“Yes, but they both went out alone, right?” Dr. Carver glanced around for confirmation. “We know to avoid that now.”
My father’s eyes flashed in fury. “We shouldn’t have to! This is our territory. My property. We will not cower in our own home while vigilantes pick us off one by one.”
“We can’t fight them,” Marc said as I sank onto the couch between him and the doctor. “Not on their terms.”
“I know.” My father looked my way, obviously hoping for some good news. “What did Brett say?”
“He has blood-soaked feathers proving we didn’t kill Finn. Unfortunately, while birds have great eyesight, they have little sense of smell, and we’re pretty sure they can’t differentiate between two cats’ scents. The feathers will hopefully convince the council that Malone is pulling the birds’ strings, but they won’t do us much good with the thunderbirds themselves. Even if we do find a way to contact their…nest.”
“Wonderful.” My father’s scowl deepened.
“It gets worse,” Marc began, but Jace interrupted, gently stroking Kaci’s long brown hair down her back, petting her like a kitten.
“The blood on the feathers belongs to Lance Pierce. He killed Finn in a squabble over a fresh kill.”
Marc glowered at Jace, and my frown echoed his. But with more urgency. Was he trying to show Marc up? In front of our Alpha?
Fortunately, my dad was too distracted by the new information to spare the toms more than a brief glance. “Well, that’s just wonderful.” He stood and started across the floor, then stopped and glanced around as if surprised to find himself in the living room rather than the office. “That puts Jerold Pierce in a nice bind, doesn’t it? Not to mention us.”
“Why?” Kaci lifted her head from Jace’s shoulder.
“Because now Councilman Pierce will have to choose between two of his sons,” Marc explained.
Lance Pierce had been with Malone almost as long as Parker had been with us, and their father was the only North American Alpha who had yet to officially pick a side in the council chair debate.
Kaci still looked confused, so I elaborated. “We know Malone set the thunderbirds on us to weaken us before we could attack him, but Parker’s dad is just as likely to see Malone as a hero for saving Lance’s life.” I shrugged miserably. “And if we give Lance up to get the birds off our backs, his father won’t be very happy with us.” Understatement of the century. “Or very likely to support Dad as the council chair.”
My father needed Jerold Pierce on his side just to bring him even with Malone. Then, if Blackwell withdrew his support from Malone in response to Brett’s evidence, we’d be one up on Malone in the vote.
I was relatively confident that Blackwell would do the right thing once he’d spoken to Brett Malone. Unfortunately, I was also pretty sure that if we turned Lance over to the thunderbirds—even in name only—we could kiss Pierce’s support goodbye. Even with Parker still in my father’s employ. Assuming he wanted to stay there after this.
“Poor Parker.” Kaci glanced from one to the other of us with huge hazel eyes. “None of this is his fault, and he’s going to be caught in the middle.”
I nodded, impressed all over again by her perceptiveness.
“Does he know?” My father leaned with one hand on the wall-length entertainment center.
“Not unless he’s listening at the door,” Marc said. And he wasn’t. Parker would never eavesdrop without the typical open-door invitation to do so.
“Faythe, bring him in here.” I stood, and my dad turned to Kaci. “And why don’t you go see if Manx needs any help with the baby? She and Karen have their hands pretty full right now.” Because my mother was cooking for twenty people. No, make that eighteen, since we were down two men. And Manx was tending Owen very closely.
Kaci looked disappointed, but she climbed down from Jace’s lap. She’d been permitted in a closed meeting and knew better than to push her luck. Most of the time.
She trudged off toward Manx’s room and I crossed the hall into the kitchen, where four toms sat around the breakfast table with a deck of cards, a huge bowl of salsa, and several open bags of corn chips. Another group sat in the dining room with hot wings and no cards, but the atmosphere in both rooms was identical.
