Shift. Rachel Vincent
“We can’t just turn him over…” I started, but my words faded into silence as soft sobs and footsteps sounded down the hall. I made it to the doorway just as Kaci flung herself into my arms. “What’s wrong?” Though, really, the sheer number of ways she could have answered that question was staggering.
“He died. Charlie’s dead.”
“Oh, no…” I wrapped both arms around her as my father stepped out of the somber crowd of toms still gathered around Owen’s room, now staring at their feet as if they were afraid that eye contact might trigger tears.
Kaci was crying freely. She’d only met Charlie Eames that morning, but at her age, with all the tragedy she’d already witnessed, any death would have been traumatic. Murder, even more so.
My father’s gaze was heavy as Dr. Carver followed him into the hall, both of them headed our way. “What happened?” I asked, pulling Kaci into the room with me so they could come in.
“Internal bleeding.” Dr. Carver laid a hand on Kaci’s shoulder briefly, then sank wearily onto the couch next to Marc.
“Did we make it worse by moving him?” I had to ask. Not that the answer would change anything.
“Probably.” Carver twisted on his cushion to face me. “But we had no other choice, and the truth is that with such major, full-body trauma, his chances were never very good in the first place.”
Kaci whimpered in my arms, and I squeezed her tighter. Physical contact was the only comfort I had to offer.
My father sat stiffly near the front window, where crimson, late afternoon sunlight slanted across his white dress shirt like translucent streaks of blood. He leaned forward with his elbows propped on his knees, staring at his shiny shoes. He’d shed his suit jacket—the house was warm from all the extra bodies running on accelerated Shifter metabolism—but his shirt was still buttoned to his neck, his gray striped tie still neatly knotted.
I glanced at the hallway, where toms were now gravitating toward the kitchen, then at Kaci in indecision. Then I sighed and closed the door, gesturing for her to take a seat next to Jace. Keeping her in the dark wouldn’t comfort or calm her, but being with those she trusted most just might.
She curled up on Jace’s lap, resting her head on his shoulder as he wrapped both arms around her, cocooning her as if she were his little sister. Though, he and Kaci were already closer than he and Melody had ever been.
The living room wasn’t soundproof, and anyone who really wanted to hear what was said would have little trouble. But in a house full of werecats, a closed door was a formal request for privacy, and our present company could be counted on to honor it. Including Blackwell, should he emerge from the office before we finished. He and my father might not agree on everything, but Blackwell would never intentionally do something he considered dishonorable.
My dad looked up when I closed the door. “That’s two murdered toms, one attempted kidnapping, and one mauling, all in under three hours.” The Alpha’s voice was grave, with a strong undercurrent of anger and bitter frustration. And his expression was tense beneath the strain of what he wasn’t saying: that we could ill afford the deaths of two allied toms less than two weeks after we’d lost Ethan. Not that there was ever a convenient time for so much death.
“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.
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