Marc nodded again, interrupting my silent confusion. A hint of a smile showed me he was pleased that I understood what he was getting at.

I wasn’t pleased. I didn’t want to understand death and murderers.

Unfortunately, what I wanted mattered no more then than it ever had.

Alphas aren’t big fans of free will. In fact, our social and political structure is more of a monarchical system, in which the monarch is invariably the strongest male in the territory. Power passes not to one of the Alpha’s several sons, but to the tomcat who marries his only daughter. This son-in-law and future Alpha must be strong enough to lead, protect, and ultimately control the entire Pride, or the entire system fal s apart. And the system —along with the continuation of the species itself—must be protected at al costs.

My father was a bit of a rebel among the other Territorial Council members, Alphas of each of the nine other territories. Rather than passing the south-central Pride on to my future husband—Marc, if my parents have any say in the matter—he wanted to hand the reins over to me. That very concept was sending shock waves of anger and impropriety throughout certain elements of the Council. If my father’s scandalous scheme ever came to fruition, I would someday have an opportunity to change the system from the inside.

It was the “inside” part that bothered me.

A chill went through me at the very thought of ever being in my father’s position, and Marc mistook my shiver for one of sympathy for the dead stray.

“He probably never saw it coming.” Marc shook his head in disgust.

“The bastard just reached over and snapped his neck from behind.”

My phone rang into the silence following his words, rescuing me from the fact that I had no idea what to say next. I fumbled in my right front pocket, digging for the phone. Squinting at the tiny display screen, I was relieved to recognize the number for my father’s private line. “It’s my dad.”

Marc nodded and bent to pick up the roll of black plastic in the grass at his feet.

I pressed the yes button as he spread the plastic out on the ground beside Moore’s body. “You rang?” I said into the phone, turning away from Marc as he prepared to flip the corpse over.

“Did you find it?” my father asked.

“Yeah.” I grimaced at the heavy thunk and the crinkling of thick plastic at my back. “I think we need to look into this one.” Marc went silent behind me, and I knew he’d frozen in surprise. He would never have voiced such a request.

“Faythe…” A chair creaked in the background as my father leaned back. “You know we don’t have the resources to investigate every stray who dies in a brawl. We’d just be chasing our own tails. Bury him and come on home.”

I exhaled slowly, wondering whether I was trying to satisfy Marc or set my own mind at ease. “It’s a little more complicated than that.”

“How so?”

“There’s a scent on the body. It’s very faint, and it’s only on his neck, so we’re ninety-nine percent sure it’s the kil er.” I hesitated when the next words seemed to catch in my throat, threatening to choke me.

Then, final y, I spat them out, grimacing at the bitter taste. “It’s a foreign cat.”

A sharp, near-silent inhalation was my father’s only reaction. He was as worried and pissed off as I was at the news of an outsider in our territory. Thank goodness.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice frightfully calm as Marc went still again behind me.

“Completely.”

Silence stretched out over the line, and I knew exactly what he was thinking. I’d come to recognize that particular pause over the past three months; everyone close to me lapsed into it often enough. He was thinking about Miguel, debating whether or not to ask me if I was okay.

Like the rest of my family, my father was afraid of upsetting me with reminders of the bastard who’d kidnapped, caged, and beat the living shit out of me. Apparently he thought I was sturdy enough to chase down intruders and bury dead bodies, but too delicate to withstand the assault of my own memory. Go figure.

What my father didn’t realize, what none of them seemed to realize, was that just reporting for work every morning reminded me of Miguel, the jungle stray whose disregard for personal liberty and a woman’s right to say “no” had changed my life forever. I’d agreed to work for my father in exchange for the opportunity to go after Miguel. To take my pound of flesh from the sadistic bastard who’d murdered one of my childhood friends and raped my teenage cousin. And who’d tried to sell all three of us as personal property to a jungle Alpha somewhere in Brazil.

Though no one seemed willing to believe it, thinking about Miguel didn’t so much upset me as inspire me. It reminded me of my new purpose, of why I was willing to forgo a weekend with my boyfriend to kick the shit out of one stray and bury another. And every now and then I really needed that reminder, so I wished my father would quit stalling and just spit it out. And finally he did.

“Miguel’s dead, Faythe. He’s not coming back.”

“Damn right.” But I shivered in spite of the balmy breeze. Marc laid a warm, heavy hand on my shoulder, clearly having heard both sides of the conversation.

“Are you okay?” My father’s voice was hollow-sounding, the way it got when he cradled his head in one hand, in spite of the telephone.

In the distance, a whip-poor-will sang, unconcerned by our presence.