Kaci

“So, this whole thing was Ed Taylor’s attempt to take the council chair position from Rick Wade?” I could hardly wrap my mind around the web of back channel manipulations. The kidnapping. The deal the Taylors had tried to make with Titus. “Just because Abby wouldn’t marry Brian?”

“I’m sure that isn’t Ed’s only grudge,” Faythe said from her perch on the front edge of her desk. “I knew he was upset about the loss of the potential for grandchildren, but I have to admit I never expected him to make a power grab. That doesn’t sound much like Ed.”

Marc shrugged from the couch across the rug from Justus and me. “I suspect his resentment has been brewing for a while, and his son’s broken engagement was the final straw. And we all know how miserable Robert Taylor has been under Blackwell’s thumb for decades. The Taylors probably believe they’re simply claiming what should have been theirs all along.”

“I’m so sorry they dragged you into this.” Justus’s hand tightened around mine, and the leather upholstery creaked as he leaned closer to me on the couch. “And I’m even sorrier that I gave them that opportunity.”

“Oh, please. I did that to myself. But the Taylors are responsible for their own actions.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about this?” Robyn twisted out of Titus’s embrace to glare at him. “We drove all this way, and you didn’t say a thing!”

“I’m sorry. I wanted to talk to Justus first.” Titus glanced from one of us to the next while he spoke. “I owe the rest of you an apology as well. I had no right to agree to anything without consulting everyone affected by my decision. Rick Wade has been nothing but kind and fair to me and to my men, and the last thing I want to do is cast myself as his adversary. But all I could think about when Ed Taylor called was saving Justus’s life.”

“I suspect Rick would understand that,” Faythe said. “Not that we need to tell him. Because he would also be very, very angry. So let’s just count this as an impulsive lesson learned. We are all better off counting on one another than taking drastic measures alone.” She aimed a pointed look around the room, from Justus and me on one couch to Titus, Robyn, and Marc on the one across from us. “And we have to be able to count on one another.”

“Of course.” Titus looked both embarrassed by and ashamed of what he’d done. Which was almost enough to make me forgive him for trying to separate me from his brother.

Almost.

Marc snorted, aiming an amused look at Faythe. “This coming from the valedictorian of the ‘I can do it all on my own’ school of leadership.”

“The former valedictorian,” she corrected with a smile. “I’ve learned a lot on the job.”

“Are we sure Brian was in on this?” I asked.

Marc nodded. “We’re pretty sure he at least knew about it. And if he did, that’s grounds for dismissal—as our enforcer, his loyalty should lie with the South-Central Pride, not his birth-Pride.”

“So, you’re going to fire Brian?” I felt guilty for how happy that thought made me, after what he’d said about me to Justus. But only a little guilty.

“Not yet.” Marc stood and headed for the liquor cart on the end of the room opposite the desk. “If we fire him, his dad will know we’re on to him.”

“So then, what’s our move? What are we waiting for?”

Titus joined Marc at the cart and poured himself an inch of whiskey. “Ed Taylor’s planning to call an emergency meeting to vote on my petition.”

“That call went out an hour ago,” Marc confirmed. Then he took a big sip from his glass.

Titus nodded. “This morning he informed me that as soon as I’m an official member, they’re going to call for a new vote on the council chair position, and that if I don’t support Ed Taylor over Rick Wade, he and his brother will vote to execute Justus. But that if I support them, they’ll make all his charges go away…” He leveled an apologetic glance at Kaci. “As long as Justus stays out of the country until Kaci remarries and has a child.”

“Bastards…” I hissed beneath my breath.

“Language,” Faythe snapped. “It’s not new information that the council wants women to have children and strays to get lost.”

“But I thought things were changing! I thought you and Marc were trying to drag the other Alphas into the twenty-first century!”

“They have, and we are,” Faythe insisted. “But change takes time.”

Marc drained his glass. “And sometimes a little spilled blood.”

Faythe scowled. “This is not one of those times. The object here is to avoid bloodshed.”

