“Or they have a bunch of names,” I suggested. Dad started to frown at me, but I held up a hand to ask for patience. “I’m serious. They keep themselves completely set apart from human society. If we did that, even with our relatively large numbers, including the strays—” Blackwell scowled at that, but I ignored him “—would we need last names? We can tell at a single sniff what family a fellow cat is from, and if we didn’t live and work within the human society, why would we need last names?”
To my surprise, though Blackwell still scowled, everyone else actually seemed to be considering my point. “All I’m saying,” I continued, aiming my closing statement at Blackwell, “is that just because they only have one name apiece doesn’t mean there aren’t bunches of them. If their population was really that small, would they risk picking a fight with us?”
“Okay, that’s a valid point,” my father conceded. “We’ll hold off any assumption about the size of their population until we have further information from Mr.…Kai.”
“Did he give you anything useful?” Blackwell tapped his cane softly on the carpet.
“In fact, Faythe and Marc did get two valuable bits of information from him. Without pulling out a single feather.” I couldn’t help but grin at that. My father would seize any opportunity to emphasize my worth to the other council members. Ditto for Marc. “First of all, thunderbirds have no Alpha.”
Bert Di Carlo spoke up from behind me, and I twisted to see him frowning. “You mean they’re currently without an Alpha, or they never had one?”
“Never had one,” I answered. My father raised one brow but let me continue, so I bobbed my head at him briefly in thanks. “According to Kai, they make decisions as a group.”
“Like a democracy?” Kaci’s bright brown eyes shone with the first glimpse of curiosity I’d seen from her in more than a week—since I’d evaded her questions about my sex life. “So they, like, vote?”
“I don’t think it’s quite that simple. Or maybe it’s not quite that complicated.” I shrugged and altered my focus to address the entire room. “I don’t entirely understand, but the impression I get is that they make decisions as a single unit, but that it’s nothing so formal as an actual vote. And their word is their law. Literally. Kai refuses to break a vow from his Flight, or even contradict it. Even if we convince him that we’re innocent.”
“So, they’re honorable murderers?” Jace shifted on the couch to look at me around Kaci’s head, but my father answered.
“They don’t see it as murder. They’re avenging the death of one of their own, and they’ve been told by one of our own that we’re responsible for that death—a young thunderbird named Finn.”
“Who told them that?” Ed Taylor demanded, pushing off against the wall to stand straight, his still-well-toned arms bulging against the material of a pale blue button-down shirt.
“Is it true?” Blackwell asked softly, before anyone could answer Taylor’s question.
My father sighed and stopped pacing to face the elderly Alpha. “I don’t think so, but we can’t confirm that without more information, which Kai is unwilling to give us at the moment. But as soon as we’re finished here, we’ll begin contacting our Pride members for questioning one at a time. That will take a while, but I don’t see any better course of action right now.”
Blackwell nodded reluctantly, and my dad turned to Taylor.
“As for who’s accusing us…” He glanced at me, then back to his fellow Alpha. “Logic and—frankly, gut instinct—would point to Calvin Malone.”
I was watching Paul Blackwell as my father spoke, and as I’d expected, his face flushed in anger and his chest puffed out dramatically. If he’d had fur in that moment, it would have been standing on end. “You cannot go around accusing Calvin of everything that goes wrong, just because you don’t like him. You have no proof he was involved in tagging those strays, and none to show for this, either!”
No, we had no proof that Malone was responsible for implanting tracking devices in several of the strays we’d fought when Marc was missing, but we did have proof implicating Milo Mitchell—Malone’s strongest ally. Unfortunately, while tagging strays was immoral without a doubt, it wasn’t illegal, technically speaking, and we currently lacked enough votes on the council to remedy that. So our case against Mitchell—and against Malone by extension—was on hold. Indefinitely. Another massive thorn in my already tender side.
My father remained much calmer than I felt, though I was proud of myself for biting my tongue. Literally. “We’re not accusing him, Paul. We’re suspecting him. Strongly.”
