We stopped in the living room first and said hi to Bert Di Carlo and my uncle Rick, my father’s strongest supporters. They stood near the front window, sipping whiskey from short, thick glasses, and the sight of them gave me a nauseating moment of déjà vu. They’d stood in that same spot the day we found out Sara Di Carlo had been murdered.

Of course today’s crowd was much smaller than the gathering that day, because thanks to the current Grand Canyon-size division in the council, nearly half of the Alphas had not been invited. But Paul Blackwell, the acting chairman, had made an official visit, and true to character, he’d remained professional and impartial. And unfailingly polite, especially to my mother.

After brief words with my uncle and Vic’s father, Marc and I circled the room somberly, greeting the congregated toms in dark suits, then made our way to one corner of the room, where Michael stood with Holly. I could tell from his posture and the tense line of his mouth that something was wrong.

“It’s because they’re all in mourning,” he was saying as we approached. “It has nothing to do with you.”

“I don’t know, Michael,” Holly insisted. Her voice was like honey: smooth, and almost too sweet to stomach. “I don’t think they like me. Everyone looks at me like I come from another planet.”

Michael smiled tightly and tucked a golden strand of hair behind her ear. “They just don’t know how to act around a famous model.”

Or a human woman at a werecat funeral, I thought, smiling at him from behind his tall, twig-thin wife.

“Hi, Holly, thanks for coming.” I rested one hand briefly on the tan shoulder exposed by her sleeveless black dress.

“Of course. I’m so sorry about Ethan. He seemed so full of life, and twenty-five is so young to die. What was he doing in that tree, anyway?”

“He was just messing around. Just being Ethan.”

We’d told Holly that he’d fallen out of our apple tree and broken his neck. We said he’d died instantly, and that there was no obvious pain or fear. The truth was somewhat different, of course, but everyone who really knew Ethan knew he’d died a hero, and that was all that really mattered.

He would be remembered.

“Faythe, what did you do to your arm?” Holly eyed my cast in obvious horror, and I wasn’t sure if she was more upset by the thought of a broken bone, or by the fact that my scribbled-all-over cast didn’t match my funeral dress.

“I tripped and fell on a hike a couple of days ago. Sucks, ‘cause I’m right-handed.”

“I’m sure. So, how do you put on makeup…?” Her question faded into awkward silence as her focus moved from my cast to my bruised face, which was bare in comparison. “Oh.” Holly wisely brought her cup up to her mouth, likely to avoid shoving her foot back in, and Marc rescued me—or maybe her—by claiming we had to check on Kaci.

As we walked away, Holly’s latest question followed us. “These men are your father’s colleagues? They don’t look like architects….”

I chuckled at Michael’s weary sigh, then followed Marc down the hall and into my dad’s office. Kaci sat at one end of the couch, playing a silent game of chess with Jace. She was beating him. Badly. But then, that was no surprise.

“Hey.” She looked up from the board briefly when we entered the room.

“Hey, Whiskers.” Marc scuffed the top of her head and leaned against the couch at her side. To my surprise, when we’d returned to the ranch, Kaci had greeted us in cat form, rubbing her whiskers against my leg in welcome. Marc had rarely used her real name since.

I sank onto the love seat next to Kaci, eyeing the pieces on the board. “I think you’ll have him in—”

“Three more moves. I know.” She moved her rook into place with no hint of a smile. Kaci had sniffled all through the service, then had refused lunch, claiming an upset stomach. But the truth was that she’d seen enough of death in her short life but hadn’t yet learned how to deal with it.

Hell, neither had I. Unfortunately, I was fairly certain we’d get plenty of practice in the near future.

Jace watched me while Kaci contemplated her next move, his eyes red from both tears and exhaustion, and the intimacy in that look jarred the breath from my lungs. But he’d kept his word; he hadn’t so much as hugged me since we’d found Marc. Not even when they’d lowered Ethan into the ground and covered him with earth, though I know his heart was breaking just as surely as mine was.

He’d stood beside the coffin, jaw clenched, fists curled tightly at his sides, eyes shining with unshed tears. Then he’d met my gaze from across the grave, and the misery in his eyes took hold of my heart with a grip of iron. For several seconds I couldn’t breathe. I was stunned by the depth of his need, and scared witless by the knowledge that I could ease the ache in his heart. And that he could return the favor.

Fresh tears formed in his eyes as he watched me across the chessboard. But his grief hid something new. A very changed Jace, just waiting to take the stage.

When Ethan died, he’d taken part of Jace with him. The tolerant, even-tempered, jovial part that had made him easy to love but hard to take seriously. What was left was raw emotion and a steel glint of determination in his eyes worthy of any Alpha. Jace wanted only two things out of life now, and I understood that once he’d regained his equilibrium, he’d do whatever it took to attain them.

One was revenge for Ethan’s death, which went hand in hand with my father’s plans.