“And to keep Justus in the country. Alive,” I added. “So, what’s going to happen? We can’t let them vote to execute Justus, just to get back at Titus for rejecting their ‘deal.’”

“They won’t have the chance,” Faythe assured us. “We’re going to press for a redraw for his tribunal. But first…” She smiled. “If Ed and Robert Taylor want to help us get the Mississippi Valley Pride recognized, I say we let them.”

* * *

“I can’t believe they were willing to assemble so quickly!”

“Assemble.” Laughing, I wound my fingers through Justus’s in the shade of the apple tree. Beneath us, the bench swing swayed gently in the hot summer breeze. “Superheroes ‘assemble.’ Alphas just convene.”

“Whatever.” He rolled his eyes. But he was smiling.

On the side of the tree opposite the swing stood three headstones, marking the graves of Faythe’s father, Greg, and her brothers, Ethan and Ryan. They’d all died during my first year in the territory, and Ethan was the only one I really remembered very well, five years later.

I still missed him. He would have liked Justus.

“Anyway, it’s not like they had any choice.” I shrugged. “Faythe said Robert Taylor was officially recognized as Alpha of the Southwest Pride this morning, and the Taylors are eager to put their plan into motion before your trial starts tomorrow.” I shrugged. “Naturally, Faythe volunteered to host the vote.”

Justus’s smile faded. “How mad do you think the Taylors will be when they figure out Titus isn’t going through with his promise? I mean, I know they’ll be pissed, but how badly could this bite him on the ass later on?”

I shrugged. “Shifter politics are like low-key war. Politely worded insults and backdoor deals. Someone’s always pissed off. If the Taylors weren’t out to get Titus, someone else would be. And they took a risk, making him an offer. They have to know it might not pay off.”

“Who’s that?” Justus sat straighter as a car turned into the driveway and rolled beneath the arched gate.

I squinted to see through the windshield. “Jerold Pierce. That’s the last of them.” I twisted on the bench swing to face Justus, looking for any sign of fear. Any indication that he wished we’d gone with our original plan and were sipping drinks on a beach somewhere, rather than getting ready to face not just a tribunal, but the entire council, ten Alphas strong. Eleven, counting both Faythe and Marc. “You ready for this?”

“Nope. Let’s go.” Justus stood and tugged me up by one hand.

When we got to the house, we found Faythe’s office crowded with Alphas, most sipping from short glasses of amber liquid, though it was hardly four p.m. The atmosphere was tense, and the clusters they’d gathered in clearly illustrated their alliances, both fledgling and long-standing.

Faythe sat behind her desk, with Marc standing at her side. Gathered around them were Rick Wade—the current council chair—Isaac Wade, his son, and Vic’s father, Bert Di Carlo.

On the opposite end of the room, in what I privately thought of as the anti-stray corner, Milo Mitchell, Nick Davidson, and Wes Gardner stood just feet from the liquor cart. Ed Taylor and his brother Robert, representing the Southwest territory for the first time, had staked their claim on the space near the far wall, where they were deep in whispered conversation with Titus Alexander.

Surely that wouldn’t be happening unless they still believed he was in their corner.

Justus and I slipped into the room as quietly as we could and took seats on one of the couches, where we tried to eavesdrop on all three groups at once. But a couple of minutes later, when Karen Sanders escorted Jerold Pierce into the office, Faythe stood behind her desk. “Gentlemen, it’s pretty crowded in here. Why don’t we hold this meeting in the dining room? I believe my mother has brewed coffee in the kitchen. You’re all welcome to grab a cup on the way.”

I couldn’t resist a small smile. In any other territory, the Alpha’s wife would have served coffee, and possibly pastries. But despite the fact that Karen actually liked showing off her baking skills and loading trays full of beautifully presented mugs, Faythe thought it sent the wrong message for her to serve the Alphas. Men capable of running entire territories, she reasoned, were just as capable of getting their own drinks.

A few of the older Alphas grumbled, but most of them were already holding glasses, so they moved as one tense procession straight to the dining room, where Rick Wade took the seat at the head of the table, with Bert Di Carlo on his right and Faythe on his left.

