I nodded, shocked beyond logic for the moment, then shook my head abruptly. “No. No feasting. But thank you all.”
He tilted his head to one side, like he didn’t understand gratitude. “We will consider our debt paid, and we look for no further contact with you or your species.” He reached up for something hanging from a cord around his neck, and I only recognized my phone when he handed it to me.
I nodded. “Fair enough.” Especially considering that half a dozen bird bodies lay scattered about the battlefield.
With that, the birds lifted into the air almost as one. Several swooped in pairs to pick up the bodies of their fallen Flightmates, then they took off together toward the west.
I stared after them, in awe and in gratitude.
The sun was just peeking over the trees to our east when I turned to look over the battlefield. Bodies lay all around me, many still breathing, but seriously injured. Our losses were grave. Our victory was bittersweet. And our road to recovery would be rockier than the tumble we’d taken to get to this point, I had no doubt.
But the war was over. We had won.
And Marc had come back.
Thirty-five
“I called Holly,” Michael said, coming to a stop at my side with his hands in his pockets. “I asked her to take Manx, Des, and Kaci to our house. I don’t think they should come back here just yet.”
“Agreed.” It would take hours to dispose of the bodies, and hours more to hose down the grass to wash away the blood. “Maybe they can stay for a week or so? Until I can…get this place put back together?” My carpet would have to be replaced before Kaci could come back inside, even once we’d cleaned up the yard. The smell of Dean’s blood in the house would traumatize her.
Hell, it would traumatize me, too.
“Of course.”
“How’s Mom?” I asked, watching as she knelt beside an injured tom, aiding Dr. Carver on autopilot. Her movements were stiff, her eyes glazed with shock. “How is she really?”
“She’s dealing, for the moment, but it’s going to hit her the minute she stops moving long enough to get a deep breath. He saved her life, Faythe,” Michael said, and I knew he was talking about Ryan. “She wants to put him next to Ethan. And I think you should let her.”
I nodded slowly, crossing my arms over the clean shirt and jacket I’d changed into. “Yeah. He saved my life, too.” If he’d lived to be one hundred, Ryan could never have made up for what he let happen to me, Abby, and Sara. Even by saving my life. But in dying for our mother, he’d done it in a single instant. In the end, he’d died protecting someone he loved. It wasn’t quite like Ethan, but I wasn’t going to dishonor his sacrifice. Nor was I willing to break my mother’s heart. Not after all she’d been through already.
“Do you have the count?” I asked, already dreading his answer.
“Yeah. Eighteen dead on their side, and there may be a couple more in a few hours. Everyone who’s left is hurt pretty badly, but most of them will live.”
I struggled to keep my horror hidden. So many lives. So much loss. So much death. But revolution comes with a price, and the best we could do now was try to deserve it. “On our side?”
Michael swallowed thickly, and I made myself look at him. “Ten dead, not counting Ryan. Three of Uncle Rick’s, two of Di Carlo’s, and two of Aaron Taylor’s.”
“Lucas?” I asked, my heart thumping painfully.
“No. He broke an arm, and got a pretty good gash on his thigh, but he’s going to be fine. Teo, too. He dropped six toms on his own.”
I didn’t doubt that. Teo Di Carlo was one hell of a fighter.
“And our three, other than Ryan?” I asked, dreading the answer like I’d never dreaded anything in my life.
“Tom Hagarty and William Wright.” Two of our nonenforcer volunteers, who’d believed in me enough to die for our cause. But that left one more.
I turned slowly to the sheet-covered body I’d avoided looking at for the past hour. And to the tom who sat on the ground next to it, head in his hands, crying steadily.
“You’re going to have to deal with him soon,” my brother insisted.
“I know.” I sighed and uncrossed my arms. Michael put one hand on my shoulder and I squeezed it, then crossed the ten feet of bloodstained grass between me and our greatest battlefield loss. I knelt on the ground next to Kenton Pierce, heedless of my blood-soaked jeans, and carefully pulled back the sheet to expose Parker’s face, so cold and pale in death.
He looked peaceful, in spite of his violent end, and I couldn’t stop more tears, in spite of all I’d already cried.
“I don’t know how all this happened…” Kent sobbed. “A month ago, everything was fine, and now I have two dead brothers, and one barely breathing.” He glanced across the yard, to where a gravely injured Holden Pierce was being treated by Dr. Carver.
“We all have choices, Kent,” I said, running one finger down Parker’s cold cheek. His chin stubble was rough on my skin, and somehow that characteristic of growth—of life—made his death seem more real than it should have without more time for it to sink in. He’d evidently shifted to try to heal mortal wounds, but it wasn’t enough. “You and Lance dug your graves, and now Parker’s lying in his.”
Kent sobbed harder, and I wanted to hit him for whining and feeling sorry for himself over the destruction he’d helped bring about. But I didn’t, because of what he’d tried to do for me. Kent wasn’t a bad guy—he was just weak enough to be used by his father and Calvin Malone. But weakness wasn’t a killing offense. Not in the south-central Pride. Not under my command.
