“Do we really need these cuffs?” I rotated my hands, trying to relieve the ache in my wrists and the pins and needles in my fingers, but only wound up straining my shoulders. “Dean put them on too tight, and my hands are going numb.”

Alex didn’t even look at me.

I sat on the end of the twin bed on the right, trying to control my temper with Zen-like concentration on the faded, country plaid bedspread beneath me. Unfortunately, I didn’t find country decor relaxing. In fact, it had a nails-on-chalkboard kind of effect on me. As did Alex Malone, my full-time jailer.

Alex sat in a straight-back chair to the right of the door, arms crossed over his chest, glancing my way every few seconds to make sure I hadn’t so much as blinked since the last time he’d looked. Occasionally he’d squirm in his chair, searching for a comfortable position, which wasn’t going to happen with that gun tucked into the back of his jeans.

I’d lobbied to get rid of the gun, insisting that the weapon and handcuffs together constituted gross overkill. I was hoping Malone would be reluctant to admit that I warranted so much precaution. Instead, he’d asked if I was willing to swear I wouldn’t try to escape from an unarmed guard.

Foiled, by my own unwillingness to tell a bald-faced lie…

Sometimes it doesn’t pay to be the good guy. And the worst part was that I was too pissed off to enjoy the triumph of finally being acknowledged as a serious threat by the enemy. The risk of being shot kind of sucked the joy right out of the occasion.

But on the bright side—okay, the less-than-pure-gloom side—Malone would never be able to cite inherent female weakness as the reason women shouldn’t be allowed as enforcers. Not after the fuss he was making over my detention.

“Hey, asshole, what’s your dad going to say when I sustain permanent nerve damage on your watch?” I demanded, still trying to ease the ache in my arms.

Finally Alex’s cold gaze met mine. “He’s gonna say, ‘Good thing we don’t need her for her hands.’”

Whatever. That threat had long since ceased scaring me. “Wow. You guys are like a broken record. Don’t you ever get tired of the whole ‘knock ’em out and drag ’em back to the cave’ routine? ’Cause I swear, Cro-Magnons were more subtle.”

Alex didn’t respond, but the answer was clear. He never got tired of it, because it was all he knew. Probably all his father ever talked about or planned for.

Our system of government was pretty twisted. Alphas were traditionally male, yet territories pass not from father to son, but from mother to daughter, and the only way to become an Alpha of one of those territories is to marry the tabby born into it.

Unfortunately, the strength of the entire system depends on each individual tabby choosing the right man to run her territory—regardless of how she feels about him personally. Sometimes a tabby is fortunate enough to love a well-qualified man. Sometimes love comes several years into a marriage, when they have both Pride members and children in common. Sometimes love never comes. But the worst-case scenario is when a tabby marries for love, but her chosen mate is not strong enough to lead their Pride.

Some people think that’s what happened with Jace’s parents. That Jason Hammond was too weak, and that’s why he died less than four years into their marriage, leaving his wife vulnerable to the advances of a ruthless, power-hungry wannabe-despot like Calvin Malone.

“When did this whole thing start, anyway? This whole ‘rule the women, rule the world’ plot?” I scooted awkwardly to the corner of the bed closest to Alex, trying to draw his attention, but all I got out of him was another fleeting glance. “It was with Manx, wasn’t it?”

Before she showed up, there were no “extra” tabbies, and my cousin Abby and I were the only eligible but unspoken-for female cats in the country. Abby was still in high school, and I’d already turned down Brett Malone’s proposal years before, so Malone’s ambition was temporarily stymied by circumstance.

Then came Manx.

“Your dad saw her as his golden ticket, right?” Manx was unclaimed and vulnerable, by virtue of being both pregnant and wanted for murder. Perfect prey for Malone. “Suddenly there’s an extra woman in the mix, and by divine rights—or pure, unadulterated gluttony—she must be his, in one fashion or another, right?” Fortunately, he was willing to live vicariously through his sons. Otherwise, the ick factor would be too much to contemplate. “And then along came Kaci.”