The toms had come to the ranch ready to fight, but had been benched instead. They’d been confined to the main house, yet exiled from the office and the living room. They were restless, irritable, and on edge from their Alphas’ tension. The prevailing ambiance was somber, and quietly angry. Like hot water about to break into a boil.
“Hey, Parker, can you come here for a minute?”
Parker glanced up and ran one hand through prematurely graying hair, then laid his cards down and followed me. My mother raised both brows as we passed, but she never stopped stirring a huge pot full of ground beef, beans, and crushed tomatoes—the beginnings of the world’s best chili.
I tossed my head toward the living room, and she nodded, then called Vic over to stir in her absence. But before we made it out of the kitchen, Paul Blackwell emerged from the office and marched into the living room, leaving us to follow.
“Thank you for the use of your office,” the old Alpha said as I took up a post against one wall near the door. Parker stood nearby and my mother sat in one of the armchairs, but no one else had moved. Blackwell leaned on his cane several feet in front of me, facing the rest of the room. “I’ve spoken to the other Alphas, and no one admits to having any contact with thunderbirds in the past decade. In fact, they all sounded rather astonished. Including Calvin Malone.”
“Do you believe him?” I asked, and at first I didn’t think he would respond. But when my dad made no objection to my question, Blackwell turned unsteadily to half face me, utilizing his cane more than he had before. Maybe he’d gotten stiff from sitting in my dad’s desk chair. Or maybe the stress was affecting the poor old man physically.
“I intend to refrain from judging until I’ve heard all the facts and seen all the available evidence.” His voice was steady but doubt showed in every line on his face. And there were plenty to choose from.
“Well, we might be able to help you out there.” I glanced at my father for permission to continue, but he shook his head and stood.
“Let’s take this to the office.”
We filed out of the living room and into the office, then took seats in our usual formations, centered on my father in his high-backed chair. When everyone was settled and Dr. Carver had pushed the door closed, my father’s gaze found me. “Faythe, go ahead.”
That’s right: my source, my idea, my party. I couldn’t help a little thrill of adrenaline at the knowledge that I’d made a vital contribution to the effort.
I sat straighter on the couch—between Marc and Jace, to my extreme discomfort—and faced Blackwell in the chair he’d claimed opposite my Alpha. “I just spoke to Brett Malone, who says he has proof that his father framed the south-central Pride for the murder of the thunderbird. Finn.”
Blackwell took a moment to process the information, and to his credit, I had no idea what he was thinking or feeling. He’d had more than seven decades to work on his poker face.
Finally the elderly Alpha gripped the curve of his cane and trained a steady, surprisingly intense gaze on me. “Proof in what form?”
“His own testimony, and the dead bird’s feathers, stained with his killer’s blood.”
“And who is this killer?”
I desperately wanted my father’s guidance before answering that question, but couldn’t get it without making an obvious glance in the opposite direction. So I went with as conservative an answer as I could. “One of the Appalachian territory’s enforcers.”
Blackwell frowned at being stonewalled but did not press the issue. “Did the Malone boy volunteer this information?”
“No.” I fidgeted in my seat and had to remind myself that I’d done nothing wrong; I wasn’t usually under such scrutiny from an Alpha other than
my father unless I was in serious trouble. “I called him looking for evidence. For your investigation.”
“And what did he ask for in return?” Blackwell may have been old, but he was no fool.
“Sanctuary.” I felt no obligation to reveal my father’s job offer because technically Brett hadn’t asked for that, thus it fell outside the scope of the question.
Blackwell went silent again, and I risked a glance at my father. He gave me a tiny nod, and I exhaled silently, then returned my attention to the elderly Alpha as he began to speak. “When will you have this evidence?”
“Brett should have already left. So…tomorrow, hopefully.” I wasn’t sure whether he’d fly to save time, or drive to retain possession of his car.
Blackwell stood, leaning heavily on his cane. “Unfortunately, I can’t wait that long. Present your evidence to Councilman Di Carlo, when it arrives. I’ll be waiting for his report.”
My father stood. “You’re leaving now?”
