My father waved his men forward and Carver stepped from the car and was ushered inside by both toms. Our Alpha remained on the porch, alone and undefended as a show of strength. In truth, any one of us could have been at his side in less than a second. But sometimes appearance is as important as reality.

“Kai is alive but in a lot of pain,” he called in a strong, steady voice. “If you want him back, put me in touch with your Flight.” With that, he turned his back on the birds—a show of confidence as well as an insult—and walked into the house.

He pulled the door closed, and I turned to find the hall packed with toms. “There’s nothing to see,” my father declared, and as the toms slowly dispersed, he turned to Carver. “Good to see you again, Danny. What’s it been? A week?”

“Sounds about right.” Carver hefted his overnight bag higher on one shoulder. “I have less than a week of vacation left. At this rate, I’ll be looking for a new job soon, Greg.”

My father sighed. “That makes two of us,” he said, referring to his spot on the council, not his career as an architect.

Carver flinched and nodded. “Hey, Faythe,” he said as Marc locked the front door and Vic took our latest guest’s overnight bag. “How’s the arm?”

“Ready to come out of the cast.” I fell into step beside the doc and my dad, and Marc and Vic followed us.

Carver grinned. He was almost always in good spirits, no matter who he was sewing up—or cutting apart. In his day job, Dr. Danny Carver was a medical examiner for the state of Oklahoma. He spent more time with dead people than with live ones. “Give it a couple more weeks, then we’ll cut it off and let you try Shifting.”

“We don’t have a couple of weeks, Doc.” I stopped in the hall, and he had to stop with me to maintain eye contact. “We’re going after Malone in three days.” I whispered the last part, because I wasn’t sure how much of our battle plans Blackwell had overheard. Or whether we could trust him, even with the investigation he was initiating against Malone.

Dr. Carver frowned and glanced at the heavily decorated cast I held up. “You may have to fight in a cast, then. It’ll protect your arm better, anyway.”

“But I can’t Shift in a cast. I’ll be stuck in human form.”

Carver shrugged and tightened his grip on his medical supply bag. “We could cut it off and let you Shift several times, but a broken bone isn’t like a laceration, or even a torn rotator cuff.” Both of which I’d suffered in the line of duty. “They take longer to heal, and if you don’t heal properly, the damage could be permanent. And Shifting before broken bones have at least half healed hurts unlike anything you’ve ever felt. Just ask Marc.”

I glanced at Marc, not surprised to see him nodding. He’d gotten several broken ribs at the same time I broke my arm. A chest couldn’t be casted, so he’d been Shifting twice a day for the past week, and his ribs were only just returning to normal.

“So, what does that mean for Charlie?” I asked as we moved toward Owen’s room.

“Let’s see how bad it is.…”

My dad and Vic followed the doc into our makeshift triage center, but I headed into the kitchen instead, and Marc followed me. “What’s wrong?” he asked as I poured the last of the coffee into my favorite mug. I raised both brows, and his head bobbed in concession. “Okay, everything’s wrong. But specifically?”

“This.” I set my mug on the counter and held up my casted arm. “We’re days away from going full scale against Malone, and in the meantime, we’re under fire from above. And I’m about as useful as a three-legged dog.”

“You’re much more useful than any kind of dog, mi vida.” Marc purred and pressed me into the counter, his hands on my hips. I couldn’t resist a smile. I was a real sucker for Spanish.

Except when he was yelling it at me.

I kissed him, and my arms went around his waist, my good hand splaying against his back. Feeling the restrained power, and loving it.

“Better?” he asked when we came up for air.

“A little.” I sighed. “I just want to fight.”

He grinned. “I love that in a woman.”

“Stupid cast.” I tried to twist and grab my mug, but he held me tight.

“I kind of like it. You broke your arm saving my life.”

I had to smile at that. “And I’d do it again tomorrow. I just wish it wasn’t going to hold me back the next time.”

“I’m sorry.”

I shrugged and grabbed my mug, then followed him into the hall. Marc hung back to keep from crowding Owen’s room, but I pressed my way through the throng and stood against one wall with Kaci. My mother sat in a chair by Ethan’s bed, holding Charlie’s hand because she could do little else for him. Manx sat on the floor beside Owen’s bed, one mangled hand on his arm.

Carver headed straight for Charlie, whose clothes had been cut off but left under him, because lifting him again would have hurt him worse. The doc shook his head when my mother started to give up her chair, then he knelt to dig in his medical bag. Seconds later he pulled out a plastic-wrapped disposable syringe and a small vial of something clear. Carver drew some of the liquid into the syringe, then carefully felt for a vein in Charlie’s arm.

“Let’s give this a chance to help with the pain, then we’ll see what we can do for you,” he said softly as he slid the needle into Charlie’s skin. Charlie didn’t even flinch. What was a shot, compared to being dropped from thirty feet in the air?