“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.”