“Because he’s opposing your bid for council chair?”
“Because at their informant’s request, the thunderbirds have agreed to try to remove the tabbies from the ranch before the height of their assault. Calvin Malone has publicly stated that he wants Kaci and Manx removed from the Lazy S, and that he’d rather see Faythe set back on the ‘proper’ path for a young woman. Who would you consider a more likely suspect?”
Blackwell faltered, and the flush faded from his cheeks as his gaze dropped to the curve of his cane. “He wouldn’t do this. I know you and Calvin don’t get along—I don’t see eye to eye with him on everything, either—but he would never do this. Conspiring against a fellow Alpha with a hostile third party—one of another species! That’s…treason.”
“Yes.” My father let the quiet gravity of his voice resonate throughout the room. “It is.”
Blackwell stood unsteadily and stared at the ground before finally meeting my dad’s expectant gaze. “You know I can’t act without proof, and I only have a week left as council chair, anyway. But I will launch a formal investigation into this. Today.”
“Why should we trust your investigators?” Bert Di Carlo looked almost as outraged as Blackwell looked suddenly exhausted. And every bit of his seventy-two years.
“Because you just volunteered for the job.” The old man met Di Carlo’s gaze gravely. “I’ll pair you with Nick Davidson, to keep things even.” Two days earlier Davidson had officially thrown his weight behind Malone. “If Calvin is responsible for this, you have one week to bring me proof. After that, the point is moot.”
Di Carlo nodded and Blackwell turned back to my dad. “Where can I make some calls?”
“My office.” My father waved one hand toward the door, gesturing for the older Alpha to help himself. Blackwell made his way to the hall, and my dad turned to the rest of us. “My enforcers, start at the top of your call tree and work your way down. Pass me the phone if you find someone who’s ever seen a thunderbird, or knows anything about them. Even if it’s just a rumor, or an old Dam’s tale. If they know anything more than that thunderbirds can fly, I want to talk to them.”
We’d made out the call lists the week before, after Owen had spent hours calling on south-central Pride toms to help patrol the borders and search for Marc in the Mississippi woods. Now each of us had a roster, and—my idea—every tom in the Pride had a contact at the ranch. A go-to guy for problems or reports, in case my father was out. Or busy with any of one of the myriad disasters currently plaguing our Pride.
For the next hour, I sat at the long dining room table with my fellow enforcers, slowly crossing name after name off my list. The other Alphas had set their ablebodied men to similar tasks, searching for information among their own members. Because regardless of who killed this thunderbird, chances were slim that the murder happened on our land. We’d been patrolling pretty obsessively since Ethan died; the non-enforcer toms had been taking shifts at the borders ever since. We’d insisted, though two had lost their jobs due to excessive absences.
A lost job meant little compared to another lost tom.
I set the phone down after my last call and looked up to find Jace watching me from across the table. In the hall, Marc was in an animated discussion with one of the newly unemployed toms, who was not happy with his current assignment. All the others were still speaking into their own phones, so for a moment
, I let Jace look. And I looked back, my heart aching with each labored beat.
After several bittersweet seconds, the rumble of a familiar engine outside pulled my gaze from Jace. Dr. Carver.
My father rushed toward the front door, cell phone pressed to one ear. “Pull as close as you can to the porch. We’ll come out and get you.” Because on his own, Dr. Carver would make just as appealing a target for any nearby thunderbirds as Charlie had. More so, if they knew who he was. “Marc? Vic?” my father called, out of sight now. But I beat the guys into the hall.
“No,” my Alpha said as I reached for the doorknob. He held up my arm by the wrist of my cast. “If you don’t give yourself a chance to heal, you won’t do us any good when we go after Malone.”
“Good point,” I said, and he looked surprised as I reluctantly stepped aside so Vic could open the door. Marc brushed one finger down my cheek and shot me a sympathetic smile before following his Alpha and his former field partner outside.
