Though his eyes remained closed, Marc moaned when Yarnell dropped him on the floor, and I got my first good look at the wound Eckard thought had killed him. There was a two-inch-long gash on the side of his head, crusted over with blood. It was a miracle he’d survived that one. And if Kevin had his way, it wouldn’t be for long.

I had to do something. I couldn’t watch Marc beaten to death, but neither could I give Kevin information that might doom my father’s quest for allies against Malone. Unfortunately, the only trick I had up my sleeve was the partial Shift, and with my hands and feet bound, cat’s jaws wouldn’t do me any good unless someone came really close to my face. And trying to fully Shift with my wrists taped at my back would only dislocate my shoulders. Assuming Yarnell didn’t kill me when he saw what I was up to.

Now, if I could partially Shift my hands, that would be another story entirely. With cat claws, I could slice through duct tape like a canoe paddle through water. But I couldn’t Shift just my hands.

Could I?

With a start, I realized I’d never tried. But I’d gotten pretty damn good at Shifting just my face, and my hands couldn’t be that different, right?

“Bring him around,” Kevin ordered, recapturing my attention while Yarnell headed into the kitchen. Water ran, and a moment later he was back with a large, full glass. Which he promptly dumped over Marc’s face.

Marc’s eyes popped open, and he sputtered, trying to expel water from both his nose and mouth, even as he blinked it from his eyes. Watching him, and suffering along with him, I harnessed my mounting rage to fuel a partial Shift I couldn’t even be sure was possible. I pictured my left hand slimming and lengthening, and fur rolling over my fingers.

“Oh good, you’re awake!” Kevin peered down at Marc from two feet away—well within the danger zone, had Marc not been bound as I was. “Your part in tonight’s production is that of the whipping boy. If your girlfriend truly can’t be motivated by pain, then every time she refuses to answer a question, Peter will break one of your bones. Make sense? Or are you still foggy from the tranquilizer?”

“Leave him alone, you bastard!” I said through clenched teeth as I flexed my hands behind my back.

“Faythe…?” Marc’s voice was slurred, yet he called my name with a sense of urgency, of fear, and fresh tears spilled over my cheeks. I was the first thought on his mind, the moment he woke up from an ordeal that would have killed just about anyone else.

“Over here,” I whispered, and he twisted toward me at the sound of my voice, one shoulder slanted awkwardly into the floor, the side of his face pressed into the carpet. In my mind, I pictured my nails growing into long, curved claws, and I flexed my fingers to unsheathe them.

“Your face…” he said, and his features went hard with anger on my behalf, in spite of the drug-glaze in his eyes.

I forced a grin to tell him I was fine. “Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful.” My left hand twitched, and my heart leapt at the familiar sensation. It was working! And suddenly my smile felt genuine.

“Well, now that we’re all caught up, let’s move on,” Kevin said, and Yarnell stalked toward me, ready to commence with the interrogation. “Did your mother let Ryan go?”

“What?” For a moment, I couldn’t process the sudden subject change, and my partial Shift faltered as my concentration wavered. But then the question sank in, and the possibility flooded me like lead anchoring me to the sea floor.

Had my mother let Ryan go? The truth was that it was entirely possible. I have no idea how Kevin came by that idea when I hadn’t even thought of it, but it made sense. My mother couldn’t stand to see her son locked up, so she would have let him go for the same reason she’d taken care of him, even while he lived in the free zone.

Because he needed her.

Kevin saw the answer on my face, but that wasn’t enough for him. The bastard wanted to hear it. Wanted to force me to play his game. “Did she?”

“I don’t know,” I whispered, because even if my hunch was right, I couldn’t tell him. He’d stepped way over the line, going after my mother. Especially considering that she was well respected by most of the Alphas, even those who didn’t like my father’s politics.

They were trying to get to him through her, and in an odd way, I was disillusioned by that realization. Was nothing sacred to these pricks?

At that thought, and the fresh anger it triggered, the skin over my hand began to itch unbearably, and my fingers ached as they shortened and thickened, protective pads covering my palm.

Kevin nodded at Pete and gestured toward me grandly with one outstretched arm. “No bones yet. We don’t want her passing out this early.”

Yarnell pulled me to my feet by one arm, and I let him, still focusing on the weapon forming at my back. “Answer him.”

I could have repeated my reply, and technically it would have been the truth. But the words tasted bitter in my mouth. So I swallowed them.

Yarnell’s huge fist slammed into my stomach, dead center, driving the air from my body and folding me in half.

“No!” Marc thrashed as if he’d been hit, and I fell to the floor hard, bruising my knees. Several seconds passed before I could draw another breath, and when I finally looked up, agony still radiating outward from my center, Yarnell stood over me, a blissful smile on his face, as if he got actual physical pleasure from my pain.

Great. But the latest blow had so thoroughly pissed me off that my left hand had Shifted completely. Perfectly. That arm now ended in a fur-covered cat paw and claws. Unfortunately, the tape binding my wrists was too far up for my new claws to reach.