Stray

  Only one room in the house blocked noise that well. Daddy had called a meeting in his office. Without me.

  That’s just freaking great. Irritation flowed through me like the tide, cold and numbing. He drags me back here, then lets me sleep through all the excitement. I tossed the phone onto my dresser, where it slid across the smooth surface and off the far end. I was in the hall before it hit the carpet.

  With my ear pressed to the office door, I strained to hear something. Anything. I got nothing but unintelligible mumbles. Stupid solid-oak door! I tried the knob gently, but it wouldn’t turn. They’d locked it. Nice try, but it would take more than a thumb-press lock to keep me out.

  I gripped the doorknob with one hand over the other and jerked it to the right, hard. The lock snapped, and when I let go, the door swung open to reveal seven surprised faces, gathered around a picnic blanket scattered with the remains of their breakfast: two slices of French toast, a small pile of bacon, and two half-full pots of coffee.

  “Is this an exclusive party?” I asked, coming in uninvited. Everything looked different this morning than it had the night before. The room was brighter, shadows cast from the brilliant overhead fixture, rather than from a dim floor lamp. Light shined in the beveled edges of the matching glass end tables and sparkled on awards in the curio cabinet behind my father’s desk. Yet in stark contrast to the bright, cheery morning, every face in the room was shadowed, seemingly from within.

  “We thought we’d let you sleep in, dear,” my mother said from the leather love seat, where she sat next to Owen. Her eyes and nose were red from crying. Something was definitely wrong.

  “Do we always have breakfast on the office floor now?” I arched an eyebrow at my father, but he just glanced at my shirt and raised one back at me.

  “Remind me not to subsidize any more of your wardrobe,” he said, waving a hand generously at the remaining food. I plopped down on the floor between Ethan and Jace, grabbing a paper plate from the stack. They must have come from the guesthouse, because my mother never bought paper plates. She said they were emblematic of society’s trend toward all things disposable, along with plastic razors, foam coffee cups and shotgun weddings.

  Jace handed me a mug, and I washed down a mouthful of bacon with a gulp of tepid coffee. It was black. Yuck. “So, what’s with the picnic?” I glanced at my mother, but she wouldn’t meet my eyes. Neither would Owen or Parker. I lowered the coffee slowly and looked at Marc, but he only stared at the syrup-sticky crumbs on his plate. Definitely not a good sign.

  “Oh, come on. I’m going to find out eventually, so you might as well get it over with the easy way.”

  Jace squirmed and I pinned him with my eyes. A good hunter can always spot the weakest animal in the herd. Regarding classified information, Jace fit the bill. “Abby’s missing,” he said, glancing at me in sympathy for an instant before staring back down into his mug.

  I made myself swallow my mouthful of coffee, and then clamped my jaws shut to keep from throwing it back up. If it had just been Jace, I could have safely assumed he was playing a tasteless joke, but my parents would never go along with something like that. Neither would Marc, no matter what I’d tried to bite off.

  “Abby?” I prayed silently that I’d heard them wrong. “She’s just a kid.”

  “Seventeen last month,” my mother said. Her glass shook in her hand, sloshing coffee onto her unironed slacks. Owen took it from her gently, and she never even glanced at him.

  “Since when?” I asked, my breakfast forgotten.

  “She went to a party last night and never came back. The host said she left around ten o’clock, and no one’s seen her since.”

  “Ten o’clock last night?” I glanced from my mother to my father, trying to remember what I’d been doing at that exact moment. Probably faking sleep on the drive home. “You’ve known since last night and didn’t tell me?”

  “No.” My father cracked one thick knuckle. “We got the call five hours ago. Her parents wanted to make sure she was really gone before involving anyone else.” Abby and her family lived in North Carolina, which was an hour ahead of us. According to my quick mental math, she could have been missing for as many as thirteen hours.

  My hand clenched around my mug, and I lowered it carefully to the blanket, knowing that if I didn’t put the cup down, I’d crush it. The edges of my vision blurred as the first tears threatened. I blinked them away, impatient for more information. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

  “We thought you might take the news badly, dear.” My mother watched me through eyes glazed with shock. Maybe they shouldn’t have told her either.

  Abby Wade was my mother’s niece, her brother Rick’s only daughter, and in a community with very few women, we were all pretty close, in spite of the distance between us. I’d always thought of Abby as my little sister, and my mother indulged her as she’d never indulged me, because she could send Abby home at the first sign of trouble. Not that Abby ever caused trouble. She was a good girl, liked by literally everyone who knew her. She was the only family member I’d kept in contact with from UNT. In fact, I’d spoken to her less than a week earlier.

  And now she was missing.

  “Who’s doing this?” I demanded of the room in general, knowing no one had an answer.

  “We’re going to find out,” Daddy said. I looked at him with simultaneous hope and doubt. I was way too old to believe my father could make everything okay, but I still desperately wanted it to be true.

  “They asked for help?”

  Daddy nodded, brushing the tip of his chin with the knuckles of his clasped hands. “I’m convening the council. They’ll need a description to start with.” He watched me expectantly.