I watched through the tall, narrow sidelight window while they rushed down the front steps just as Carver swung open his car door. Two birds circled ominously overhead, low enough that their size and wing-claws were obvious. As Carver twisted to grab his bag from the passenger seat, both birds swooped to a sudden, staggeringly graceful landing in the middle of the front yard, Shifting even as their newly formed feet touched the ground. For several long moments, they faced off against Marc and Vic, with nothing but Carver’s car and fifty feet of earth between them.
My father stood firm on the bottom step, and the doc sat frozen in his seat, staring in awe at our unwelcome visitors. Suddenly feathers sprouted across the arms of one bird and he stepped up onto his bare toes, as if to launch himself at the car. Marc slapped his empty palm with the gigantic wrench he carried, growling menacingly. The bird stood down, apparently content to remain a silent threat while they were outnumbered, and a soft sigh of relief slipped from me.
My father waved his men forward and Carver stepped from the car and was ushered inside by both toms. Our Alpha remained on the porch, alone and undefended as a show of strength. In truth, any one of us could have been at his side in less than a second. But sometimes appearance is as important as reality.
“Kai is alive but in a lot of pain,” he called in a strong, steady voice. “If you want him back, put me in touch with your Flight.” With that, he turned his back on the birds—a show of confidence as well as an insult—and walked into the house.
He pulled the door closed, and I turned to find the hall packed with toms. “There’s nothing to see,” my father declared, and as the toms slowly dispersed, he turned to Carver. “Good to see you again, Danny. What’s it been? A week?”
“Sounds about right.” Carver hefted his overnight bag higher on one shoulder. “I have less than a week of vacation left. At this rate, I’ll be looking for a new job soon, Greg.”
My father sighed. “That makes two of us,” he said, referring to his spot on the council, not his career as an architect.
Carver flinched and nodded. “Hey, Faythe,” he said as Marc locked the front door and Vic took our latest guest’s overnight bag. “How’s the arm?”
“Ready to come out of the cast.” I fell into step beside the doc and my dad, and Marc and Vic followed us.
Carver grinned. He was almost always in good spirits, no matter who he was sewing up—or cutting apart. In his day job, Dr. Danny Carver was a medical examiner for the state of Oklahoma. He spent more time with dead people than with live ones. “Give it a couple more weeks, then we’ll cut it off and let you try Shifting.”
“We don’t have a couple of weeks, Doc.” I stopped in the hall, and he had to stop with me to maintain eye contact. “We’re going after Malone in three days.” I whispered the last part, because I wasn’t sure how much of our battle plans Blackwell had overheard. Or whether we could trust him, even with the investigation he was initiating against Malone.
Dr. Carver frowned and glanced at the heavily decorated cast I held up. “You may have to fight in a cast, then. It’ll protect your arm better, anyway.”
“But I can’t Shift in a cast. I’ll be stuck in human form.”
Carver shrugged and tightened his grip on his medical supply bag. “We could cut it off and let you Shift several times, but a broken bone isn’t like a laceration, or even a torn rotator cuff.” Both of which I’d suffered in the line of duty. “They take longer to heal, and if you don’t heal properly, the damage could be permanent. And Shifting before broken bones have at least half healed hurts unlike anything you’ve ever felt. Just ask Marc.”
I glanced at Marc, not surprised to see him nodding. He’d gotten several broken ribs at the same time I broke my arm. A chest couldn’t be casted, so he’d been Shifting twice a day for the past week, and his ribs were only just returning to normal.
“So, what does that mean for Charlie?” I asked as we moved toward Owen’s room.
“Let’s see how bad it is.…”
My dad and Vic followed the doc into our makeshift triage center, but I headed into the kitchen instead, and Marc followed me. “What’s wrong?” he asked as I poured the last of the coffee into my favorite mug. I raised both brows, and his head bobbed in concession. “Okay, everything’s wrong. But specifically?”
“This.” I set my mug on the counter and held up my casted arm. “We’re days away from going full scale against Malone, and in the meantime, we’re under fire from above. And I’m about as useful as a three-legged dog.”
