THREE

Jace

I stepped back to let Abby head into the office first, and from the hallway, my eyes confirmed what my ears and nose had already told me—that several of my fellow Alphas hadn’t shown up.

That was no surprise. The rogue was killing in my territory, which meant he was ultimately my responsibility. Those who’d supported my stepfather in the war would rather sit this meeting out so that if anything went wrong, they could legitimately blame me and my allies.

My least favorite part of leadership was the politics. Which was why Abby’s choice of college major baffled me.

I stood back while she accepted hugs and greetings from Jerald Pierce, Ed Taylor, and Umberto Di Carlo, Alphas of the Plains, Midwest, and Southeast Prides, respectively. Faythe sat behind her desk at the back of the room, trying to tune everyone else out while she spoke on the phone, but she looked up when I stepped through the doorway. I could tell from the tension in her frame that she’d known the moment I walked into the house.

She’d probably heard my car before it had even turned into the driveway.

Faythe’s green-eyed gaze met mine and I froze, bracing myself for the flood of conflicting emotions that had engulfed me every time I’d ever looked at her. Every time she’d ever looked at me.

Love. Lust. Jealousy. Frustration. I expected the entire toxic cocktail, and I was prepared to hide my pain behind the professional mask I’d been wearing for years. But instead of a flood of emotion, I got just a trickle. A mere echo of what I’d once felt and had long ago been forced to let go of.

My history with Faythe was now the rainy-day ache of an old wound.

I could live with an ache.

Still staring at me, Faythe tucked a strand of black hair behind one ear while Paul Blackwell spoke into her other one from the phone. For one long moment, she didn’t breathe. When I was sure my heart wasn’t going to implode—that it felt more bruised than injured—I grinned, and the tension drained from her frame. Her smile looked genuine. She was happy to see me, even under such grim, official circumstances.

Counting Faythe and me, we were still missing representatives from four of the ten US Territories, yet even from across the room, I could hear Paul Blackwell listing the litany of old-age complaints that were keeping him from attending. Faythe rolled her eyes, and I knew exactly what she was thinking—that if he was too old for the job, it was time he passed on his position to the next generation. It was past time, in fact. Blackwell’s daughter and son-in-law already had a two-year-old grandson.

“Slim turnout,” I said with a pointed glance around the room as Abby’s dad, Council Chairman Rick Wade, came to greet me.

He shook my hand for the first time since I’d been confirmed as an Alpha, with his support. Wade was my unofficial—yet very real—ally on the council. “We only need six for a quorum.”

And that was all we had since, as co-Alphas, Faythe and Marc had to share a single vote.

“How’s school, Abigail?” Ed Taylor rose to engulf his future daughter-in-law in a hug. As unwise as I thought the union was, Abby’s marriage to Brian Taylor would create a genetic, personal, and political alliance between her birth Pride and his. Their parents would share grandchildren. Brian would someday run Rick Wade’s territory. When problems arose on the council, Ed Taylor would go to bat for Rick and vice versa.

“School’s good,” Abby said. “Just one semester to go.”

I frowned at the reminder of how quickly time had passed. If she only had one semester to go, then she was, what? Six months from being married?

She wasn’t ready. She still hardly wore the ring.

I made a mental note to talk to Rick about postponing the wedding on Abby’s behalf in light of the fact that she clearly needed more time. And the equally important fact that her fiancé was a gutless asswipe.

Wait, that wasn’t fair. Brian wasn’t a coward. He just wasn’t an Alpha. But my point would stand.

“Well, I have one semester left for my bachelor’s,” Abby qualified, and her father looked up in surprise.

Ed laughed, but he didn’t sound truly amused by the implication that his son’s wedding might be postponed for another two years. “Sounds like she has plans for some more of your money, Rick.”

“It’s not my money.” The council chairman smiled at his daughter, practically swollen with pride. “She’s on a full academic scholarship.”

“Three-point-eight GPA,” I added.

Abby glanced at me with both brows raised, obviously surprised that I’d been listening to her chatter on the plane.

“That’s our girl!” Marc called from the hall, and I turned as he strode through the doorway with a giggling, dark-haired toddler tucked under one arm like a sack of feed. “Clearly, spending summers on the ranch has paid off!”

“Are you seriously claiming credit for my academic accomplishments?” Abby demanded, but we could all hear the smile in her voice. She was happy to see everyone, even if the Lazy S was just a layover on an unexpected trip home to South Carolina.

“I claim only what belongs to me.” He swung the toddler upright and the child squealed in delight as his father tossed him into the air, then caught him in both arms. “Go say goodnight to your mom!” Marc ordered with false sternness, setting his son on the ground. After a moment of wobbling on both feet, the child tottered toward Faythe.

He had her beautiful green eyes, but I could tell from the flecks of gold sprinkled through the striations that when he hit puberty and shifted for the first time, his eyes would look just like Marc’s in cat form. It was kind of amazing how the boy could look so much like each of them, yet entirely like himself at the same time.

For one brief, unguarded moment, I wondered what a son of my own might look like. But that would never happen. I wouldn’t be running the Appalachian Pride forever, and Owen and Manx’s non-Alpha-marriage was an anomaly in our world.

Faythe hung up the phone and swiveled in her chair to face her son. She brushed a lock of dark hair from his forehead, then hoisted him up to sit on the desk in front of her, where tiny stuffed animals vied with pens, notepads, and a wireless mouse for the little available real estate.

“No bed!” the boy said, and from the corner of my eye, I saw Abby watching them. Her expression said she wanted to rescue the boy from both his parents and his bedtime. As if maybe she’d done that frequently when she was a guest at the ranch.