  I nodded. “Shorter than Marc but taller than me. Small-to-medium build. Black eyes and dark curly hair. Foreign scent—probably a jungle cat.” I glanced at Marc, thinking about what he’d told me the night before.

  “Anything else?” my father asked.

  “Yeah.” I met his gaze, unblinking. “A broken nose.”

  The smallest hint of a smile teased the corner of his mouth, like a twitch. Then it was gone, but it had been enough. He was proud. I could see it. “Thank you, Faythe. I’ll pass the description on.”

  “The Di Carlos’ plane lands at one, and they need a ride from the airport,” Michael said from behind me.

  I whirled around, and Ethan sputtered as my hair smacked him in the face. I ignored him, surprised to realize I’d slept through Michael’s arrival. I should have known that teaching myself to sleep through the incessant noise in an apartment building would come back to bite me on the ass.

  “How many are coming?” Daddy asked.

  “Four.” Michael smoothed the front of another in his collection of nearly identical suit jackets. “Bert and Donna, and two of the boys. Vic’s staying behind to help search for Sara.”

  “I’ll pick them up in the van,” Parker offered, and Daddy nodded.

  “What about Abby’s parents?” Mom asked.

  “Uncle Rick and Aunt Melissa are coming to meet with the council, but the guys are staying behind, in case they find her.”

  “Fine. Thanks, Michael.” Daddy stood to excuse himself, handing his mug to my mother. “I’ll make the rest of the calls personally. We’ll have a houseful by this evening, so I don’t need to remind you all to be on your best behavior.” He was looking at me. Why was he only looking at me?

  “What?” I couldn’t be in trouble already. I’d just gotten up.

  “We’ll talk about Marc’s leg later.”

  Oh. That.

  “It was an accident, Greg,” Marc said without so much as a glance in my direction.

  Daddy eyed Marc with one hand resting on the back of his chair, his gaze unwavering. “She accidentally bit your leg through to the bone?”

  Marc blinked but remained silent.

  “That’s what I thought.” Daddy turned on his heel and headed for the hall, apparently planning t
o make the calls from the phone in his room. He was gruff at times, but almost never truly rude, which meant that he was either really mad at me for biting Marc, or really worried about Sara and Abby. I wasn’t sure which I preferred.

  With my father gone, my mother fluttered uselessly around the office, clearing away food and generally getting on everyone’s nerves. She couldn’t help it. She was visibly upset, and the only way she knew of to deal with strong emotions was to clean everything in sight.

  I hadn’t inherited that particular problem. I dealt with my emotions the old-fashioned way: by tearing things apart. With my teeth and claws.

  What the hell, I thought, glancing at the cold remains of their indoor picnic. I’m hungry anyway. I pulled my top off and dropped it on the floor. The guys stared at me as if I’d lost my mind. Okay, so I’d never stripped in my father’s office before, but I’d have to be naked to Shift, unless I wanted to spend most of my time and money restocking my ruined wardrobe. Which I did not. Did it really matter whether I took my clothes off inside or on the lawn?

  My mother turned toward me with a coffeepot in each hand, her jaw dangling somewhere near her collarbone. You’d think she’d never seen me naked, when I knew for a fact I’d been born that way, and she’d seen me sans clothing on countless occasions since. We’d all seen each other naked; there was no practical way to avoid it, even if we’d wanted to.

  Nudity was too routine in a houseful of werecats to be considered sexual. It took a certain context—a particular kind of intimacy and erotic intent—for bare skin to cross the line between ordinary and arousing. In fact, tight or skimpy clothes were more exciting to most toms because they were intentionally sexy, whereas nudity was simply natural.

  But my mother lived in some kind of 1950s fantasy world that even most human households would consider prudish. “Katherine Faythe Sanders, put your shirt back on this instant!”

  Uh-oh. All three names.

  “Really, Faythe, was that necessary?” Michael asked, but the glimmer of amusement in his eyes was unmistakable. I smiled. Like Daddy, he probably genuinely disapproved of most of my wardrobe, but he had no problem with nudity, so long as it served a valid purpose. Only my mother did.

  I glanced around the room, taking in the guys all at once. “I’m going hunting, if anyone wants to join me.”

  “I’m in.” Ethan’s shirt hit the floor a second before Jace’s. Parker laughed out loud.

  “Boys, please don’t encourage her,” my mother groaned, setting down one coffeepot to prop her hand on her hip. “She’s wild enough on her own.”

  “They’re just blowing off steam, Mom,” Michael said. He hadn’t taken anything off, but he hadn’t stopped us either. Good for him.

  Still fully dressed, Owen stepped over the growing pile of discarded clothes. “I’d love to go,” he drawled, “but I’m coverin’ for Marc in Oklahoma.”

  I crossed my arms beneath my bra, noticing his ensemble for the first time. He wore a T-shirt, jeans, and sneakers. No boots, or even a cowboy hat. He was going incognito, as a normal, non-western human.

  “I’ll be back tomorrow, and I’ll hunt with you then, okay?”

  “Promise?” I asked.

  “I promise.”

  “Be careful.” I hugged him, squeezing as hard as he’d squeezed me the night before.

