“We didn’t have a chance to get rid of them before the shit hit the fan…” I mumbled. “And they’ll be looking for the rest of them.” I glanced at the six pistols lined up on the breakfast table, each likely loaded and ready to fire.

“Oh, you let me worry about those,” Keller’s voice boomed throughout the cabin, and I got the distinct impression that if he weren’t trying to respect my father’s demise, he would have sounded almost giddy at the prospect. “I’ll destroy the lot of ’em. May even bring the pieces back to this Malone fellow, just to see the look on his face.”

I couldn’t resist picturing Malone’s shock and rage—especially since there was nothing he could do about it. “Can I come and watch?”

Keller chuckled softly. “I like your spunk.”

That was fortunate, because at the moment, I was running on nothing but that and sheer willpower. What I really needed was a drink. And in the absence of alcohol… “Can I get you some coffee?”

“I’d love some.” The bruin covered a massive yawn with one huge hand. “I’m not normally up until…well…around April.”

“I’m so sorry we interrupted your sleep.” I’d completely forgotten that bruins—like natural bears—hibernated for most of the winter months.

“Oh, I suspect you have bigger things to worry about than one grumpy old bear. I’m just glad the scent of werecats prowlin’ my mountain was enough to wake me up.” His smile was scraggly with overgrown facial hair, but it was one of the kindest gestures I’d seen in months.

“Coffee’s coming,” Marc called from the kitchen. “Brian, if you want some, come fix yourself a mug.”

“Thanks, Marc.” I sank into the chair closest to my father and suddenly realized that I hurt. Everywhere. My jaw ached from being clenched and my throat burned from holding back tears. But beyond that, every muscle in my body ached, and I stung from cuts and throbbed from bruises all over. The fight itself had almost been eclipsed in my memory by my father’s death. Had it really ended just an hour ago?

Had my father really been dead for only half that? It felt like forever already.

I stared at the couch. I couldn’t stop myself. Someone had covered my father with an extra sheet from the closet, and while I knew that was the proper thing to do out of respect for the dead, I suddenly felt antsy. On edge. As if not being able to see him somehow made his death more real.

How would I ever be able to bury him?

A few minutes later, Marc came in from the kitchen carrying two mugs. He handed one to Keller, then one to me, and I stood as I accepted it. “I, uh, I need to make a phone call.”

Keller’s grizzly head bobbed. “Don’t worry about me, now. If you don’t mind, I was gonna hang around till the rest of your men get back, just to be safe. It looks to me like you guys have made yourselves a few enemies.”

“More than a few, unfortunately.” Marc settled onto the arm of the chair and put his arm around me, and I leaned into him, grateful for the comfort when I needed it most, in spite of all the legitimate reasons he had to withhold it. “I’m sorry we woke you up, but if we hadn’t stood up to Malone tonight, he’d have had Faythe convicted and declawed tomorrow, and me and Jace executed the next day.”

“What on earth for?” Keller rumbled, his ruddy cheeks flushed even redder in anger.

“For doing what we had to do to get out of the mess he put us in. He framed us for the murder of a thunderbird, and last week we had to turn over the real killer—one of Malone’s men—to the Flight to stop the air raid on our home. And to keep them from killing Kaci.”

“The kitten?” His brows drew low and his eyes narrowed. And if I wasn’t mistaken, he seemed to be growling softly, deep in his throat. Keller had brought Kaci to us, during our last trip to the mountains, for my trial. He’d found her rooting through his trash for food and mistaken her for me. He could not have been more surprised to discover his mistake. Nor could we. “That weasel tried to get Kaci killed?”

“No, he tried to get her kidnapped. But the thunderbirds didn’t like being lied to, and they’re not the most compassionate bunch.”

“Well, I’m certainly looking forward to returning his guns.”

I managed a smile at the thought, but it died when I glanced at the sheet covering my father and remembered that my mother still didn’t know. “I’ll be back….” I stood with my coffee and was halfway to my room when I realized I didn’t have my cell phone.

“It’s plugged into the charger in your dad’s room.” Marc stood and led the way, clearly having read either my mind or my expression. Or my very broken heart.

He closed the door behind us, and I went straight for the phone. But when I sank onto the bed to autodial, I smelled my father, and started crying again. I couldn’t help it.

Marc sat next to me, our legs touching. He wrapped one arm around my waist and I leaned my head on his shoulder. “Faythe, I know this is hard. I’ve been there.” He’d lost his mother when he was fourteen, and he’d had no other family to grieve with. If he could survive that, I could survive this. We all could. “But you have to hold it together. Your mom’s going to need you….”

“I know. I’m fine.” Or at least I would be. Eventually.

He squeezed me again, then stood and headed for the door, probably to give me privacy for the single most difficult call I’d ever had to make. Or hopefully ever would.