Ed Taylor took the seat at the opposite end, and I could tell from his smug grin that he had no idea that Wade or his allies knew all about the coup he was planning.

Marc sat on Faythe’s left, with Titus on his other side. But when Justus and I took up positions behind them, against the dining room wall, Robert Taylor turned to us with a stern expression. “Our first order of business doesn’t concern the two of you.”

I glanced at Faythe, and she nodded toward the hallway. Which was when I realized that her choice of venue had been very deliberate. The office was virtually soundproof with the door closed, but the dining room was open to the central hallway on one side with an arched doorway, and to the kitchen with a smaller doorway on the other side. Justus and I would be able to hear everything that was said from nearly any room in the house.

In the kitchen, we poured cups of coffee and sat at the island, where I realized that if I moved my bar stool slightly to the left, I could see most of the dining room table through the arched doorway.

Rick Wade stood at the head of the table. “First of all, let me thank you all for agreeing to meet on such short notice. And thanks, of course, to Faythe and Marc, for hosting our meeting. I’m sure I speak for all of us when I say how very sorry we are for the Southwest Territory’s loss. Paul Blackwell was an institution, and in some parts, practically a legend. He held the record for the longest serving Alpha, and though we didn’t always agree on the issues, I believe with all my heart that he always voted his conscience.”

Robert Taylor—I could only see him in profile—nodded in recognition. “Thank you for saying so, Rick. I will pass on your condolences to my wife and the rest of our family.”

“Thank you.” Wade cleared his throat. “That said, I see no need for debate on the issue at hand today. We’ve been discussing the subject for months, and I suspect we all know where we stand on the issue of whether or not to formally recognize the Mississippi Valley Pride with Titus Alexander as its Alpha.” He frowned. “Unless Robert would like to take some time to solicit opinions, question Titus, or consider the proposal, since he’s new on the council?”

“No, thank you, Rick,” Robert Taylor said. “I believe I’m all caught up.”

“Great. Then I propose that we call a vote immediately.”

“I second,” Faythe said.

“Very well. We’ll go around the table, starting from my right. Vote yea or nay. The issue is this…” Wade pulled a folded sheet of paper from his pocket, then he unfolded it and began to read aloud. “The Mississippi Valley Pride seeks formal recognition as a member of the coalition of American Prides. Recognition would include the following stipulations: The Mississippi Valley Pride will be admitted as a full member of the coalition with all the same benefits and obligations of the other Prides, bringing our membership from ten territories to eleven, to be considered effective at the moment of a majority vote in the affirmative. The territory recognized as belonging to the Mississippi Valley Pride will be the entirety of that currently considered the Mississippi free zone. The new Pride will be recognized with Titus Alexander acknowledged as its Alpha and as the eleventh member in full of the Territorial Council, with all the duties and privileges belonging to the other ten members. The new Pride will be responsible for the same dues owed to the council that the current members pay, and will be subject to the same increases and decreases voted on in the future. Mr. Alexander and his territory will be held to the very same standards and laws that we all abide by, and the Mississippi Valley Pride members shall be guaranteed all the same rights, considerations, and advantages that we currently enjoy. Without exception.” Wade pocketed his statement and glanced around the table. “Any questions or objections?”

Several heads shook.

Wade nodded. “Then let’s go around the table, beginning on my left. A simple majority will be considered an affirmative vote. A tie of five-to-five will be considered a negative vote.” Which meant that Titus needed six yea votes.

“Marc and I vote yea,” Faythe said. No one looked surprised.

The vote skipped Titus, and to his left, Jerold Pierce said, “I vote nay. It’s nothing personal. I just don’t think we need another Pride.”

Titus nodded in acknowledgement, his lips pressed firmly together.

Next came Nick Davidson. “Nay.”

“Yea,” Isaac Wade said, tying the vote. As Rick Wade’s son and Jace’s brother-in-law, the youngest Alpha on the council had so far reliably voted with Faythe and her allies.

Then all eyes were on Ed Taylor, at the end of the table.

