I knew exactly what kind of damage an angry cat could inflict—hell, I’d nearly been killed by several of them. I’d even seen a pissed-off bruin throw a full-grown tom into a tree hard enough to break the cat’s spine. But I’d never in my life seen anything scarier than a flight of enraged thunderbirds, and suddenly, coming to demand that they repay their debt seemed like a colossally bad idea. What if they didn’t remember their promise to me, or they’d changed their minds? What if coming unannounced—not that we’d had any choice—was considered bad form, punishable by being ceremonially pecked to death, then eaten?

But we were out of options. If we couldn’t recruit them to unleash that awesome dive-’n’-slash fury against our enemies, we could wave goodbye to the south-central Pride forever. And to our freedom, not long after that, because I had no doubt that once Malone’s grip on his new puppet regime was secure, he’d come after us, and all three of us would rather die fighting than be taken prisoner. Then what would happen to Kaci, Manx, and my mother?

Overhead, two forms appeared at the edge of the front porch, staring down at us. From at least three hundred feet away and two hundred feet up, all I could make out was the typical short, extremely stocky build of two male thunderbirds. I couldn’t even tell for sure whether or not they wore clothes.

They could see us much more clearly—a bird can spot a mouse running through a field from the air, and for the thunderbirds, it didn’t seem to matter whether they were in human or avian form. Not that I’d seen many of them in exclusively one form or another; they tended to prefer endless odd combinations, similar to my own face during a partial Shift. Only their best-of-both-worlds routine was infinitely more useful than mine.

“Do you know them?” Jace squinted into the morning sun, glaring just above the roof of the nest/lodge. “I don’t know any of them. They don’t think like normal…” I whispered, then sputtered to a stop as the two forms suddenly leaped from the porch in sync. And completely wingless.

Marc and Jace both gasped at the abrupt—and apparently suicidal—jump, and it took most of my self-control not to do the same thing.

Upon takeoff, one wingless bird veered left while the other veered right, fully human arms spread wide. Less than a second later, when they’d put enough distance between their artfully falling bodies, both thunderbirds seem to ripple in the air, and suddenly both sets of arms doubled in length and sprouted feathers. Just like that. What had been normal—if heavily muscled—human arms were suddenly six foot long, darkly feathered wings, in the span of less than two seconds.

Their midair Shift was the single most amazing thing I’d ever seen. Bar none. Shifting for the birds didn’t work the same way it worked for us, or presumably for the bruins. Their transformation was neither slow nor awkward, and I could see no sign that it hurt. And—obviously—they could do it in midflight.

That was the equivalent of a werecat Shifting in mid-step. Midleap, even. I couldn’t imagine undergoing such a miracle of transformation, or how different our lives might have been if it were possible, and I spared one moment to be both stunned and impressed. But then common sense took over, and I returned to a healthy state of caution.

The birds swooped toward us in sync, wingtips less than a foot apart. Marc and Jace backpedaled, and after an instant’s hesitation, I decided to stand my ground. Still, my heart beat in terrified syncopation for a moment before the birds dropped onto the ground in front of me, even as the avian-scented wind from their last powerful flap blew hair back from my face. Their feathers receded and their limbs shrank to normal size in the time it took for them to fold their huge wings at their sides.

And only once they’d landed did I realize that they were indeed naked, apparently unaffected by the bitter cold. Well, almost unaffected…

I blinked and forced my pulse to slow as Marc and Jace took up protective stances on my left and right, towering over the emissaries. For thunderbirds, these were pretty tall—only an inch or so shorter than my own five-foot-seven frame. But thunderbirds were walking—or flying—proof that size isn’t everything. Inch for inch, they were the single most ruthless predators I’d ever encountered, and they were built for both flight and fight.

Their spindly legs and narrow waists enabled them to build weight, and thus power, where it was really needed for flight—in their thick arms and powerful chests. I’d never seen pecs so well-defined, biceps and triceps so chiseled. They could have been carved from granite. As could their cold, decidedly unwelcoming expressions.

For a moment, we all stared at one another, the cats in wary amazement, the birds in outright suspicion. And when their faces gained human features, I realized I knew them by both face and name.

“Cade and Coyt, right?” I said, hoping my smile looked more confident than it felt.

“Girl-cat,” the one on the left returned in his odd, multitonal voice, nodding in imitation of an actual greeting. And considering that I didn’t know which of them was which, I couldn’t work up any irritation over the fact that they’d obviously forgotten my name. Or saw no reason to use it. “You’ve come to claim what we owe you?”

“Yes. But first I want to speak to Kai. He owes us his life, and I’m calling in his personal debt first.”

Twenty-eight

“You think he’ll go for that?” Marc asked, as Cade and Coyt dropped onto the porch overhead, one right after the other.