“Hey, she’s probably gonna need something stronger than Tylenol for the pain. Tequila?” Jace grinned suggestively at me with his back to Marc, and my pulse tripped at the memory of what happened the last time I drank with Jace.

I flushed. “No tequila!” Marc’s brows shot up, and I stumbled over my own words. “Motrin’s fine. I need to be thinking clearly.”

Marc nodded, then slipped out the door, and Jace locked it behind him as the car engine hummed to life outside.

“You did that on purpose!” I eyed Jace, and he shot me an innocent grin, blue eyes flashing mischievously.

“I like what tequila does to you. And what it does for me…”

“Not that.” I shook my head, and the pain-fog cleared a little more. “You volunteered to go for supplies because you knew that’d push Marc into going.” Into leaving me alone with Jace…

Jace shrugged, and his grin grew as he sauntered toward me. “You seem to be thinking clearer. Must be feeling better.”

“Hardly…”

“Anyway, he is better qualified for a supply run. Since he knows your sizes, and everything.”

“When did you get so…” Smart? “Manipulative?”

“Proper motivation works wonders.” Jace kicked his shoes off and sank on to the opposite side of the bed, leaning against the pillows with his arms crossed behind his head.

I turned to face him—an awkward movement without full use of either of my hands. “I wanna fight.”

He shrugged. “Okay, but the first time you pin me, I’m staying pinned.”

“I’m serious.” I frowned and held both arms out, flinching at the spike in pain from my left arm. “I can’t fight like this. Hell, I can’t even brush my own hair.”

Jace sat up and scooted closer, all humor gone from his expression. “Marc’s right—we can worry about that later. We’ll get you all fixed up for now, and Doc can do a better job when we get home. With Kaci. The important thing to remember right now is that we got what we came for, and Kaci’s gonna be fine.”

“I know.” Though, I’d feel a lot better about that once we got her away from the birds.

“And frankly, considering how pissed off they are, we’re just lucky thunderbirds’ bloodlust isn’t triggered by the scent of blood.” He gestured toward my ravaged arm for emphasis.

Jace was still talking, but I couldn’t hear him over the roar of alarm ringing in my ears.

“Damn it!” I started to slam my fists into the mattress, and stopped myself just in time, pissed off even more because I had no outlet for my anger.

“What?” Jace’s brows lowered over cobalt eyes, and his gaze flew instinctively toward the door, no doubt listening for intruders. But there were none. We were the intruders.

“The feathers aren’t enough. They never were.” All that work—and my arm completely fucked up—for nothing. Well, for very little, anyway.

I scooted to the edge of the bed without the use of my hands and stood to pace. “Brett was the real evidence. His testimony.” I passed the cheap, two-person table and turned in front of the plain white wall. “Thunderbirds can’t distinguish between individual werecats by scent. The feathers will help our council nail Malone into his coffin, but they won’t do a damn thing for the birds. We were depending on testimony against Malone from his own son, and we don’t have that anymore.”