Kaci was initially ill-nourished from months spent on her own, confused from having no previous knowledge of her own species, and traumatized over having accidentally killed her mother and sister during her first Shift.

And by that point Malone must have heard the choir singing his name. After her trial and the loss of her claws, Manx was defenseless and desperate to protect her infant son. Kaci was young and terrified enough to be manipulated into compliance.

“Your dad’s two for three, right?” But still Alex refused to acknowledge me. “Which means it all comes down to me.”

I was the thorn in Malone’s paw. The fatal flaw in his plan. I couldn’t be threatened, manipulated, or coerced into obedience, and I could hold my own in a fair fight. And I was willing to fight not just for myself, but to protect both Manx and Kaci, as well. I was everything Malone hated in a woman—not to mention everything he feared—and he was determined to either break me or kill me.

But I had news for him. Alex Malone wasn’t up to the challenge—either part of it. However, hopefully he was up to helping me get out of my latest prison cell. Or at least the cuffs.

“So…how old were you when you decided to pursue professional ass-wipe status?”

That time Alex’s head swiveled and he favored me with an eye roll. “Insulting me isn’t going to make me talk to you.”

Yet I’d just heard his voice…

“I’d think you’d want to talk to me. Aren’t you supposed to be seducing me, or something? Greasing the wheels on the way to our dreaded nuptials?” I glanced around the room, cataloging potential weapons out of habit. There was nothing I could wield without the use of my hands. “Or has your dad changed his mind about that?”

Alex sneered. “My father never changes his mind.”

“Oh, that’s right. Your dad’s the sort who’ll bang his head into a brick wall over and over, convinced the wall will eventually collapse. But it isn’t the bricks that are going to cave in, Alex. Fortunately, you seem to have avoided that particular character flaw—you’re messed up in an entirely different way.”

He rolled his eyes, but I could tell I was irritating him. “That’s not going to get you out of here. And I’m not messed up.”

“Right. So, I’m curious—is it hard to walk upright with no backbone?”

Alex looked ready to breathe fire, and I wanted to laugh. He was so easy to piss off! Of course, he was only eighteen; surely his temper would even out with experience. Unless he got in my way again, and I had to kill him. “Did anyone ever tell you you’re a raging bitch?”

“That does sound familiar.” I forced my fingers to flex, desperate to regain some feeling in them. “But my point stands. Either you’re a moron who’s never had an original thought, or you’re a coward, too afraid to say what you’re thinking.”

Alex frowned. “What is it you think I’m thinking?”

“That you don’t really want to marry me. I think that’s your dad’s big plan, but you’re not so wild about it.” I shrugged. “I mean, I’m a bitch. This has been thoroughly established. What kind of man wants to marry a raging bitch?”

“The kind who wants to be Alpha.” Alex plodded toward the dresser and half sat on it, staring at his hands like they held some answer his brain did not.

“Yeah, well, I’m starting to think that job’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

“Not the way your dad does it,” he said, and the sneer was back, along with those cold, hard eyes. “But the benefits package sounds pretty damn good.” His suggestive leer was unpracticed at best, and I couldn’t resist another eye roll.

“Why is it that every conversation I have with a tomcat winds up being about sex?” I tried to scoot back on the bed and almost fell over without my hands for balance. “And seriously, if that’s all you’re looking to get out of this, I gotta tell you, there are easier ways to get laid. You should just tell your dad to go to hell. If there’s one thing I’m absolutely sure of, it’s that you don’t have to live your life to please your parents. Or anyone else. It’s your life.” For however long it lasts.

“So, what, are we bonding now?” Alex crossed his arms over his chest, still leaning against the dresser, and in the mirror, I could see the gun tucked into the back of his waistband.

“Hell, no.” I scowled. “You’re still the bad guy and I still want to spill your blood all over this crappy carpet.” Being young and naive didn’t absolve him of past crimes. I hadn’t forgotten that in addition to killing his own brother, Alex was the one who’d told Dean to cut me. “But we’d be a lot closer to neutral tolerance if you’d take these damn cuffs off. My hands are seriously messed up from lack of circulation.”