Taylor leaned back in his chair, enjoying the moment with his arms crossed over his chest. “For the moment, I’d like to abstain.”

A shocked silence settled over the dining room. Mitchell, Wes Gardner, and Nick Davidson wore identical scowls, which I could only see in profile. They’d been sure Taylor would vote with them.

Justus shifted on the bar stool next to mine, frowning. I shared his nerves. We’d been sure Taylor would vote with Marc and Faythe. What the hell was he doing, abstaining?

“Well, I guess technically that is your right,” Rick Wade said. “Rob? How will you be casting your first official vote as a council member?”

Robert Taylor sat a little straighter, obviously aware that all eyes were on him. “I vote in favor of recognizing the Mississippi Valley Pride, with the stipulations read aloud.”

To his left, Wes Gardner frowned. If his mental tally agreed with mine, he understood that the vote was now three-to-two, in favor of the Mississippi Valley Pride. “Nay,” Gardner said, without being asked.

With the vote tied, Milo Mitchell voted nay.

On his left, Bert Di Carlo gave a booming “Yea,” tying the vote again at four.

“Yea,” Rick Wade announced. “The count is five to four, in favor of the yeas. Ed, if you vote nay, the measure will fail. If you abstain, the measure will pass, with a simple majority of five out of nine votes. If you vote yes, it will pass with six out of ten votes. What do you say?”

Justus sat straighter on his bar stool, and I could feel tension rolling off him. In the dining room, all eyes were on Ed Taylor. Titus’s hands were clenched on the table, as if he were silently praying. Marc’s foot tapped softly, and Faythe put one hand on his knee. This vote—recognition of the first stray Pride—meant almost as much to him as it meant to Titus and Justus. As it meant to me.

Ed Taylor cleared his throat, and suddenly I understood why he’d abstained. So that his would be the deciding vote.

“As I sit here, I’m very well aware that as a group—as representatives of the entire American coalition—we find ourselves at both a political and a philosophical crossroads. The decision we make today will set our trajectory on both fronts for the foreseeable future. This decision sets a precedent we must all consider in countless future debates and votes.”

Justus took my hand and squeezed it, passing a little of his tension on to me. But it took everything I had not to roll my eyes at Ed Taylor—I had no patience for his political grandstanding.

Though his obviously rehearsed speech did seem to bode well for a vote in Titus’s favor; surely, he wouldn’t be trying so hard to sound like the council leader if he weren’t confident that his deal with Titus would put him in that very position.

“I believe it’s time that we, as a group, acknowledge that our stray brothers—and at least one sister!—are entitled to all the same rights and privileges that those of us born into the shifter world enjoy. So it is with great optimism for the future that I vote yea!”

Mitchell, Davidson, and Gardner stared in shock as Ed Taylor stood and rounded the corner of the table with his hand extended for Titus to shake. Titus stood and accepted it, along with a hearty clap on the back from Taylor. “Welcome to the council, Titus. And I want to extend an enthusiastic welcome as well to the men and women of the Mississippi Valley Pride!”

Justus’s hand squeezed mine so tightly that my joints groaned in protest. My sigh of relief was nearly audible.

The vote was over. It was real. Titus’s Pride had been officially recognized—a victory Faythe, Marc, Jace, and Titus had spent well over a year working toward. That moment should have felt victorious. Euphoric. But I have to admit that my joy was tempered by the arrogant nerve of Ed Taylor practically taking credit for the whole thing—while he was trying to blackmail Titus and oust the current council chairman from his position.

“Yes.” Rick Wade stood. “I do believe congratulations are in order. And I’m going to call a fifteen minute break before we get to new business.”

Individual comments got lost in the quiet chaos of the next few minutes, as Titus’s friends and allies gathered around to congratulate him, while those who’d voted against him sat in silent shock. And since the chairman had called a recess, I grabbed Justus’s hand and pulled him into the dining room, where we joined the crowd around his brother.

“Kaci.” I turned at the sound of my name to see Jerold Pierce looking down at me. “I hear congratulations are in order,” he said, with a glance at my grip on Justus’s hand. Where my rings were easily visible. “So…congratulations.”