“I think that’s best. I’ll be ready in half an hour.” The elderly tom nodded to his grandson, who came to his side like a trained puppy.
“I’ll send an escort with you to the airport.”
Blackwell hesitated. Normally such precautions wouldn’t have been necessary. But if the sitting council chair were injured while leaving our territory, some of the other Alphas might consider that a reflection of our security. Or lack thereof.
Finally the visiting councilman nodded, and my father walked him to the office door. “Let me know when you’re ready to go.”
My mother checked on her chili, then rejoined us in the office and closed the door. My dad sighed and turned to Parker. “I hate to be the bearer of more bad news, Parker, but according to Brett Malone, it was Lance who killed the thunderbird.”
For an instant, relief was plain on Parker’s face. No one was dead. No one related to him, anyway. Then the ramifications sank in, and relief melted slowly from his features. He blinked, and I could almost hear the gears turning in his head. “So Malone was protecting him by blaming us?”
My father nodded, and Jace leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, anger flaming behind his bright blue eyes. “Yes, but I can guarantee that your brother’s safety was not foremost on Calvin’s mind. He was saving his own tail, and framing ours.”
“We have a choice now, and I’d like to get your input before I make a decision,” my dad said. “Once we get in contact with them, we can tell Kai’s Flight the truth and try to clear our name, but in doing that, we’d be implicating your brother. Or we can keep quiet about it, in which case we have to find a way to either fight these thunderbirds or convince them to stop fighting us.”
Parker stared at the floor, straight strands of salt-and-pepper hair hanging over his face. “You want me to decide whether or not to turn my brother over to the thunderbirds?”
“No.” My father shook his head firmly. “That’s my call. But I am interested in your opinion.”
Parker sat up then, his face lined in pain and bitter conflict. “Okay, if we turn him over, they’ll kill him. Right?” he asked, and the rest of us nodded. Even my mother, who sat with her ankles crossed primly beneath her chair, her expression just as guarded as my dad’s. “But if we don’t, they’ll keep killing us.”
“Yes. But it’s a bit more complicated than that,” my father said.
“Because of my dad?”
Again our Alpha nodded. “I’m assuming that if we turn your brother in, our chances of gaining your father’s support drop dramatically.”
“You might say that.” Parker raked one hand through his hair, and in that moment he looked much older than his thirty-two years.
“Maybe there are choices we’re not seeing…” I ventured, and both of them turned to me expectantly. “Maybe we could offer Lance sanctuary, too, in exchange for his testimony to the birds.” My father started to object, but I rushed on before he could. “Via video, or something. I don’t know. I don’t have the details worked out yet, but there has to be some way to fix this without handing him over to be slaughtered.”
But before anyone could argue—or agree—an electronic version of an old-fashioned telephone ring cut into the air, and I glanced down to see that I still had Jace’s cell phone in my lap. I picked it up and glanced at the display, hoping to see Brett’s name.
Patricia Malone. I reached across the rug to hand Jace his phone. “It’s your mother.”
Jace raised one brow at our Alpha, asking permission to take the call. My father nodded, and a sick feeling unfurled deep inside my stomach. Jace flipped open the phone. “Hello?”
“Jace?” His mother’s voice was only vaguely familiar, and I realized I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen Patricia Malone. “I just thought you’d want to know that Brett’s dead.”
Nine
“What?” Jace went pale. His forehead crinkled and his blue-eyed gaze met mine as my heart threatened to collapse beneath the mounting pressure of guilt. “That’s not possible. I just talked to him.” He stood, and probably would have left the room if his brother’s fate weren’t of crucial consequence to our entire Pride.
“Don’t tell me what’s possible—I saw the body,” his mother snapped, true anguish fueling her anger. But then her tone softened. “You spoke to Brett today?”
Jace sank back onto the love seat, almost seeming to deflate in front of us. “Well, Faythe did. But I was here.” He glanced at me, and I could only stare back at him as I clutched Marc’s hand with my good one. It was my fault. I’d pressured Brett into helping us, and now he was dead.