Alex hesitated, glancing at the door as if his father could see him through the hollow wood panel. “You promise not to try anything?”

I arched both brows at him. “You know I can’t do that. We’ve kind of got a mortal-enemy thing going on here.” I shrugged and tried on a cocky grin of my own. “But I promise not to try anything right now, and if I make a break for it later, you can totally try to stop me.”

To my surprise, Alex chuckled. “I’m gonna hold you to that.” He pushed away from the dresser and crossed the room to sit on the bed behind me, digging in his pocket for the handcuff key. “FYI, I have one hand on my gun.”

I rolled my eyes on the inside, but I could play my part. I could play him. “That’s what all the boys say.”

He laughed again, and his hand brushed one of my wrists. It might also have touched my palm, but I couldn’t feel anything below the cuffs. A moment later, something metallic clicked, and my left hand was free. I tried to flex my fingers again, but they wouldn’t move, and when I held my hand up, it had a definite blue tint to it.

“Your hands are freezing,” Alex said, while I waited for the next click. “Dean’s an abusive bastard.”

“You’re preachin’ to the choir on that one,” I said, but still there was no second click. Instead, my right hand was tugged to the side and I felt warm, damp breath against my neck and something solid against my back.

“This isn’t so bad…” Alex whispered, and I froze. “You’re not always a bitch. You’re kind of funny when you wanna be.”

“Yeah. I’m a funny bitch.” My pulse raced and my face flushed. The bastard was hitting on me! While I was still half-cuffed! Who’s manipulating whom here? Juvenile little prick! “Can you open the other cuff now?”

Alex leaned back slowly, tugging on my right arm again while I opened and closed my left fist in my lap. In my current state, I couldn’t even throw a decent punch.

“I’m not like Dean, you know,” he whispered, and my skin crawled.

Finally the last cuff clicked open, and I started to pull my hand into my lap, but Alex stopped me with one hand around my biceps. “I’m serious.” He leaned close again, and his breath on my neck raised chill bumps all over my skin. Not the good kind. The creeped-out kind. “We’re gonna be stuck together, but we could make the best of this.”

I took a couple of deep breaths, trying to control my temper and think logically. He still had a gun and he was behind me, where I wouldn’t see him draw it. “No, Alex. That’s not going to happen.” I was almost proud of how calm I sounded, even if my voice was bordering on a growl.

“Oh, it’s gonna happen, but that doesn’t have to be a bad thing. You’re hot, and I’m not exactly a dog. We could both do worse.”

What was he, drunk? Delusional, more likely. “You’re a murderer.” My pitch dropped steadily until my voice was too deep to pass for a human woman’s. “You’re your father’s lapdog, and a repugnant little bastard.” I twisted to face him then, relieved only in retrospect to see that he hadn’t pulled the gun, because I was too pissed to have stopped, even if he had. “And I’ll tell you something else—I’m already tired of you assholes waving guns at me, so either get your fucking hands off me or shoot me. Those are your options. And if we fight, only one of us is going to walk away so you’d better shoot to kill. How do you think your daddy’s going to like that?”

Alex swallowed thickly, and an instant later his expression hardened and his eyes narrowed. “You are a bitch.”

“Like that’s a newsflash.”

He glared at me like a spoiled child. “I should put those cuffs right back on.”

“You’re welcome to try.” But he’d have to use both hands for that, and if I got a chance to go for his gun, I wouldn’t hesitate to shoot him in the leg. Which was part of the difference between me and him—I wasn’t afraid to finish what I started. “But if you’re not going to, then get the hell off my bed.”

“You’ll be singing a different song once they take your claws. What are you going to do then? Talk people to death?”

“Maybe I’ll arm myself,” I snapped trying to hide the horror slowly building inside me. I could not lose my claws. I flexed my fingers, glad that they were growing useful again. I would not live my life at his mercy, or anyone else’s. “Guns seem to be all the rage lately for the desperate and gutless.”

