Shift (33 page)

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Authors: Rachel Vincent

Tags: #Romance - Paranormal, #Fantasy - General, #American Science Fiction And Fantasy, #Sanders; Faythe (Fictitious character), #Fiction - Fantasy, #Fiction, #Fantasy, #Shapeshifting, #General, #Fantasy - Contemporary

BOOK: Shift
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His brows rose, and he repositioned the still squirming child on his hip again. “You’d let me go?”

I shrugged. “I don’t care whether or not they catch you, since they’re no longer blaming us for killing Finn.”

“Won’t they be mad if you let me go?”

“Probably. But how am I supposed to chase you down
and
bring Wren back to her family?”

He started to relax, the tension draining from his features as the truth of my words sank in. “So, I give her to you, and you just…let me go?”

I nodded. “I won’t even try to catch you.”

Lance thought about it. He knew he wouldn’t get far with a kid on one hip. And if the birds caught him, they’d never give him the chance I was offering. Finally he nodded. “Here.” He held the struggling toddler out with both hands, and I stepped forward to take her, my heart thumping in a sudden bout of nerves. She didn’t know me any better than she knew him. Would she try to peck my eyes out all the way back to the nest?

“Wren?” I extended one hand slowly. “You want to go back to your mama?”

“Maaama?” she said brightly, and her moist eyes widened. She stopped struggling for the first time since Lance had picked her up.

“Yeah. Let’s go find your mama.” I took the child, and she let me pull her close, even as her arms Shifted into tiny, thin, feather-covered wings. “Let’s get you home.” I backed up a step, still watching Lance, just in case. “Thank you.”

He nodded. Then he turned and ran.

Lance only made it few steps before a dark blur flew from the shadows. Marc landed on him midleap and they crashed to the ground together, with Marc on top.

Wren screeched in terror, and I held her close to comfort her, trying to ignore the cold, sharp talons now digging into my bare flesh.

Mental note: baby birds? Not cuddly
.

“You promised!” Lance howled as Marc’s jaws gripped the back of the tom’s skull.

“I said
I
wouldn’t try to catch you. I never said anything about Marc.” I stared down at him, surprised by how little sympathy I felt.

Marc whined at me in question, and I held the child closer, running one hand over the hair currently flowing from Wren’s head. “Turn him over.”

Marc backed off of Lance but kept his muzzle close enough to rip out the other tom’s throat at any moment. Lance rolled onto his back slowly and stared up at me as I came closer. Wren began to struggle when she saw Lance, so I stopped several feet away, unwilling to further traumatize her.

“Lance Pierce, you’ve killed three people,” I said, surprised by how strong my voice sounded.

“What?” He started to protest, but changed his mind when Marc growled inches from his throat.

“Finn was just the first,” I continued. “By letting Malone blame his death on us, you’ve also killed Charlie Eames and Jake Taylor. And seriously injured both my brother Owen and my cousin Lucas. You got me and Kaci kidnapped by thunderbirds, and almost got her killed. And you kidnapped a toddler and threatened to kill her in a despicable, cowardly attempt to preserve your own life.”

Lance was silent now. He couldn’t argue with the truth.

“The thunderbirds are demanding your life. They want to eat you alive as revenge for killing Finn. But if I give you to them, Jake and Charlie won’t see justice. So you can consider this a mercy killing.” With that, I nodded firmly at Marc.

Marc cocked his head at me.
You sure?

I thought about my father telling me leaders have to make tough choices. I thought about Kaci, and the person I’d have to become to truly have the power to protect her. If I made this choice, I could never go back. I could never again be just a tabby, or even just an enforcer, expected to do as I was told. Alphas order executions, and giving such an order was as good as declaring my intent to someday challenge—however peacefully—for leadership of the Pride.

Marc’s acceptance of that order would be a promise of support for my bid.

I took a deep breath. “Do it.”

Lance’s eyes went so wide I thought they’d pop from their sockets.

Marc lunged for his throat.

It was all over in an instant. Lance’s death was quick, which was more than the thunderbirds would have done for him.

Wren made an odd, content clucking sound near my ear, where her head rested on my shoulder. She was watching. And she was completely unbothered by the bloodshed.

 

Twenty minutes later we emerged from the tree line onto a road crowded with thunderbirds milling in various stages of mid-Shift. I was freezing—literally shaking from the cold—but they’d huddled together for warmth. The current of tension and anger was so palpable I could almost taste it. Until the first beady bird eye spotted us.

“Wren!” Brynn screeched and raced across the road. The moment the toddler heard her mother’s voice, she began struggling in earnest, and I set her down carefully. Wren toddled toward her mother on one talon and one chunky human foot, flapping half-formed wings as if she might take off at any moment.