“You’re much more useful than any kind of dog, mi vida.” Marc purred and pressed me into the counter, his hands on my hips. I couldn’t resist a smile. I was a real sucker for Spanish.
Except when he was yelling it at me.
I kissed him, and my arms went around his waist, my good hand splaying against his back. Feeling the restrained power, and loving it.
“Better?” he asked when we came up for air.
“A little.” I sighed. “I just want to fight.”
He grinned. “I love that in a woman.”
“Stupid cast.” I tried to twist and grab my mug, but he held me tight.
“I kind of like it. You broke your arm saving my life.”
I had to smile at that. “And I’d do it again tomorrow. I just wish it wasn’t going to hold me back the next time.”
“I’m sorry.”
I shrugged and grabbed my mug, then followed him into the hall. Marc hung back to keep from crowding Owen’s room, but I pressed my way through the throng and stood against one wall with Kaci. My mother sat in a chair by Ethan’s bed, holding Charlie’s hand because she could do little else for him. Manx sat on the floor beside Owen’s bed, one mangled hand on his arm.
Carver headed straight for Charlie, whose clothes had been cut off but left under him, because lifting him again would have hurt him worse. The doc shook his head when my mother started to give up her chair, then he knelt to dig in his medical bag. Seconds later he pulled out a plastic-wrapped disposable syringe and a small vial of something clear. Carver drew some of the liquid into the syringe, then carefully felt for a vein in Charlie’s arm.
“Let’s give this a chance to help with the pain, then we’ll see what we can do for you,” he said softly as he slid the needle into Charlie’s skin. Charlie didn’t even flinch. What was a shot, compared to being dropped from thirty feet in the air?
My mother took the used syringe, and Dr. Carver crossed the room to Owen, then sank into the desk chair to examine my brother’s stomach. “These stitches look good, Karen.” She murmured her thanks, and the doc turned to Owen’s leg, which my mother hadn’t been confident she could stitch up properly. “These are deeper. They’re going to hurt for a while, but if you Shift a few times tomorrow, you should be good to go in a couple of days. Let’s get you stitched up.”
The doctor talked while he worked, to set his patient at ease, and it helped. I could attest to that personally. “This isn’t so bad,” he said when Owen fl
inched. “Faythe had similar injuries a couple of months ago, but Brett Malone had it much worse than either of you.…”
But I missed the rest of what he said, because that name echoed in my head. Brett Malone. Jace’s brother, whose life I’d saved with a meat mallet. Brett had insisted he owed me, even after he’d given us the heads-up about my father’s impeachment. I’d tried to brush off his IOU—I was just doing my job—but he was insistent.
And now I knew exactly how he could repay his debt.
I ran one hand over Kaci’s hair and whispered that I’d be right back. “Where are you going?” my father asked as I passed him, and when I gestured, he followed me into the hall, where Jace now stood with Marc and Vic.
“I’m getting evidence for Blackwell.” Before he could press for details, I turned to Jace. “I need your phone.”
Jace dug it from his pocket with neither hesitation nor questions, and I smiled at him gratefully. No one else would have done that. Even Marc would have asked why I wanted it.
I took Jace’s phone and headed toward my room, calling over my shoulder as I ran. “I’ll fill you in after I consult my source.”
Seven
“Hello?” Brett sounded cautious and suspicious—and he didn’t even know who was calling yet. Jace had his half brother on speed dial, as I’d known he would. Other than his mother, Brett was the only family member in his contacts—which I’d also guessed.
“Hey, Brett, it’s me.”
“Faythe?” he whispered, then something scratched against the receiver as he covered it. A few seconds later, he was back, and the background chatter was gone, leaving only the wind—a hollow-sounding echo in my ear. “My dad will kill me if he finds out I’m talking to you!”
“Yeah, well, welcome to the game. He tried to kill me in November.” I was too nervous and upset to sit, so I walked the carpet at the foot of my bed, occasionally running the fingers of my casted hand over the scarred posts.
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