Alex tried to grab my arm again, but I jerked away as the door opened behind me. I whirled to find my father standing in the doorway carrying two steaming mugs. His face was flushed from the cold. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” I inhaled deeply and noted that he smelled like pine and wood smoke, and suddenly I craved the outdoors, though I’d been there only an hour before. “Alex was just being an asshole, but I think the moment’s passed. Right, Alex?”

He stood and marched past me to the door, hesitating as my father stepped aside to let him pass. “You get fifteen minutes alone with her, and there’ll be a guard posted outside the window.”

“Wow. This place is a regular San Quentin,” I snapped, reveling in my own sarcasm.

Alex looked up at my father from inches away. “Your daughter has a real attitude problem.”

My father laughed, a hearty guffaw, if I ever heard one, and Alex was noticeably startled. “You should have seen her as a teenager.”

I couldn’t resist a grin as he closed the door in Alex’s face.

“How are they?” I scooted back on the mattress until my spine hit the headboard, and my father handed me the blue mug. I sipped from it, expecting coffee, but found rich, sweet hot chocolate instead. Comfort food. The scent of coffee from the other mug had disguised it. “Thanks.” I raised my mug and he nodded, then I turned my thoughts back to the issue at hand.

“They’re cold, but surviving.” He settled onto the edge of the extra twin bed, cradling his own mug. “Marc has a split lip and Jace has a lump on the back of his head. Seems they both balked at the idea of being caged, until they found out it was either them or you. Malone’s completely unwilling to house the three of you together, or you with either of them. Not that I blame him.”

“I’m surprised he’d let them stay together. Maybe he thinks they’ll kill each other.”

My father sipped from his mug, and I almost missed the tiny tremor in his hand. He was very, very upset. “They’re in separate pens. Cat transport cages, like a zoo might use. Steel frame with steel-mesh sides. They can’t stick more than a finger out through the sides, and they can’t break out.”

Suddenly I felt like I’d lose my lunch all over the bed. “Can they stand up?”

He set his mug on the bedside table. “Not in human form.” My father’s frown spoke almost as clearly as the hands he clasped in his lap. He was more worried than angry, and that was not good. He needed to get mad. We’d all have to be thoroughly pissed to get through this.

“We have to…”

“I know.” He lowered his voice to a barely audible whisper and crossed the rug to sit on the edge of my bed. We were alone, but I had no doubt several sets of ears were listening from the too-quiet main room. “The pens are chained closed, but only secured with a standard padlock. Once we get rid of the guard, we can get them out, given a household hammer and a few uninterrupted minutes.”

My brain raced. “Any chance one of Di Carlo’s men can get to them?” I was already tired of whispering.

“Possibly. But we have to do it sometime tonight, because they’re going to try you in the morning. And we have to free all three of you at about the same time, because once they discover any of you missing, we’re either going to have to run or fight. And, kitten, I’ve never run from anything in my life, and I don’t plan to start now.”

A tingle of anticipation raced through me at his words. I was ready. I’d been ready. And there was something oddly heartwarming about planning a war over cocoa with my father. But…

“Not that I disagree, but what about the rest of our men?” My next words hardly carried any sound. “And our new recruits.” The thunderbirds, of course.

My dad shrugged, his brow drawn into a tense frown. “There’s no time. Even if we called now, they’d never make it in the next few hours. And we have no way to get in touch with the birds quickly.”

Damn. I stood and started to pace. I felt like I was about to crawl out of my skin, though I’d only been locked up for an hour, and the thought of the impending fight didn’t help. “Dad, we need air support, now more than ever. Malone called in reinforcements.”

“I know.” He stood and crossed the room to lean against the dresser beside me. “Officially, they’re all either witnesses against you—” Jess and Gary, clearly “—or enforcers to replace the men he reassigned as the inter-Pride task force. But what that really means is that Malone now has more than twice the number of toms at his back that any of the rest of us have, and when you factor in his allies and their men, we’re decidedly outnumbered.”

