Yet here she sat next to my cowboy-gentleman brother, doing nothing, her hands resting easily in her lap, butchered fingernails concealed by stretchy, crocheted gloves.
“Can I play with him when he wakes up?” Kaci asked.
Manx smiled. She’d already realized that playing with the baby—though that amounted to little more than letting the one-month-old grip her finger—set Kaci at ease as little else could. “Of course.”
Kaci’s shoulders relaxed, and I couldn’t help wondering if two babies might mean twice the therapy, for Kaci and for us all. We hadn’t had time to verify it yet, but Ethan’s human girlfriend, Angela, was pregnant, and I had no reason not to believe that the baby was his.
My mother was cautiously optimistic over the news, with occasional, unpredictable bouts of unbridled delight in the moments when she let herself believe it was actually true. Nothing could fill the hole that Ethan’s death had left in all of our hearts. But his son—my mother’s first grandchild—could go a long way toward healing the wound. She couldn’t wait to meet Angela, but we’d all agreed that for the new mother’s safety, introductions would best be done after our troubles with the Territorial Council were over.
Kaci’s gaze roamed the yard in the direction of the barn. Then her eyes narrowed and a frown tugged at the corners of her mouth. I knew what she was looking at without turning.
Ethan’s grave.
We’d buried him beneath the apple tree, halfway between the front yard and the eastern field, and his headstone forever changed the familiar landscape. But that was the plan. We wanted to see him every day. To remember him without fail. To mourn for as long as we saw fit.
“I’m goin’ on ahead,” Kaci mumbled, then jogged down the steps without waiting for a response.
I hadn’t intended to linger with Owen and Manx, hesitant to interrupt…whatever they had going on. But Kaci clearly wanted a moment alone with Ethan, and I had to respect that.
“How are the digits?” I asked, sinking into a wicker chair at the end of the porch.
“Pardon?” Manx frowned until I nodded at her hands, then she held her fingers up, as if to check on them. “Oh. Much better. They only hurt when—” she paused, searching for the right word in English “—bump things.” She pushed her hands forward against nothing to demonstrate.
Nearly two weeks after being declawed, her hands had almost completely healed, but the scar tissue where her fingernails had been was still bright red and puffy. She hated the sight of them, and wore thin gloves whenever possible, only taking them off to care for the baby or herself.
I turned to glance at Kaci—halfway to the apple tree, and loping at her own pace—and idly noticed a pair of hawks circling overhead.
“How is your arm?” Manx asked, recapturing my attention.
I held up my cast, smiling at the doodles Kaci had drawn between the enforcers’ perfunctory signatures. A flower with purple petals and X-shaped eyes in the center. A pink skull and crossbones. I’d sat still for several of her masterpieces. Anything to make her smile. Though, I’d threatened to paint over them with black nail polish if she plastered any more pink on my arm.
Still, I had to admit that thinking of Kaci when I looked at my cast was much better than thinking about how I’d broken it. About the bastards who’d stolen Marc and beaten him to get information out of me—when beating me hadn’t worked.
“It’s fine. Dr. Carver says I can try Shifting in a couple of weeks.” Because broken bones take longer to heal than simple cuts and gashes. I was already itching for the transformation—and from the cast, which somehow made my arm sweat, even in the middle of February.
“She really misses him.” Owen nodded at something over my shoulder, and I twisted to see Kaci on the ground beside Ethan’s headstone, one knee brushing the freshly overturned earth.
“Yeah, she—”
“What the hell?” Owen demanded, and I peered over the porch railing. “Have you ever seen hawks that big? They must have spotted something to eat, from the way they’re circling.…”
I was on my feet in an instant, a sick feeling churning in my stomach. “Those aren’t hawks.…” They were too big, for one thing. And their wings were all wrong. Especially the tips. Even from a distance, the ends looked…weird. The birds must have been really high up before, because now that they’d flown lower, swooping in from over the woods behind the eastern field, they looked huge.
My heartbeat suddenly felt sluggish, as if it couldn’t keep up with my body’s natural rhythm. The birds were too huge. And too low. And too fast…
Oh, shit… “Kaci!” I screamed as the first bird dove toward her. She looked up and screeched, and I was already halfway across the yard.
Kaci leaped to her feet, then ducked as the first bird swooped, huge talons grasping perilously close to her head. She screamed again, and when the bird rose into the air, beating giant wings so hard I could hear the air whoosh from two hundred feet away, she stood and took off toward me.
Kaci raced across the dead grass, screaming at the top of her lungs.
I kept moving toward her, unwilling to waste energy on screams of my own. But in human form, neither of us was fast enough. I was a heartbreaking fifteen feet away when the second bird swooped, his powerful wings displacing so much air I was actually blown back a step. His talons opened wide, then closed around her upper arms.
