Jace stepped up behind me and wrapped one arm around my waist, whispering in my ear. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” I shook my head, trying in vain to concentrate on the task at hand. “Just…thinking.”

“I think it’s time for a little talking, then a lot of fighting.”

I nodded, and Jace stepped back. When I looked up, I found everyone watching the two of us in one combination or another of confusion and surprise. I cleared my throat again. “First, thank you all for showing up today. Your loyalty will not be forgotten.”

Several toms nodded, but no one interrupted.

“Second of all, the Midwest, East Coast, and southeast Prides have all sent men to fight with us, and we’ll be meeting them in the woods behind the ranch in just a few minutes. Also, I’ve cashed in a favor from a Flight of thunderbirds in New Mexico, and when we leave here, I’ll call them in.”

They all already knew about our air support, but a murmur of general fear and skepticism ran through the crowd, anyway.

“Our main objective is to take out Calvin Malone. Not capture him. Not spank him and send him home crying. I want him dead. If you have a shot, take it. If not, fight for that shot. Kill if necessary, but show mercy if it won’t get you killed. If someone surrenders, knock him unconscious and move on.”

There were a couple of grumbles, but no one openly objected.

“Because the thunderbirds can’t tell us apart in cat form—and you’re all going in cat form—everyone will get a strip of orange construction tape.” I gestured to Jace, and he held up the three rolls we’d bought on the way. Di Carlo, Taylor, and my uncle were all similarly equipped. “One of us will tie it to one of your front legs, so the birds know you’re off-limits. Do not lose that tape. Hopefully I don’t have to tell you how dangerous thunderbirds are, and we can’t afford to take hits from friendly fire. Any questions?”

“Where’s Marc?” One of the older toms—from somewhere near the Oklahoma panhandle—asked.

I answered without hesitating, but no one was fooled. “He’s coming separately, but he’ll be there.” But they all heard what I hadn’t said, and glances flicked toward Jace, who stood tall against the wall to my left, neither acknowledging nor denying. “Anything else?”

“When do we get started?” Holden Pierce called out from the far corner of the room. Parker’s youngest brother was our newest Pride member, and he’d remained loyal to us, rather than his father. He was only a sophomore in college, and I felt another strong pang of guilt at the knowledge that I might be sending him to his death before he’d really lived.

But he’d made his choice. We all had.

I smiled. “Right now. Load up.”

My pulse raced as I picked my way carefully through the woods, aiming for silence in spite of my awkward human form. I wouldn’t get to Shift. Someone had to call all the allies together and tie a bunch of orange flaps around feline legs. But I was armed. I had cat eyes, and I carried a crowbar in my left hand and a folding knife in my left pocket. And once the fight began, I’d have cat teeth, and claws on one hand.

That was the best compromise I could find between Faythe-the-Alpha and Faythe-the-fighter.

Jace was in human form, too, at least so far, to help me tie.

We’d gone about half a mile with me in the lead when brush rustled on my left, and I froze. My heart raced and I raised my crowbar. All movement behind me stopped, as our toms followed my lead, instantly on alert.

A dark blur soared over the brush to land in front of me, huge and tensed for action. I sniffed the air and relaxed. My cousin Lucas. He seemed to recognize me at the same time, and he stalked forward to run his head under my waiting palm. A moment later, more toms leaped over the brush, and my uncle stepped into sight from around a thick pine tree. Bert Di Carlo and Aaron Taylor were right behind him.

They’d contributed six men apiece—seven, including themselves—to the effort, which put our ground troops at a staggering forty-two toms, all ready and willing to kill—or die—for the cause. It was the largest offensive in living memory, even without counting the thunderbirds.

“Faythe…” My uncle stepped forward for a quick hug, then held me at arm’s length to study my face. “Are you ready for this?”

I gave him a firm nod, then a small smile. “I was about to ask you the same thing.”

“Ready and willing,” Di Carlo answered for them all, hugging my mother in greeting, and my heart beat so hard my chest ached. It was time.

But Marc wasn’t there. I pulled Vic aside for a moment and asked if he’d heard from Marc again, but he could only shake his feline head.

What if he’d gotten caught on the way in? What if he’d gotten killed? What if he’d simply changed his mind—decided not to come because he couldn’t stand to be near me?

“He’s probably just running late,” Jace said, rubbing one hand along my back. “He’ll be here.”

I nodded, then pulled out my father’s phone and called myself. Beck answered on the second ring. “It’s Faythe Sanders,” I said, half whispering, even though we were still a mile and a half from the ranch. “Are you ready?”

“We are always ready,” the thunderbird answered, his dual-tone voice screeching softly into my ear.

“Good. Move in and perch nearby. When you see the fight begin, have at it. But remember the rules…”