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“No shit, Tweety.” I turned my back on him and stalked across the floor, then over the thick blue sparring mat to the half bath on the back wall. “Do you even care that while you guys are out here slaughtering innocent toms, the man you’re after is hundreds of miles away, laughing his ass off?”

Okay, Lance probably wasn’t laughing, but he had to be at least a little relieved that
he
wasn’t the one being dropped from thirty feet in the air by a vengeful, overgrown bird.

I squatted and dug beneath the small, dingy sink until I found a bottle of rubbing alcohol and a gallon-size bag of gauze squares and medical tape. We had hydrogen peroxide, but frankly, I wanted the walking eight-piece dinner to sting in every single cut.

“Here.” Back on the mat, I tossed the alcohol underhanded. It landed a little harder than I’d intended, then slid until it hit the bars, evidently undamaged. “I can’t do anything for your arm, but maybe this’ll prevent gangrene. Or whatever.” While Kai stared at the bottle, obviously confused by my compassion, I tossed the bag of bandages, which smacked the bars then fell to the ground.

Kai bent awkwardly—and hopefully painfully—to pull the bottle through two bars. His gaze shifted from me to the alcohol, then back again, and his head tilted sharply to the side—a decidedly avian motion, which implied a very detached curiosity. “Why do you care?”

“For the same reason I don’t go around killing innocent toms. Because my human half understands that sometimes compassion is the greater part of honor.”

S
weaty from my workout, I headed for my shower, but I knew something was wrong the moment I closed my bedroom door. The door to my bathroom stood open and an amorphous shadow lay across my carpet, cast by the brighter light from within.

I held my breath but couldn’t stop my heart from pounding. My first thought, as ridiculous as it would seem in hindsight, was that Malone had somehow breached not only our territorial boundary, but our home. I
hated
feeling unsafe in my own house.

Furious, I grabbed a hardbound book from my dresser—the only potential weapon within reach—but before I took the first step, a familiar voice called softly from the bathroom. “Relax. It’s me.”

“Jace?” I wasn’t sure that was much better. My pulse slowed, but only a little, and a tingly feeling began deep in my stomach—half dread, half anticipation. “You shouldn’t…”

“I know. Sorry.” His shadow stood from the side of the tub and he stepped into the doorway. “This was the most private place I could find.” And that’s when I realized he’d been crying.

Sympathy rang through me, softening the sharp edge of my irritation and melting my willpower like chocolate in the sun. “Oh. Yeah, I guess it is.” Because no one else—other than Marc and Kaci—would venture into my room without permission.

After Charlie died, the Alphas had banned trips to the guesthouse, even in groups, until we figured out how best to fight the thunderbirds. So we were packed into the main house tighter than clowns in a Volkswagen.

“Are you okay?”

He shrugged and wiped moisture from his cheeks with both bare hands, but his eyes were still red and swollen. “It just kind of hit me all at once. About Brett.”

“And your mom?” I stood near the bed, afraid to move too close to him. Being near him made my heart beat too hard and my throat feel too thick. I was acutely aware of every tingling nerve ending, even under such grave circumstances.

Jace looked surprised for a moment, then he shoved his hands into his jeans pockets and nodded. “She knows what Cal’s doing. She has to know. But I think it’d be easier if I could believe she doesn’t.”

“I’m sorry.” I didn’t know how to comfort him. I wanted to hug him. To hold him, like I would if it were any of the other guys in pain. Werecats tend to relax in big piles and to relate to each other through touch. But Jace wasn’t just one of the other enforcers anymore, and the last time we’d tried to comfort each other, things had gotten out of hand. Waaay out of hand.

Brett’s face flashed through my mind, and I had to concentrate to keep from imagining his last moments, wondering if they had looked anything like Ethan’s. My eyes watered and I sank to the carpet, leaning against my footboard. “It’s my fault. I got Brett involved, and now he’s dead. I’m so sorry.”

“No.” Jace strode forward and dropped smoothly onto his knees, inches from me. His cobalt eyes shone with unshed tears and flashed with resolve. “Brett was already involved. He kept those feathers for a reason. And if he wasn’t willing to take the risk, he would have hung up on you the moment he heard your voice.”

“But…”

“This is Calvin’s fault, Faythe. Not yours, and not mine. Cal’s going to pay for this. I’ll make sure of that.”

I nodded. Staring into his eyes, I believed him. I believed we could make Calvin pay, because Jace couldn’t live with the alternative. And he wasn’t the only one.

But killing Malone wouldn’t make everything okay again. No amount of justice—or vengeance—would bring back Ethan or Brett, or make us miss them any less. Nothing could erase Kaci’s trauma, or give me back the time I’d lost with Marc.

