Well, hell. He was going to make me say it. This is not a conversation I want to have with my father. Ever. But it was much too late to back out, so I took a deep breath and plunged forward into the dark abyss.

Melodramatic? Hell yeah.

“We were…you know. Together.”

“I see,” he said, after a long, tense silence. But I had my doubts. He didn’t look like he saw.

My father stood, retrieving his glass from the end table, and crossed the room to his desk. As I sank deeper into the couch, he opened his bottom desk drawer and pul ed out a half-empty bottle of Scotch. The good stuff.

Seated now, he poured two inches of amber liquid into his glass, hesitated, then poured a third inch. As I watched my father drink, it occurred to me that the testimony I was about to launch resembled a kamikaze’s final flight. It would be a sickeningly fast and exhilarating plunge, executed with the greater good in mind. And it was virtual y guaranteed to end in death. Mine.

Martyrdom always seems so daring and courageous from an outsider’s perspective, but from the cockpit of the kamikaze’s plane, with the earth racing up to meet you, the view sucks.

My father screwed the lid on his bottle and set it in the drawer. He slid the drawer shut and took another drink. Then he started across the floor toward me, walking slowly, as if he were stiff, or achy. With a deep, weary sigh, he settled back into his chair. His eyes rose to meet mine, and they were completely empty. Blank.

Damn, he’s good.

For almost a complete minute, my father stared at me, sipping from his glass. Silence closed in on me, and I wanted to look away from his eyes, but I couldn’t. If I broke eye contact, he might think I was hiding something, and I desperately needed him to believe I was telling the truth. Now, more than ever. So we both sat still and silent, ignoring Michael.

Finally, he spoke. “I’m going to give you a chance to rethink what you just told us. That’s more than I would give any other cat in the world. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

I nodded. He was giving me a chance to save myself. To take back what I’d just said. To decide I’d made a mistake—that I hadn’t infected Andrew. He was looking for a justifiable excuse to spare my life, at least until after the official inquisition the Council would demand if he refused to have me executed. He’d have a good reason for that—if I was willing to lie.

But I wasn’t. I couldn’t. Lying about what I’d done would mean becoming the selfish, heartless monster Andrew must already think I was. The monster who’d turned him into what he’d become, then left him to die.

“Do you want to…rephrase your statement?” my father asked. “For the record?”

Slowly, regretfully, I shook my head. It was the single hardest thing I’d ever had to do. Harder than fighting for my life. Harder than leaving Marc years before. Harder than coming home.

But it was right. I knew that with every frenzied beat of my heart. In every shadowed corner of my soul.

I was doing the honorable thing. Just as my Alpha had taught me.

“Faythe…” My father’s voice shook, in fury and in…terror. He was afraid. For the first time in my life, I saw fear in my father’s face, lining his forehead, glazing his eyes.

“I can’t do it, Daddy. I’m telling the truth. I did nip him, but the infection was an accident. It’s not supposed to happen that way. It shouldn’t be possible.”

My father hurled his glass across the room. The movement was too fast for my eyes to track. I didn’t understand what had happened until glass shattered against the wal and the biting scent of Scotch permeated the air. I jumped, whirling to see the wet smear across the oak paneling.

He shot out of his seat. His armchair fel over backward, slamming against the hardwood floor. “I give you the opportunity to save yourself, and you give me this partial-Shift nonsense? Again?” His face was flushed, his eyes blazing.

“It’s the truth.” I fought the need to pul my feet up onto the couch and curl into a protective bal . “You taught me to tell the truth, to take pride in doing the right thing, even when it’s hard. And now you want me to lie, because it’s easier?”

“I want you to save yourself, whatever that takes!” He dropped to his knees on the floor in front of me, taking my wrists in his hands. He stared into my eyes from inches away, pleading with me to listen. To understand. “We’re talking about your life, Faythe. Our future. Not who lost the croquet bal , or who broke the antique vase. You’re not eight anymore, so don’t throw your damned honor in my face. What good is honor when you’re dead?”

I swallowed thickly. “What good is the truth, if you only use it when it doesn’t matter?”

His eyes burned into mine. “Damn it, Faythe!” Dropping my arms, he leapt to his feet, storming past an astonished Michael, who could do nothing but watch. “We all know you went through something horrible in that basement, and you’re entitled to believe whatever helps you cope with killing Eric. But now you’re taking it too far. This isn’t a game. It isn’t therapy. It isn’t truth-or-dare. It’s your life.”

“I know,” I whispered miserably, wishing I could do what he wanted.

Wishing it was that simple. But it wasn’t.

“I don’t think you do!” He whirled on me from across the room. “My job as Alpha is to rid the Pride of any threats. But my job as a parent is to protect you at al costs. What am I supposed to do when you are the threat? Why are you making it so hard for me to protect you? You have to give a little, Faythe. You have to meet me halfway.”