Was I the only one who felt like applauding?

“That may be,” Blackwell conceded softly. “And I’m sure I speak for everyone when I say how grateful we are for the tabbies’ well-being. But that doesn’t change any of this, Greg.”

My dad inhaled slowly, obviously trying to regain his composure as his colleague continued.

“The fact remains that two days ago, five members of the Territorial Council met and decided unanimously to remove Kaci Dillon from your care. That decision was based on your own most recent report on her deteriorating health. We sent her with you in the first place because she seemed to have bonded with your daughter, but if that bond cannot keep her healthy, we would rather see the kitten placed with an Alpha who can be counted on to raise her in accordance with the ideals of the council.”

My father’s next words were menacingly soft, and I recognized the current of danger running through them. “Kaci is getting the best possible care here, Paul. Faythe is sure she will Shift very soon—today—and Dr. Carver assures us that once she has, her health problems will clear up almost immediately.”

Blackwell sighed. “I’m sorry, Greg, but that’s too little, too late. We’ve already voted to remove her.”

“Did you vote to kill my son in the process?” our Alpha demanded, and the tension in his office ratcheted up another notch. I couldn’t help wondering if Councilman Blackwell could feel it from his end of the line.

“Of course not. And Calvin will be reprimanded for his entire approach.”

“Reprimanded?” I squeezed Owen’s hand when he took mine to quiet me. “Ouch,” I whispered furiously, half hoping Blackwell could hear me. “Careful you don’t slice him open with your sharp words!”

“Don’t bother!” my father snapped into the phone. “I’ll deal with Calvin Malone myself. And let me tell you something else, Councilman…” Daddy’s words dripped with venom, and as badly as I’d wanted to see him confront the other Alphas over the past few months, I couldn’t shake the certainty that threatening the current head of the council wasn’t the best way to go about that.

But as usual, my opinion was unsolicited.

“Malone has obviously decided that full-scale war is the most expedient way to put himself in charge of the council. Maybe he’s hoping the threat alone will be enough to make me bow out, or maybe he truly believes the rest of you will fight with him. I’d like to think you all understand that fighting amongst the North American Prides will only show our neighbors to the south that we have neither the time nor the resources to deal with the threat they represent.”

My father sucked in a deep breath and closed his eyes briefly before continuing. “But if I’m wrong, if you’ve bought into Malone’s propaganda—his vision of the council as his own person kingdom, with him on the throne—then heaven help us all.”

He paused, rubbing his forehead as if to stave off a headache. “The time for diplomacy has ended, Paul. Now is the time for action, and if a war is what you want, the south-central Pride can damn well deliver.”

With that, my father hung up on Paul Blackwell, dropped the phone back into its cradle, and sank into his chair so wearily he seemed to have no bones left to support his weight.

“Damn…” I whispered, watching as our Alpha wheeled his chair forward and propped both elbows on his desk, burying his head in his hands. He sat like that for several seconds, and I was about to ask if he was okay when he suddenly launched himself from his chair. His hand shot out almost faster than I could track its movement, and a moment later his marble pencil holder slammed into the concrete wall above the bar.

The jar broke into three uneven chunks, raining pens and pencils all over the bar. One piece of marble shattered the glass in which it landed. Another knocked a half-empty bottle of Scotch to the floor, where it remained miraculously unbroken.

Owen rose to clean up the mess, but I couldn’t tear my gaze from my father. Until my mother spoke.

“Greg?”

I turned to find her standing in the doorway, wearing a fresh blouse and pair of slacks, as if it were two in the afternoon, rather than seven-thirty in the morning. She stared at my father for a moment, and when his eyes met hers, something passed between them. Something I couldn’t understand. Something born of thirty-three years of marriage and more shared crises than I could remember, or even imagine.

“Could we have a moment please?” she asked in as reasonable a tone as I’d ever heard, yet there was no question she expected to be obeyed. I headed across the hall into the kitchen, and Owen and Dan followed me. The office door closed softly behind us as I settled into a chair at the breakfast table, suddenly hating the floral-print tablecloth for no reason other than that it was cheerful when I wanted to cry. Or break something.

Owen sat next to me, and Dan took the seat across from him. “Damn,” Dan whispered, rubbing one hand through his thick brown hair. “Do your Alphas always fight like that?”

“Lately? Yeah.”

Owen sighed and set his cowboy hat on the table, which he would never have done in front of our mother. “You think he was serious?”

“Without a doubt.” I was starting to wish I’d snagged a bottle of something strong on my way into the kitchen.

“So…what happened to Ethan? That had nothing to do with Kevin Mitchell, and Marc being missing. Right?” Dan’s eyes pleaded with me to confirm his assumption, as if a connection between the two tragedies would have made the whole thing entirely too complicated to deal with.