“We’re gonna be fine, Faythe,” Jace insisted, but that time I didn’t believe him because his voice shook. He didn’t truly believe himself. “You’re strong, and so determined. Nothing ever knocks you down. People try, but you just get up swinging.” He braved a grin in spite of obvious grief. “You’re going to take over for your dad when he retires, and you’re going to be an amazing Alpha.”

“What about you?” I asked, and the room seemed to fade around us then, as if nothing else existed in that moment.

A pained shadow passed over his eyes, like clouds in front of the sun. He scooted closer and leaned against the footboard next to me. “I’ll be happy if I’m still a part of your life.”

I didn’t want to ask, but I couldn’t help it. “What part?” My voice cracked on the last word, and I blinked back more tears. Why was I crying? Why did my heart
ache
, like it was going to collapse in on itself?

“This part…” Jace whispered. Then he kissed me.

I tried to fight it. I tried to think about Marc, and how much I loved him. But Jace was everywhere in that moment. He was everything. Our pulses raced in unison, and the hollow ache in his heart echoed in my own. His lips were warm, but his hand on the side of my neck, his thumb brushing the back of my jaw—they were hot.

I couldn’t pull away. And the truth was that I didn’t want to.

That kiss went deeper than I’d been prepared for. Longer. It lit tiny fires within my veins, dripping little bits of flame that trailed to burn low in my body. When our kiss had finally run its course, Jace leaned back a few inches and my eyes watered as my tortured gaze met his. “Why is this so hard?” I whispered.

His pulse leaped crazily at my admission. “Everything worth fighting for is hard.”

My hand trailed down his arm. “When did you get so smart?”

That shadow passed over his eyes again. “When I realized that nothing else matters. There’s only my job, and you, Faythe. All the other stupid, petty shit is gone. There’s killing Calvin and earning a place in your life. That’s it. That’s my whole world now.”

No. It’s too much
. My head shook slowly. It was hard enough being the almost-constant focus of Marc’s attention. I couldn’t be fully half of Jace’s world, too. That was too much attention. Too much pressure. Too much…trouble.

“Jace, this can’t happen.” I closed my eyes, thinking it would be easier to say without him looking back at me. But it wasn’t. “This isn’t just about us. I can’t leave Marc.” I opened my eyes again, hoping he’d believe me if he saw the truth in them. “I
love
Marc.”

“I’m not asking…”

“I know.” I let my hands uncurl uselessly in my lap. “You’re not asking me to leave him. But he won’t share. And I can’t ask him to.”

“Do you
want
him to?” Jace tried to don his blank face, but it didn’t work. Maybe I was too close to him now, and could see past it. Or maybe he could no longer defend against me. Either way, I saw what it cost him to ask me that, and it broke my heart.

“I don’t know.” Frustrated, I let my head fall back against my footboard. “I don’t
know
what I want, but I can’t lose Marc, and I will if you…if we…”

“Fine.” He frowned, and his suddenly hard gaze searched mine. “Tell me you want me to go, and I’ll walk away. I swear.”

“Jace…” But I couldn’t say it. And he knew it.

“You can’t, because you
don’t
want me to go.” I tried to argue, but he cut me off. “You feel something for me, and it’s not brotherly, and it’s not sympathy. It’s not even curiosity. Not anymore.” The suggestive spark in his eye sent flashbacks racing through me.

Me and Jace, on the floor of the guesthouse
.

Intertwined in mutual pain and need
.

Easing fresh grief the only way we knew how
.

“Jace, this isn’t right. It’ll mess everything up.” It would tear the entire Pride apart.

He shook his head and held my good hand when I tried to pull away. “It’s not wrong just because it isn’t easy, Faythe. The only thing we’ve done wrong is keep it from Marc. We should tell him.”

I nodded. That was only fair. “But not yet. It’s not a good time.”
And I have no idea what I’m going to say
…

Someone knocked on my door, and we both jumped, then flushed. “Faythe?”

Dr. Carver.

My door opened before I could respond and he slipped inside, then closed the door at his back. We both leaped to our feet and the doc took us in with a sad, cautious look. But he didn’t seem surprised in the least. “Your dad’s looking for you. Both of you.”

I felt the blood drain from my face. Carver had caught me and Jace in the guesthouse the day Ethan died, and he’d promised to keep our secret, on the condition that I figure out what I was doing. Unfortunately, I hadn’t made much progress in that regard.

“Does he…?” I couldn’t finish my question.

“No. I told him I’d get you, but I didn’t know Jace was in here until I got to the door and heard you both.”

