I tried to pay attention, and after winning two hands of spades in a row, I finally began to relax—until the first set of footsteps pounded up the front porch steps. Followed quickly by several more.

We’d heard no car engine, which ruled out Vic and Teo, and my father and his allies didn’t move so quickly or stomp so hard—unless something was wrong.

We stood in unison. Cards fluttered to the floor. The breakfast table chair behind Marc fell over to clatter on the hardwood. The front door flew open, and I nearly choked on surprise, then raw terror.

Alex Malone stood in the doorway, aiming a gun at my chest. Colin Dean stood at his back, along with several more enforcers I barely recognized. None of them had been on the compound during the vote the night before. Malone had brought in reinforcements.

“Whoa…” Marc started to step in front of me, then froze when Alex clicked off the gun’s safety.

“Don’t move.” Alex stepped into the living room, and his men fanned out behind him, all holding pistols.

“Since when do we carry guns?” Jace asked, his voice calm and low. Other than the occasional tranquilizer gun for rogues who couldn’t be reasoned with, most Shifters eschewed firearms because of a deep-seated fear of being shot by hunters, as well as the generally accepted belief that when gifted with claws, canines, and supernatural senses, guns were an unfair advantage. Thus carrying them was dishonorable.

Clearly Malone and his men were unbothered by that pesky sense of honor.

“Since the council approved them for the use of the new inter-Pride task force ten minutes ago.” Dean pointed his pistol at me when Alex adjusted his aim toward Jace.

“You brought them with you…” I whispered, stunned by their brutal preparedness and our deplorable lack of foresight. A chasm of fear opened deep inside me, big enough to swallow me whole.

Dean shrugged and shot me a cocky grin. “We came prepared.”

I couldn’t help wondering what else they’d come prepared for….

“You’re being taken into custody on charges of trespassing, kidnapping, murder, and treason. Walk slowly toward the wall and put your hands behind your back,” Dean said to the room in general.

“Or what?” Jace demanded. “You’ll shoot us, in front of all these witnesses?”

Dean sneered. “If you put up a fight, we’re authorized to shoot to wound. So keep that in mind before you start swinging.”

“This is because of the knife, right?” I stared pointedly at the thick scar bisecting his left cheek. “You can’t be trusted to hold on to your own blade, so they gave you a gun. What makes you think you’re any better with that?”

“We’ll find out if you don’t put that tight little ass against the wall.”

Marc growled. “You touch her and I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” Dean demanded. “Bleed all over the floor? Because that’s exactly what’s going to happen if you so much as twitch. Now all of you, up against the wall. Three feet apart.”

“What the hell did I do?” Lucas crossed thick arms over his broad chest, towering over everyone in the room, including Dean.

“We’re not here for you.” Alex prodded Jace with the barrel of his gun until his half brother stepped reluctantly toward the long back wall. “But you’re not going to get in the way, either. Up against the paneling, or I’ll put a hole in your foot.”

Lucas growled, but complied. None of us could fight with a gunshot wound, and we couldn’t afford the time to heal one. Better to escape custody later, than to get shot resisting it.

Marc went next, turning his face toward me as some nameless enforcer shoved him chest-first into the wall. He had to tuck his gun into the back of his pants to cuff Marc, but two of the three spare goons at his back had Marc in their sights, just in case.

“You’re next, princess.” Dean stepped close enough to see down my shirt, but I refused to budge. I would not be handcuffed and dragged out of our own cabin like some kind of criminal. “That’s it. Fight. Make me get rough. I’m just looking for an excuse.”

“Faythe, just do it,” Jace warned, and I could hear the pain in his voice, from what it cost him to say that.

“Is that what you said to get in her pants?” Dean asked, but he was watching me, not Jace, and he stepped closer to whisper the next part, his gun bruising my sternum, his breath sour in my face. “Is that all it takes? One good, hard order?”

“Fuck off,” I whispered through clenched teeth. My hands curled into fists so tight my fingernails cut into my palms. I concentrated on that minute pain to keep my focus. To keep from getting so mad my face Shifted. If that happened, I had no doubt Dean would shoot me. He wouldn’t even hesitate.

“Up against the wall. Now.”

“Faythe, it’ll be okay,” Marc said through gritted teeth.

“Oh, no, it won’t. Not for any of you.” Dean laughed, still staring down at me. “But I might make out all right. Now move.”

When I didn’t, he grabbed my arm hard enough to bruise and physically turned me, but I didn’t walk until he shoved the barrel of his gun into my back. I stopped at the wall, and when I glanced at Marc—my teeth clenched in impotent fury—Dean shoved me from behind, smashing the side of my face into the paneling hard enough to stun me.

I blinked, and the room stopped spinning, but not before he’d pulled my arms behind my back. “Shouldn’t you Mirandize us or something?”