisted. “He doesn’t want to see her, and that’s his choice.”

“I’ll take the blame,” Parker said, and the chain rattled again. “Get out of the way.” The dead bolt slid back and the door opened just wide enough for me to see his face. Parker’s eyes were hard, his brows furrowed in unease. “I’m going to let you in here on one condition.”

“Fine. Anything.” I was perfectly willing to behave myself in exchange for admission. I could break open the door, but I couldn’t keep them from holding it in place. And if I went through the window, I’d be lucky not to bleed to death before I got to Marc.

“I’m letting you in to keep you from breaking the door, not so that you can break everything else in the house. No damage. Not to
our
stuff. Not to
his
stuff. And not to
him.
You go make it better, not worse.”

“That’s all I want. You should know that by now.” But I saw
in his eyes that he didn’t know that. He didn’t trust me not to hurt Marc. After all, I’d done it before.

I closed my eyes and smoothed my hair back, trying to get hold of myself both physically and emotionally before I went inside.

Parker pulled the door open and I stepped over the threshold, dripping rain on the scarred hardwood floor. Jace and Vic stood side by side at the foot of the stairs, blocking my way. Their arms were crossed over their chests, forming a physical barrier, another wall to knock down.

I wasn’t up to it. Not anymore. Outside I’d had strength. I’d been willing to tear down the whole house to get to Marc if I had to. But now I was almost there, and I was tired. I was already sick of fighting, and I hadn’t even reached the ring.

“Come on, guys,” I said as I approached them. “Give me a break. Please.”

The conflict on Jace’s face was torture to see. I knew how he felt about me, but I hadn’t really considered how he felt about Marc until I saw how far he was willing to go to protect him. From me. Even from me. If he could, Jace would take me away from Marc. But he wouldn’t let me hurt him.

I met his beautiful cobalt eyes and nodded. It was the best I could do at the moment to acknowledge his pain and the awkwardness of the situation. Apparently it was enough, because he stepped aside.

Vic didn’t. My shoulder brushed his bicep as I walked past him and up the steps, still dripping, and now shivering from the air-conditioned breeze on my drenched skin.

The lights were on downstairs, but the upstairs landing was dark. If not for a bright flash of lightning through a rear window, I might have tripped over the throw rug at the top of
the stairs. As it was, I had to feel my way past the bathroom and the first bedroom—the one Jace and Vic shared—with one hand on the banister. I felt along the opposite wall until I located Marc’s door.

My hand found his doorknob, and I hesitated. I let my eyes close and my head fall back as I listened to the rain, wondering how on earth I was going to get him to hear me out. Finally, I opened my eyes—not that it mattered, I couldn’t see a damn thing—and let go of the doorknob. I knocked instead. He would only react in kind if I started things off with discourtesy and aggression.

Of course, by being polite, I was giving him the opportunity to deny me entrance. Or to ignore me completely, which was exactly what he did.

“Marc?” I called, knocking again. He made no reply, but a light went on in his room, illuminating my soaked sneakers from the crack beneath his door. “May I please come in? I owe you an apology and an explanation, and I’d like to give them to you face-to-face. Please.”

Wood scraped wood on the other side of the door: dresser drawers opening. “Fine,” he said. “I have something to explain to you, too.”

My pulse spiked. That couldn’t be good.

I opened the door slowly, and the first thing I registered was his scent. The entire room smelled like Marc and literally made my heart throb. I swallowed, and blinked tears from my eyes as I breathed him in. He was everywhere. He could leave at that moment and his scent would still be there ten years later.

Marc crossed the floor with a pile of clothes in his arms, and his movement caught my eye as I stood in the doorway, staring into his room. He dropped the clothes into a suitcase
open on the unmade bed, balanced half on a pillow and half on a crooked mound of covers.

“What—” My voice croaked, so I swallowed and tried again. “What are you doing?”

“Packing. I thought it was kind of obvious.” He walked back to the dresser without even glancing at me. “I’m taking some time off.”

“Time off?” I heard myself and regretted the fact that I sounded like a brainless parrot, but I was helpless to stop it. In the nearly eleven years Marc had worked for my father, he’d never taken a single day off. Not one. Which meant he probably had quite a few coming…

I inhaled deeply, preparing to say my piece. To change his mind. “I’m sorry you heard it like that.” I tried to catch Marc’s eye, but he wouldn’t look at me, nor would he stop packing. I cleared my throat and started over, tracking his movement back and forth across the room. “But you didn’t hear enough to understand what happened.”

“I heard plenty.”

“It was an accid—” I grabbed his wrist as he walked past me, another pile of shirts under his opposite arm. He froze in place. His head turned slowly, and finally our eyes met. His were blank. Empty. He jerked his arm from my grasp and continued toward the bed. “Marc, could you please look at me? This is hard enough without you…packing.”

“Well then, let me make it easier for you.” He dumped the shirts on top of the pile in the suitcase and looked up at me. “I. Heard. Enough. You infected Andrew. Your carelessness—and whatever freaky, furry game you were playing—condemned a man who was guilty of nothing more than fucking my girlfriend to a life of solitude and violence. Even worse,
you’re responsible for everything he’s done. Those missing women are on
your
conscience. That’s all I need to know.” He flipped the top of the leather bag over and tried to close it, but the zipper resisted.