Lance was silent now. He couldn’t argue with the truth.

“The thunderbirds are demanding your life. They want to eat you alive as revenge for killing Finn. But if I give you to them, Jake and Charlie won’t see justice. So you can consider this a mercy killing.” With that, I nodded firmly at Marc.

Marc cocked his head at me. You sure?

I thought about my father telling me leaders have to make tough choices. I thought about Kaci, and the person I’d have to become to truly have the power to protect her. If I made this choice, I could never go back. I could never again be just a tabby, or even just an enforcer, expected to do as I was told. Alphas order executions, and giving such an order was as good as declaring my intent to someday challenge—however peacefully—for leadership of the Pride.

Marc’s acceptance of that order would be a promise of support for my bid.

I took a deep breath. “Do it.”

Lance’s eyes went so wide I thought they’d pop from their sockets.

Marc lunged for his throat.

It was all over in an instant. Lance’s death was quick, which was more than the thunderbirds would have done for him.

Wren made an odd, content clucking sound near my ear, where her head rested on my shoulder. She was watching. And she was completely unbothered by the bloodshed.

Twenty minutes later we emerged from the tree line onto a road crowded with thunderbirds milling in various stages of mid-Shift. I was freezing—literally shaking from the cold—but they’d huddled together for warmth. The current of tension and anger was so palpable I could almost taste it. Until the first beady bird eye spotted us.

“Wren!” Brynn screeched and raced across the road. The moment the toddler heard her mother’s voice, she began struggling in earnest, and I set her down carefully. Wren toddled toward her mother on one talon and one chunky human foot, flapping half-formed wings as if she might take off at any moment.

Brynn scooped her daughter up and rocked her, crooning in familiar, tuneless notes. Apparently comfort transcends species.

Behind me, Marc carried Lance’s body over one shoulder. He followed me into the center of the circle the birds formed. Brynn stood opposite us, still rocking her exhausted daughter.

Marc bent and dropped Lance face up on the ground. His bare back was stained with the dead tom’s blood. Lance stared sightlessly at the starlit sky, while nearly fifty thunderbirds stared down at him. As they stared we quickly dressed in the clothes we’d picked up in the woods on our way back, eager to be warm again.

“He is dead,” said one young cock as I zipped my jeans, obviously speaking for the entire group.

I nodded. “Yes, but your child is not. We couldn’t take him alive, but his body is yours to dispose of as you will.” As badly as I hated to hand the corpse over—as sick as the thought of them consuming it made me—that was the only compromise I could think of that might actually satisfy the thunderbirds and get us out of there intact. “I assume he is proof enough that we didn’t kill Finn.”