And we had no evidence.
“What did he say?” His mother’s voice dropped even lower. Like she didn’t want to be overheard.
“Nothing. They were just talking.” Jace bent with his forehead cradled in one palm. “What…? How did it happen?”
Mrs. Malone sighed, and her anger seemed to bleed away with that one soft exhalation. “It was an accident. He and Alex were sparring in the woods. Just training. Brett lost his balance and fell out of a tree.”
“He fell out of a tree?” Jace glanced first at me, then at our Alpha, to see if either of us was buying the coincidence. My father’s steadily darkening scowl said he was not, and my own expression hopefully mirrored his. We’d told the few humans in his life that Ethan had died when he’d fallen out of a tree, but it was no more plausible a story for Brett than it had been for my brother.
The tree bullshit was a message to us, from Malone. He’d found out what Brett was doing and had killed his own son as much to hurt us as to keep his own dealings from going public. And it sounded like Alex, Malone’s second-born son, had done the honors.
The knots in Jace’s family tree made mine look straight and strong in comparison.
“You can’t be serious.” Jace leaned back on the love seat and stared at the ceiling.
“Hon…”
“Mom, you don’t really think Brett fell out of a tree. Today, of all days?” She started to interrupt again, but Jace spoke over her. “You can pretend you don’t hear things, but you know what’s going on. I know you do, so you can’t seriously believe Brett was out goofing off in the woods—today—and fell out of a tree. What did they tell you? That he broke his neck?” His eyes watered, and his voice halted as he choked up. “How closely did you look?”
“Honey…”
Jace shot to his feet and stomped toward the bar but made no move to pour a drink. “Did you see his neck, Mom?” he demanded.
Patricia Malone sobbed over the phone, one great, heaving, hiccuping cry of despair that left me hollow inside, my guilt and regret a mere echo of her pain. Then she sniffled twice, and after a brief silence seemed to have herself under control. “I need you to come home,” she said, in little more than a whisper.
“Mom…”
“Melody’s in bad shape, Jace. She’s not taking it well, and we need to be there for her.”
Jace turned to face the rest of us, and my
heart broke for him. He couldn’t go back; if they’d kill Brett, they’d sure as hell kill Jace. We all knew that. Surely his mother knew it, too, whether or not she was willing to admit it, even to herself.
“You belong here with us,” she insisted.
The last bit of self-control crumbled from Jace’s expression, revealing raw pain and anger for an instant before he whirled to face the wall. “That hasn’t been true since you married Calvin.”
I stared at my cast in my lap, fiddling aimlessly with a puff of padding sticking out from the end. He should have been alone; we were all intruding on what should have been a very private agony. I glanced at my father and tossed my head toward the door, raising one brow in question. He nodded, then stood and motioned for us all to follow him into the hall. Whatever Jace said next would be personal, and of no value to our Pride. Marc took my good arm as we headed for the door, but if Jace noticed us leaving, he showed no sign.
“Don’t do this, Jace,” his mother begged as I rounded the couch. But her voice carried a sharp edge of warning.
“I’m not doing it.” I’d never heard Jace sound so strong. So angry, and unmovable. “Calvin’s doing it. He set the thunderbirds after us, and he killed his own son because Brett was defecting with evidence. If you can’t see the truth when it’s staring you in the face, we have nothing else to talk about.”
I was halfway to the door with Marc at my side when a plastic crunch echoed through the room. I turned to see Jace holding the pulverized remains of his cell in one hand, small bits of plastic and electronics spilling between his fingers to clatter on the hardwood.
“Will you accept Marc Ramos as an escort?” my father asked from the hall, making no effort to lower his voice. Marc’s hand tightened around mine beneath the table. At the peninsula, my mother froze in the act of ladling chili into bowls, and her gaze strayed to the doorway. Along with mine.
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