Brynn scooped her daughter up and rocked her, crooning in familiar, tuneless notes. Apparently comfort transcends species.

Behind me, Marc carried Lance’s body over one shoulder. He followed me into the center of the circle the birds formed. Brynn stood opposite us, still rocking her exhausted daughter.

Marc bent and dropped Lance face up on the ground. His bare back was stained with the dead tom’s blood. Lance stared sightlessly at the starlit sky, while nearly fifty thunderbirds stared down at him. As they stared we quickly dressed in the clothes we’d picked up in the woods on our way back, eager to be warm again.

“He is dead,” said one young cock as I zipped my jeans, obviously speaking for the entire group.

I nodded. “Yes, but your child is not. We couldn’t take him alive, but his body is yours to dispose of as you will.” As badly as I hated to hand the corpse over—as sick as the thought of them consuming it made me—that was the only compromise I could think of that might actually satisfy the thunderbirds and get us out of there intact. “I assume he is proof enough that we didn’t kill Finn.”

“Of course.” Brynn spoke that time.

So relieved I could barely breathe, I turned to peer over the heads of the birds surrounding us. Fifty feet away, Kaci stood pressed into Jace’s side, his arm around her shoulders. She shook with the cold, and likely with fear, but the moment she saw us she stood straighter, determined to show her strength.

“I’ve done my part.” I dug my phone from my pocket as I turned back to Brynn. “Call off the rest of your birds.”

She nodded, and I flipped open my phone and autodialed my father.

He answered on the first ring. “Faythe?” he said, tension thick in his voice.

“Yeah. We have Kaci, and we’re coming home.”

“Thank goodness.” In the background, I heard masculine cheers and my mother’s massive sigh of relief.

“Can you give your phone to Beck?”

“Just a minute.” My father sounded exhausted, and I wondered if he’d slept at all since we’d left.

I tossed my phone to Brynn, and when Beck’s voice came over the line, she told him to execute a full retreat. When my father came back on, he promised to release Kai to his Flight mates immediately.

By the time I slid my phone back into my pocket, two of the largest thunderbirds were already ferrying Lance’s body up to their nest. I nodded once at Brynn, an all-purpose thanks-and-goodbye, and turned to leave. Then her hand landed on my bare arm.

I turned to find her watching me in the closest thing to friendliness I’d seen yet from one of her species. “We are in your debt, for the return of my daughter,” she said. “And we would like to repay you as soon as possible.”

The sentiment was more of a “We’d rather not be in your debt” than a “Thanks, how can we ever repay you.” Still, it was better than a swift kick out the door and a plummet from two hundred feet.

“Um…okay.” Saying thank-you seemed simultaneously trite and inappropriate. “I’ll let you know if I…come up with something.” But an idea was already beginning to form. As cold and ruthless as they were—or perhaps because of those very qualities—the thunderbirds would make a formidable opponent in war. My Pride had already seen that firsthand, and I had little doubt that my father would be just as eager as I was to turn the proverbial tables on Malone.

I was still basking in that possibility when I folded Kaci into my arms a minute later.

She squeezed me tightly, and only let me go long enough for me to put on my jacket. Exhausted, I forced a smile for Kaci’s benefit, trying to ignore the way Marc and Jace went out of their way to avoid each other, yet stay close to me. Then I slid one arm around Kaci’s shoulders.

“Can we go home now?” she asked, staring up at me in exhaustion and uneasy relief. Neither of us would truly feel safe until we were far away from the thunderbirds and their prison in the sky.

“Absolutely.” We would go home, if only long enough to rest and plan our full strike. Because if the blood-soaked feathers of a murdered thunderbird weren’t enough to convince the other Alphas that Calvin Malone should be removed from power, we’d be prepared to do it the hard way.

And sometimes, the hard way is the only way to go.

Acknowledgements

Thanks first of all to my critique partner, Rinda Elliott, whose suggestion changed the last third of this book—for the better. Thanks for showing me the forest, in spite of the trees.

Thanks to Elizabeth Mazer and everyone at MIRA for all the behind-the-scenes work it takes to turn a manuscript into a book.

Thanks to my editor, Mary-Theresa Hussey, for her patience and dedication.

Thanks to my agent, Miriam Kriss, who makes things happen.

And thank you so much to the readers who have hung in there with Faythe and her Pride. Your words of praise and encouragement—and even the occasional distraught letter of disbelief—keep me writing, determined to make each book better than the last.

ISBN: 978-1-4268-4959-6

SHIFT

Copyright © 2010 by Rachel Vincent.

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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