“Can I play with him when he wakes up?” Kaci asked.
Manx smiled. She’d already realized that playing with the baby—though that amounted to little more than letting the one-month-old grip her finger—set Kaci at ease as little else could. “Of course.”
Kaci’s shoulders relaxed, and I couldn’t help wondering if two babies might mean twice the therapy, for Kaci and for us all. We hadn’t had time to verify it yet, but Ethan’s human girlfriend, Angela, was pregnant, and I had no reason not to believe that the baby was his.
My mother was cautiously optimistic over the news, with occasional, unpredictable bouts of unbridled delight in the moments when she let herself believe it was actually true. Nothing could fill the hole that Ethan’s death had left in all of our hearts. But his son—my mother’s first grandchild—could go a long way toward healing the wound. She couldn’t wait to meet Angela, but we’d all agreed that for the new mother’s safety, introductions would best be done after our troubles with the Territorial Council were over.
Kaci’s gaze roamed the yard in the direction of the barn. Then her eyes narrowed and a frown tugged at the corners of her mouth. I knew what she was looking at without turning.
Ethan’s grave.
We’d buried him beneath the apple tree, halfway between the front yard and the eastern field, and his headstone forever changed the familiar landscape. But that was the plan. We wanted to see him every day. To remember him without fail. To mourn for as long as we saw fit.
“I’m goin’ on ahead,” Kaci mumbled, then jogged down the steps without waiting for a response.
I hadn’t intended to linger with Owen and Manx, hesitant to interrupt…whatever they had going on. But Kaci clearly wanted a moment alone with Ethan, and I had to respect that.
“How are the digits?” I asked, sinking into a wicker chair at the end of the porch.
“Pardon?” Manx frowned until I nodded at her hands, then she held her fingers up, as if to check on them. “Oh. Much better. They only hurt when—” she paused, searching for the right word in English “—bump things.” She pushed her hands forward against nothing to demonstrate.
Nearly two weeks after being declawed, her hands had almost completely healed, but the scar tissue where her fingernails had been was still bright red and puffy. She hated the sight of them, and wore thin gloves whenever possible, only taking them off to care for the baby or herself.
I turned to glance at Kaci—halfway to the apple tree, and loping at her own pace—and idly noticed a pair of hawks circling overhead.
“How is your arm?” Manx asked, recapturing my attention.
I held up my cast, smiling at the doodles Kaci had drawn between the enforcers’ perfunctory signatures. A flower with purple petals and X-shaped eyes in the center. A pink skull and crossbones. I’d sat still for several of her masterpieces. Anything to make her smile. Though, I’d threatened to paint over them with black nail polish if she plastered any more pink on my arm.
Still, I had to admit that thinking of Kaci when I looked at my cast was much better than thinking about how I’d broken it. About the bastards who’d stolen Marc and beaten him to get information out of me—when beating me hadn’t worked.
“It’s fine. Dr. Carver says I can try Shifting in a couple of weeks.” Because broken bones take longer to heal than simple cuts and gashes. I was already itching for the transformation—and from the cast, which somehow made my arm sweat, even in the middle of February.
“She really misses him.” Owen nodded at something over my shoulder, and I twisted to see Kaci on the ground beside Ethan’s headstone, one knee brushing the freshly overturned earth.
“Yeah, she—”
“What the hell?” Owen demanded, and I peered over the porch railing. “Have you ever seen hawks that big? They must have spotted something to eat, from the way they’re circling.…”
I was on my feet in an instant, a sick feeling churning in my stomach. “Those aren’t hawks.…” They were too big, for one thing. And their wings were all wrong. Especially the tips. Even from a distance, the ends looked…weird. The birds must have been really high up before, because now that they’d flown lower, swooping in from over the woods behind the eastern field, they looked huge.
My heartbeat suddenly felt sluggish, as if it couldn’t keep up with my body’s natural rhythm. The birds were too huge. And too low. And too fast…
Oh, shit… “Kaci!” I screamed as the first bird dove toward her. She looked up and screeched, and I was already halfway across the yard.
Kaci leaped to her feet, then ducked as the first bird swooped, huge talons grasping perilously close to her head. She screamed again, and when the bird rose into the air, beating giant wings so hard I could hear the air whoosh from two hundred feet away, she stood and took off toward me.
Kaci raced across the dead grass, screaming at the top of her lungs.
I kept moving toward her, unwilling to waste energy on screams of my own. But in human form, neither of us was fast enough. I was a heartbreaking fifteen feet away when the second bird swooped, his powerful wings displacing so much air I was actually blown back a step. His talons opened wide, then closed around her upper arms.
