“Wonderful.” My father’s scowl deepened.

“It gets worse,” Marc began, but Jace interrupted, gently stroking Kaci’s long brown hair down her back, petting her like a kitten.

“The blood on the feathers belongs to Lance Pierce. He killed Finn in a squabble over a fresh kill.”

Marc glowered at Jace, and my frown echoed his. But with more urgency. Was he trying to show Marc up? In front of our Alpha?

Fortunately, my dad was too distracted by the new information to spare the toms more than a brief glance. “Well, that’s just wonderful.” He stood and started across the floor, then stopped and glanced around as if surprised to find himself in the living room rather than the office. “That puts Jerold Pierce in a nice bind, doesn’t it? Not to mention us.”

“Why?” Kaci lifted her head from Jace’s shoulder.

“Because now Councilman Pierce will have to choose between two of his sons,” Marc explained.

Lance Pierce had been with Malone almost as long as Parker had been with us, and their father was the only North American Alpha who had yet to officially pick a side in the council chair debate.

Kaci still looked confused, so I elaborated. “We know Malone set the thunderbirds on us to weaken us before we could attack him, but Parker’s dad is just as likely to see Malone as a hero for saving Lance’s life.” I shrugged miserably. “And if we give Lance up to get the birds off our backs, his father won’t be very happy with us.” Understatement of the century. “Or very likely to support Dad as the council chair.”

My father needed Jerold Pierce on his side just to bring him even with Malone. Then, if Blackwell withdrew his support from Malone in response to Brett’s evidence, we’d be one up on Malone in the vote.

I was relatively confident that Blackwell would do the right thing once he’d spoken to Brett Malone. Unfortunately, I was also pretty sure that if we turned Lance over to the thunderbirds—even in name only—we could kiss Pierce’s support goodbye. Even with Parker still in my father’s employ. Assuming he wanted to stay there after this.

“Poor Parker.” Kaci glanced from one to the other of us with huge hazel eyes. “None of this is his fault, and he’s going to be caught in the middle.”

I nodded, impressed all over again by her perceptiveness.

“Does he know?” My father leaned with one hand on the wall-length entertainment center.

“Not unless he’s listening at the door,” Marc said. And he wasn’t. Parker would never eavesdrop without the typical open-door invitation to do so.

“Faythe, bring him in here.” I stood, and my dad turned to Kaci. “And why don’t you go see if Manx needs any help with the baby? She and Karen have their hands pretty full right now.” Because my mother was cooking for twenty people. No, make that eighteen, since we were down two men. And Manx was tending Owen very closely.

Kaci looked disappointed, but she climbed down from Jace’s lap. She’d been permitted in a closed meeting and knew better than to push her luck. Most of the time.

She trudged off toward Manx’s room and I crossed the hall into the kitchen, where four toms sat around the breakfast table with a deck of cards, a huge bowl of salsa, and several open bags of corn chips. Another group sat in the dining room with hot wings and no cards, but the atmosphere in both rooms was identical.

The toms had come to the ranch ready to fight, but had been benched instead. They’d been confined to the main house, yet exiled from the office and the living room. They were restless, irritable, and on edge from their Alphas’ tension. The prevailing ambiance was somber, and quietly angry. Like hot water about to break into a boil.

“Hey, Parker, can you come here for a minute?”

Parker glanced up and ran one hand through prematurely graying hair, then laid his cards down and followed me. My mother raised both brows as we passed, but she never stopped stirring a huge pot full of ground beef, beans, and crushed tomatoes—the beginnings of the world’s best chili.

I tossed my head toward the living room, and she nodded, then called Vic over to stir in her absence. But before we made it out of the kitchen, Paul Blackwell emerged from the office and marched into the living room, leaving us to follow.

“Thank you for the use of your office,” the old Alpha said as I took up a post against one wall near the door. Parker stood nearby and my mother sat in one of the armchairs, but no one else had moved. Blackwell leaned on his cane several feet in front of me, facing the rest of the room. “I’ve spoken to the other Alphas, and no one admits to having any contact with thunderbirds in the past decade. In fact, they all sounded rather astonished. Including Calvin Malone.”

“Do you believe him?” I asked, and at first I didn’t think he would respond. But when my dad made no objection to my question, Blackwell turned unsteadily to half face me, utilizing his cane more than he had before. Maybe he’d gotten stiff from sitting in my dad’s desk chair. Or maybe the stress was affecting the poor old man physically.

“I intend to refrain from judging until I’ve heard all the facts and seen all the available evidence.” His voice was steady but doubt showed in every line on his face. And there were plenty to choose from.

“Well, we might be able to help you out there.” I glanced at my father for permission to continue, but he shook his head and stood.

“Let’s take this to the office.”