A grim prospect at best.

“But we don’t have any choice, do we?” I looked up at my father, childishly hoping—just for a moment—that he’d call me silly and promise that everything would be okay. But the time for such promises was long gone, and my father had never been one to sugarcoat the truth, a fact I grew more thankful for with each passing day.

He shook his head and put one arm around me, in lieu of empty promises. “Not unless you want to go to trial. Again.”

“Not an option.” I didn’t stand a chance of an acquittal this time, because I’d actually done everything I was accused of—albeit to save Kaci’s life—and even if I was willing to lie about it, no one would believe me. And even if I was willing to go down for playing the part Malone had forced upon me, I would never put Marc and Jace through the same thing.

They wouldn’t be declawed. They’d be executed. Especially once everyone found out that Marc was the one who actually killed Lance Pierce. Something told me that the mercy-killing aspect wouldn’t draw much mercy for him.

I sighed and leaned into my father, laying my head on his shoulder. “Alex says they’re going to take my claws.”

“I know.” His arm tightened around me, and I wanted to tuck his suit jacket around me, too. When I was a kid, I’d been pretty sure it was better than Kevlar at deflecting bullets—both lead-based and verbal. “Paul Blackwell says Malone’s been lobbying for his support all afternoon.”

“Did he get it?”

“No.” My father sighed and dropped his voice even lower for the rest of his reply. “But we won’t get it either when we attack. He’ll stand apart and hold his men back.”

I sat up to look at him, and the dresser creaked beneath me. “He said that?”

“I didn’t ask. If he finds out what we’re planning, he’ll feel honor-bound to tell Malone, to try to avert war.”

My hands clenched around the edge of the dresser. I could barely contain my frustration. “So…what’s the plan?” I whispered.

He stood, and I followed him away from the door. “There’s only one guard at the shed, and one outside your window. Brian will take care of the one at the shed, and once he has Marc and Jace out, they’ll take out your guard and get you out through the window.”

“Then we go for the guns, right?”

My father smiled, proud. “Exactly. Only the toms working as guards are carrying, and it’ll be hard to get rid of those, but we can even the playing field a bit by disposing of the stockpile.”

My stomach churned again. “We’re sure there’s a stockpile?”

“Virtually certain. And that’s your job. Get Alex to talk. Find out where the guns are and how many they have, then knock him out and disarm him when Marc and Jace come for you.”

“Get Alex to talk…” I frowned. “That might have been easier before I told him where he could shove his own pistol.”

My dad chuckled and I was relieved that he could see the humor in the situation. “You could talk the green off grass, Faythe. And this time, we’re counting on that.”

Wonderful. But at least that was an assignment I was well trained for.

My father glanced at his watch, and I knew our mostly private visit was about up. But before he left—or Alex returned… “Hey, Dad, we should probably call Dr. Carver. No matter how this thing ends, we’re gonna need him.”

He smiled and slid both hands into his slacks pockets. “He’ll be here first thing in the morning, I just hope that’s soon enough.”

But it wouldn’t be, for some people. You can’t have a war without casualties, and my heart ached just thinking about who we might lose on our side. Malone might hire cannon fodder to stand between him and danger, but we didn’t. Every member of our Pride was valued, every enforcer hand-selected and loved like a son or a brother. We were family in the truest sense of the word, if not in the literal sense, and I couldn’t stand the thought of losing anyone. Not with Ethan’s death still fresh in my memory.

My dad’s arm slid around me again, before I even realized he’d been watching me. “What are you thinking?”

My sigh that time was half sob, in spite of my best effort to keep my emotions at bay. “If I could, I’d take the guys out of this whole thing—no one else should have to die because of Malone’s megalomania. But they’re just as willing to fight for this as I am, and I have no right to tell them they can’t. Or shouldn’t. Even if it means we lose someone else.”

My father’s sigh was heavy and long, and when he finally spoke, his voice was thick, like he was holding back more than he was actually saying. “Spoken like a true leader.”