“Ethan, out.” My father was still standing, his arms stiff at his sides, his fists clenched.

“But—” Ethan turned to argue, but the Alpha shook his head.

“Go. And take Jace with you.”

Jace stood and shoved his best friend ahead of him. I cringed when the door clicked closed, and all remaining eyes turned on me.

“Is Michael right?” Marc demanded, still standing in the middle of the rug. “Are we talking about your Andrew?”

“Wel , I wouldn’t exactly call him my Andrew…”

“Faythe…” my father said, warning me again. He was making an obvious attempt to calm himself, and I was willing to do whatever it took to help.

I nodded. “Yeah, it’s him.”

Marc’s eyes closed, and his forehead wrinkled. “So we’re looking for a human? The tabby’s chasing a human?”

I shook my head. I couldn’t say it out loud.

“He’s a stray,” my father said, his voice gravel y and almost too low pitched to hear. The attempt to calm himself clearly wasn’t working; I’d never heard him any angrier.

“Yes.” I met his eyes, reminding myself that I hadn’t done anything wrong. Keeping the calls a secret didn’t count. I’d had no idea Andrew was involved with the strippers and the tabby.

Marc turned his back on me, heading toward the liquor cabinet on the far side of the room, opposite the desk. “How?” he asked, glass clinking as he pulled something I couldn’t see from the cabinet.

“I don’t know.”

“Come on, Faythe. You’re in too deep to lie about it now,” Michael said.

“Fuck you,” I snapped. “I’m telling the truth!”

“Marc, make mine a double,” my father said, and I glanced up to see Marc pouring himself a glass of whiskey.

Straight up.

Marc nodded and got out another glass. “Michael?” he asked, and my brother shook his head. Marc didn’t offer me anything.

My father cracked the first knuckle of his right hand against his left palm. It was an overtly aggressive gesture, which made me very, very nervous. “How long have you known?”

“I just figured it out. Maybe ten minutes ago. Outside.”

“How?”

“The message from Painter.”

Marc crossed the room again, this time carrying two short glasses of whiskey. Full of whiskey.

My father accepted his glass and sipped from it, watching me over the rim. “What about the message?”

My hands clenched together in my lap, I watched Marc lower himself onto the love seat across from me, instead of resuming his place at my side. He was mad. And it was about to get worse.

“Andrew’s been calling me.”

“What?” Marc sat up straight, almost sloshing whiskey into his lap.

“Why the hell didn’t you—”

“Let her finish,” my father ordered, cutting Marc off with one raised palm. He nodded for me to continue.

I inhaled deeply. Then I exhaled slowly. “Those pops, and that sound like a helicopter’s propeller at the end of Painter’s call? They were in my last message from Andrew, too. He and Painter are in the same place.”

Marc tossed his glass back and got up for more.

“He knows what you are?” Michael asked, just as my father said, “He told you he was infected?”

“Yes. And no.” I glanced down at my hands, wishing they were wrapped around a drink, but I knew better than to ask Marc to bring me one. “He definitely knows about me. About all of us. But I have no idea how he found out. And no, he never actually told me he was infected, which is why it took me so long to figure out that he was. And I swear I have no idea how it happened.”

My father nodded, as if to say he believed me. But I couldn’t help noticing he didn’t say it out loud.

“How long?” Marc asked from the wet bar, sipping from his second glass of whiskey. “How long has he been calling you?”

I met his eyes, expecting to see pain and deep, deep anger. I wasn’t disappointed. “Once a day since Friday afternoon.”

“Three days?” Marc slammed his glass down on the bar and stomped toward me, stopping at the edge of the rug to tower over me. Michael stood, ready to intercede even though he was clearly just as mad as Marc, but a small shake of my father’s head held him back. “He’s been calling you for three days and you didn’t tell me? Why not?”

“Because I knew this would happen.” I made myself stay seated, knowing that if I stood, a fight would be inevitable. If I stayed calm—and seated—he might calm down, too. “I didn’t know what was going on, but I knew that his calling would upset you, and you’d want to go ‘take care’

of it. I don’t want you to take care of my problems. I can handle them myself.”

“Clearly.” Marc rubbed his forehead with one hand, as if staving off a headache. “You’ve done such a marvelous job of handling it that he’s now waltzing all over our territory, kidnapping strippers who bear a passing resemblance to you. Great job!”

“I didn’t know he had anything to do with any of that! I was just trying to avoid…well, this! You always do this. You take something smal , something that’s really none of your business, and you twist it around to make it look like I did something wrong. But this time I didn’t. I was under no obligation to tell you anything.”