“Thanks.” I wasn’t sure what else to say.

“And congratulations to you as well,” Pierce said to Justus. “The news caught us all by surprise, but I wish you the best.”

“Thank you,” Justus said just as his brother emerged from the small crowd.

“Titus.” Pierce extended his hand. “No hard feelings, I hope. My objection was to an unknown dynamic with an eleventh member on the council, not to your presence specifically.” He lowered his voice to little more than a breath of sound. “If it had been an option, I might have voted someone else out and taken you on as the tenth.”

Titus’s smile was tight, but not unfriendly. “Of course I have no hard feelings, Jerold. And I look forward to working with you. I believe our interests are bound to align on several fronts.”

“I hope you’re right.” Then Jerold Pierce excused himself to refill his glass.

“Well, that was awkward,” Justus breathed.

“Keep watching,” his brother whispered with just a hint of another smile.

“What’s the plan?” I demanded in as low a voice as I could muster, but Titus only patted my hand, then headed into the kitchen to join Faythe and Marc around the coffee pot.

“Is he always that…tight-lipped?” I asked Justus as we headed into the hall.

“No, usually you know exactly what he’s thinking. Whether you want to or not. Though it’s possible that’s my perception because the bulk of my interaction with my brother has been with him in the role of my legal guardian.”

“I have a similar perception of Faythe,” I murmured. “Though I suspect in her case, it’s accurate.”

The Alphas began heading toward the dining room again, and this time no one shooed us out when we slipped into the room. Evidently Ed Taylor didn’t mind if we watched his attempt at a coup.

“Okay,” Rick Wade said from the head of the table, when his colleagues were all seated. “The only new business on the agenda for today is regarding the tribunal for Justus Alexander’s upcoming trial. The names drawn include Alberto Di Carlo, Ed Taylor, and Paul Blackwell. But since we’ve lost Paul, we have a decision to make.” Rick folded his hands on the table. “As I understand it, we have two proposals on the table. Robert, you believe that since you inherited Paul’s leadership of the Southwest Pride and his seat on the council, you should also inherit his position on the tribunal.”

“Stands to reason,” Robert Taylor said with a firm nod.

“But Faythe, you and Marc contend that Robert should not sit on the tribunal unless his name is actually drawn. If the council sides with you, the options for a redraw include drawing for an entirely new tribunal, or drawing to fill only the vacant seat. Which option are you intending to pursue—”

Ed Taylor stood. “Rick, if you don’t mind, we actually have one other, more pressing bit of new business.”

Rick Wade’s surprised look was impressively realistic. “Well, I guess if it’s pressing…”

“I’d like to call for a new vote on the council chairman position.”

Wade’s brows came together in a fierce scowl. He stood slowly. “That position is not up for vote.” His surprised fury was highly convincing. Though the fury part was likely very real.

“With all due respect, Rick, we all just voted to give Titus the same rights, obligations, and privileges the rest of us have, and one of those rights is to vote on the leader of this council. Which he has not had a chance to do. You voted to accept him. You must also accept any potential changes that vote brings.”

Wade hesitated. “Is that how you all feel?”

Several heads bobbed, from both sides of the table. Faythe aimed an unsure glance at Ed Taylor. Then she turned back to Wade. “For argument’s sake, I’d like to point out that historically, we’ve never called for a new vote on the chair position simply because the council gains a new member. However, today we’ve actually gained two members, which means that nearly a fifth of us didn’t have a chance to help select our leader. A new vote does seem like the fair thing to do for both Titus and Robert.” She shrugged. “A vote doesn’t necessarily mean leadership will change, Rick. In fact, I’m betting it won’t. But this time, if you’re re-elected, you’ll know for sure that you have the unwavering support of the majority.”

“Well said.” Ed Taylor nodded, as if he’d expected nothing less from the most progressive member of the council, but I could see surprise hiding in the crinkles around his eyes. He and Faythe disagreed as often as they agreed.