He tilted his head to one side, like he didn’t understand gratitude. “We will consider our debt paid, and we look for no further contact with you or your species.” He reached up for something hanging from a cord around his neck, and I only recognized my phone when he handed it to me.
I nodded. “Fair enough.” Especially considering that half a dozen bird bodies lay scattered about the battlefield.
With that, the birds lifted into the air almost as one. Several swooped in pairs to pick up the bodies of their fallen Flightmates, then they took off together toward the west.
I stared after them, in awe and in gratitude.
The sun was just peeking over the trees to our east when I turned to look over the battlefield. Bodies lay all around me, many still breathing, but seriously injured. Our losses were grave. Our victory was bittersweet. And our road to recovery would be rockier than the tumble we’d taken to get to this point, I had no doubt.
But the war was over. We had won.
And Marc had come back.
Thirty-five
“I called Holly,” Michael said, coming to a stop at my side with his hands in his pockets. “I asked her to take Manx, Des, and Kaci to our house. I don’t think they should come back here just yet.”
“Agreed.” It would take hours to dispose of the bodies, and hours more to hose down the grass to wash away the blood. “Maybe they can stay for a week or so? Until I can…get this place put back together?” My carpet would have to be replaced before Kaci could come back inside, even once we’d cleaned up the yard. The smell of Dean’s blood in the house would traumatize her.
Hell, it would traumatize me, too.
“Of course.”
“How’s Mom?” I asked, watching as she knelt beside an injured tom, aiding Dr. Carver on autopilot. Her movements were stiff, her eyes glazed with shock. “How is she really?”
“She’s dealing, for the moment, but it’s going to hit her the minute she stops moving long enough to get a deep breath. He saved her life, Faythe,” Michael said, and I knew he was talking about Ryan. “She wants to put him next to Ethan. And I think you should let her.”
I nodded slowly, crossing my arms over the clean shirt and jacket I’d changed into. “Yeah. He saved my life, too.” If he’d lived to be one hundred, Ryan could never have made up for what he let happen to me, Abby, and Sara. Even by saving my life. But in dying for our mother, he’d done it in a single instant. In the end, he’d died protecting someone he loved. It wasn’t quite like Ethan, but I wasn’t going to dishonor his sacrifice. Nor was I willing to break my mother’s heart. Not after all she’d been through already.
“Do you have the count?” I asked, already dreading his answer.
“Yeah. Eighteen dead on their side, and there may be a couple more in a few hours. Everyone who’s left is hurt pretty badly, but most of them will live.”
I struggled to keep my horror hidden. So many lives. So much loss. So much death. But revolution comes with a price, and the best we could do now was try to deserve it. “On our side?”
Michael swallowed thickly, and I made myself look at him. “Ten dead, not counting Ryan. Three of Uncle Rick’s, two of Di Carlo’s, and two of Aaron Taylor’s.”
“Lucas?” I asked, my heart thumping painfully.
“No. He broke an arm, and got a pretty good gash on his thigh, but he’s going to be fine. Teo, too. He dropped six toms on his own.”
I didn’t doubt that. Teo Di Carlo was one hell of a fighter.
“And our three, other than Ryan?” I asked, dreading the answer like I’d never dreaded anything in my life.
“Tom Hagarty and William Wright.” Two of our nonenforcer volunteers, who’d believed in me enough to die for our cause. But that left one more.
I turned slowly to the sheet-covered body I’d avoided looking at for the past hour. And to the tom who sat on the ground next to it, head in his hands, crying steadily.
“You’re going to have to deal with him soon,” my brother insisted.
“I know.” I sighed and uncrossed my arms. Michael put one hand on my shoulder and I squeezed it, then crossed the ten feet of bloodstained grass between me and our greatest battlefield loss. I knelt on the ground next to Kenton Pierce, heedless of my blood-soaked jeans, and carefully pulled back the sheet to expose Parker’s face, so cold and pale in death.
He looked peaceful, in spite of his violent end, and I couldn’t stop more tears, in spite of all I’d already cried.
“I don’t know how all this happened…” Kent sobbed. “A month ago, everything was fine, and now I have two dead brothers, and one barely breathing.” He glanced across the yard, to where a gravely injured Holden Pierce was being treated by Dr. Carver.
“We all have choices, Kent,” I said, running one finger down Parker’s cold cheek. His chin stubble was rough on my skin, and somehow that characteristic of growth—of life—made his death seem more real than it should have without more time for it to sink in. He’d evidently shifted to try to heal mortal wounds, but it wasn’t enough. “You and Lance dug your graves, and now Parker’s lying in his.”
Kent sobbed harder, and I wanted to hit him for whining and feeling sorry for himself over the destruction he’d helped bring about. But I didn’t, because of what he’d tried to do for me. Kent wasn’t a bad guy—he was just weak enough to be used by his father and Calvin Malone. But weakness wasn’t a killing offense. Not in the south-central Pride. Not under my command.