Good thing we were whispering…

“Thank—” I started, but he cut me off with a look that was part anger—probably over being put in such a position—and part aching sympathy.

Carver strode closer, and his voice dropped almost beyond my range of hearing. “If you’re not ready to tell people about this yet, then you better learn to stay the hell away from each other, because if anyone else had passed by this door with an ear to listen, you’d be having an entirely different conversation right now. And that doesn’t seem fair to either Marc or your father, considering everything else that’s going on.”

Jace bristled under the verbal censure, and I felt him go stiff at my side. I laid a warning hand on his arm and heard his pulse slow as he made himself relax.

Surprise flickered behind the doctor’s eyes as he took in both the gesture and the response, but I spoke before he could ask questions or make assumptions. “It just happened. But it won’t happen again. Right?” I glanced up at Jace, and he nodded stiffly. “Go out with the doc, please.” Because the two of them seen leaving my room together would raise much less suspicion than Jace leaving alone. “I’ll be there in just a minute.” After I washed my face and brushed my teeth, to keep Marc from smelling my indiscretion. At least until I was ready to tell him.

Jace blinked at me, pain shining in his eyes like tears. He wanted to touch me, or say something private, but wouldn’t in front of Carver. I could almost taste his frustration; it mirrored my own. Then he turned abruptly and followed the doctor out of my room.

Hot water poured over my head and down my back, washing away Jace’s scent and my sweat, and blending with the tears I could no longer hold back. I cried quietly, hoping the running water would hide the evidence of my weakness from the house full of cats, most of whom needed to see me as Jace had described me. Strong. Determined. Someone who knew how to harness pain, and anger, and heartache, and use them to her advantage. To hone her leadership skills, sharpen her wits and senses, and fuel her drive for justice.

But I didn’t feel much like that person at the moment. I felt…fractured. Fragmented. Like I was under fire from all sides, and each impact left a tiny crack in me. Soon, those cracks would spread and touch, and I would just fall apart.

Because I wasn’t good enough.

I wasn’t good enough to save Brett. To avenge Ethan. To raise Kaci. To protect Manx. To be…whatever Jace needed. To keep Marc.

To lead the Pride someday.

They needed better than me. They
deserved
better than me.

My shoulders shook and I threw my head back into the spray, shoving wet hair from my face with my right hand, grateful for the clear plastic cast protector.

“Faythe?”

I jumped and nearly slipped on the wet tiles.

“Whoaaa.” Marc pulled open the shower door and steadied me, careful to grab my arm above the cast. “What’s wrong?”

I blubbered something even I couldn’t understand and threw my arms around him, heedless of his clothes. He stroked wet hair down my back and ignored the water soaking into his shirt and jeans. I didn’t have to be strong with Marc. With him, I could just be me. I could say whatever I was thinking, do whatever felt right, cry if I was upset, and he thought no worse of me.

He picked me up.

I wasn’t good enough for Marc.

When the worst of my sobs had eased, he gently peeled me away, then stripped while I stood beneath the spray. Then he stepped into the shower with me and closed the door.

“What happened?”

But I hardly knew where to start. “Ethan’s dead. Jake’s dead. Charlie’s dead. Brett’s dead. We have no evidence, and those damned birds aren’t going to stop coming. There are more of them now.” Ten, at my last count. And until we learned how to fight them, our only options were to hide in our own home or to flee it.

Neither was acceptable.

I sniffled and wiped my face with my good hand. “I thought I could fix it. I thought I could get the proof, and protect Brett from his dad, and prove to the council that Malone’s behind this. But I can’t. I can’t do anything right. I can barely even wash my own hair.” I sobbed again, gesturing to my shampoo bottle with my broken arm.

Marc leaned forward to kiss my wet forehead. “Then let me do it.” He turned me around by my shoulders and gently tugged my head back by my hair to rewet it. Then he nudged me forward and squirted shampoo on top of my head.

He used too much and started at the top, rather than at the ends, but I barely noticed, because he was washing my hair. Massaging my scalp with strong, confident fingers as he fulfilled my need, in the most literal sense. Once again, he was there for me when I needed him, and I was…

Not good enough for him.

“You deserve better than me,” I whispered, and the selfish part of me hoped he wouldn’t hear.

He heard.

Marc spun me around so fast I would have slipped again if he weren’t holding me up. We were so close drops of water from his chin fell onto my chest, and I had to crane my neck to see him. “You are perfect for me, Faythe, just like you are, because you’re
not
perfect. You’re headstrong, and impulsive, and outspoken, and I’m possessive, and overprotective, and too easy to piss off. We’re both wrong for a lot of things, but we’re right for each other. Do you understand?”