“Well then I won’t object.” Rick Wade stood straighter and glanced around the table. “But I think a simple raised-hand vote will suffice.” His gaze narrowed on Ed Taylor. “I assume you’re throwing your name in as my opponent?”

“Well, I think someone should,” Taylor said. As if he hadn’t been planning this all along.

I did the math in my head. Faythe’s alliance was virtually guaranteed to vote for Rick Wade. Which would give him his own vote, as well as his son’s and Bert Di Carlo’s, as well as the vote Faythe and Marc shared. Which was four out of ten.

No, out of eleven.

Taylor could count on his own vote, as well as his brother Robert’s. He’d likely also get votes from Mitchell, Davidson, and Gardner. Which gave him five out of eleven.

Jerold Pierce had cast his previous vote in favor of upholding the status quo, which meant he might vote for Wade for the same reason. But I couldn’t be sure of that. If he did vote for Wade, the vote would be tied. Titus would, as expected, be the tie-breaker on his very first council vote.

But if Pierce voted for Ed Taylor, Taylor would win, even without Titus’s vote. And then he’d do his best to convict Justus, out of revenge.

“Okay, let’s have a show of hands,” Rick Wade said, and my heart beat so fast that Justus heard it and turned to me with a question in his eyes.

I let go of his hand. Then I stepped forward. “Is the vote limited to two candidates?” I blurted out.

Every head in the room turned my way, and the sudden, mostly disapproving attention of ten—no, eleven—Alphas at once felt like an iron weight on my chest. Like breathing was suddenly impossible.

“No.” Ed Taylor fixed his weighty scowl on me. “But the candidate pool is restricted to members of the council. Which you are not among.”

Nervous laughter burst from my throat. “I wasn’t thinking of running. That’s ridiculous, of course. I was just…curious.”

Faythe gave me a perplexed frown, and I quickly—pointedly—glanced at one of her fellow Alphas. She followed my gaze, and her eyes widened. But I wasn’t sure she was following my train of thought until she stood, abruptly. As if something had just bitten her. “If the vote isn’t limited to two candidates, I’d like to nominate a third.”

Ed Taylor’s scowl darkened. “What—”

“Jerold Pierce.”

“What?” Pierce’s surprise was almost comical.

Marc nodded, clearly catching on. “That makes sense. Jerold, you’re one of our senior members, and the fact that you’re a frequent swing vote means that you’re pretty middle-of-the-road, politically.”

“So, will you run?” Faythe asked, while Rick Wade frowned at her in obvious confusion.

Pierce shrugged. “Well, I guess that couldn’t hurt.”

Faythe’s smile lit up her face. “Then it’s settled. Rick, I think we’re ready to call for the votes. And I think we should start with Pierce, as the latest addition to the candidate pool.”

Ed Taylor’s face turned scarlet. His mouth opened as if he’d object, but before he could figure out how, Wade cleared his throat. “All in favor of recognizing Jerold Pierce as council chair, please raise your hands.

Pierce’s hand went up immediately, and I exhaled in relief. If he voted for himself, he couldn’t vote for Ed Taylor. Which Taylor clearly realized.

For a second, poor Pierce’s was the only hand up. He looked pretty embarrassed. Then Nick Davidson shifted in his chair, and his hand rose slowly into the air. Followed by Wes Gardner’s.

“That’s three for Jerold Pierce,” Wade said. “All for Ed Taylor?”

Ed raised his hand, his face crimson with fury. Milo Mitchell and Robert Taylor followed suit, and Ed turned a pointed look at Titus. Who returned his stare calmly. With his hands still folded on the table.

“That’s three for Ed Taylor,” Rick Wade announced, relief clear in his voice. He’d obviously done the math. “All in favor of me continuing to serve as council chair?”

Faythe raised her hand for the South-Central Pride. Isaac Wade and Bert Di Carlo raised their hands. Then Rick Wade voted for himself, and he’d officially won. Titus’s vote wasn’t necessary. But he raised his hand anyway—staring right at Ed Taylor.

“Looks like it’s official!” Wade sank into his chair with obvious relief. “It will be my honor to continue to serve.”