  He gave me a goofy grin. “What was that for?”

  Sneaking a sideways look at my mother, I tugged him toward the hall. “I’ll walk you out,” I said, pulling the office door shut behind us. We ambled slowly toward the front door. “Marc thinks the stray is involved with Sara, and now maybe with Abby.”

  “I only said it was a possibility,” Marc corrected me.

  I jumped, flushing from embarrassment. He was right behind me, but I hadn’t heard him slip out of the office. I was definitely going to have to work on my listening skills.

  “I’ll be careful,” Owen said, a grin teasing the corners of his mouth. “I have to go now, or I’ll miss my flight. But I’ll see y’all tomorrow.”

  Behind me, the office door flew open, and nude men poured out into the hallway, my mother right behind them. Choruses of “Bye, Owen” echoed across the foyer, and Mom took time out from her tirade on youthful anarchy to give him a kiss. She gave me a scowl.

  I smiled at her, and unbuttoned my pants.

  Ten

  Owen’s car pulled out of the driveway as I led the parade of tomcats out the back door and toward the woods. Because of our various daytime obligations, we rarely got the chance to hunt during the day. Under other circumstances, ours might have been a jubilant excursion, but we didn’t race this time, in spite of the unseasonably cool breeze and the sunlight glinting off our skin. Morning dew lingered in the shaded sections of the yard, but not one eager foot ran to trail through it. We weren’t in a playful mood, and there were no jokes or good-natured boasts about speed and agility, or even the comparative length of anyone’s canines. Michael was right, we were blowing off steam.

  The guys emanated anger, like lightbulbs lit up with rage. They were worried about Sara and Abby, but they were also nursing injured pride. As enforcers, they were insulted that someone feared the council little enough to invade our territory and steal one full quarter of our eligible women. They were eager for the chance to avenge the insult and rip the offender to shreds in the process. And until then, they had some destructive energy to burn.

  I wasn’t insulted. I didn’t really care whether or not anyone feared me, because no one ever had. But I was scared, really frightened, for the first time in my life. I was afraid for Sara and Abby because no matter how hard my mother tried to delude herself, I knew the chances of us finding them uninjured were slim. They were strong, and I couldn’t imagine them cooperating with their captors if they thought there was any chance of escape.

  In spite of Marc’s transparent assurances, I couldn’t believe the human murders and the tabby disappearances were unrelated. I didn’t believe in coincidence, but I certainly believed in justice. And in revenge. If either girl was hurt, the council wouldn’t stop hunting the responsible party until they found him and took him out, not with a vet’s peaceful never-wake-up serum, but in a manner so violent, painful and drawn-out that the mere rumor of what happened would be enough to prevent such occurrences in the future.

  The thought of someone hurting Sara and Abby fueled my Shift, propelling it at a rate I’d never before experienced and dulling the pain somewhat because my brain was too busy to acknowledge discomfort. I came into my fur bursting with a furious energy and the uncontrollable urge to maul something. Or someone.

  Bloodlust. My tail twitched nervously at the thought, trying to deny what my brain knew for a fact. I recognized the symptoms, though I’d never personally experienced them. I had the urge, a true physical need, as well as a psychological one, to sink my teeth into skin and shred flesh with my claws. I could already taste the blood, like a flashback for my taste buds. Only it wasn’t just that I remembered what blood tasted like, but that I could actually feel it in my mouth, a shadow-taste, like a blood phantom haunting my tongue.

  Standing with my front paws nestled in a tangled patch of ivy, I roared, which I hardly ever do. Roaring is really more of a tomcat kind of thing, but at that moment I could find no more appropriate expression for my outrage. And it felt damn good to be heard for once.

  I glanced around, seeing the world in the dull greens and blues of my feline vision. Scattered throughout the undergrowth around me, the guys were still in various stages of Shifting, unable to respond to my roar. I left them behind without a second thought. My anger was different than theirs and would have to be spent differently. And alone.

  When I’d gone a few hundred feet, I heard Marc’s roar and knew it was meant for me. He was normally the fastest of the tomcats, but with his limp, he would never catch me, and with my head start, neither would any of the others. Thinking of Sara and Abby, I ran as far and as fast as I could, not stopping even when my
lungs heaved and my pulse raced.

  With my thoughts on my missing friend and cousin, and on their unidentified kidnapper, the forest took on an entirely new feel. Every whisper of wind through the leaves sounded like someone hissing, “Sara.” Every bird trilling above brought to mind Abby’s clear, ringing soprano. Each shadow held the threat of the unknown, where before they’d held only curiosity and adventure.

  The sounds of the woods mocked my fright, turning my lifelong refuge into a waking nightmare in which every dry crack was a stranger’s footstep, and each new turn took me farther from everything safe and familiar. Dread and fear were ruining my run. I was handing over control of my emotions to some sadistic stray I’d already kicked around once, and that simply wouldn’t do. I had to get ahold of myself. Fast.

  Bloodlust seemed to be the solution to distracting me from my fear.

  Exhausted, I stopped to rest and to drink from the creek. Shiny fish scales flashed beneath the surface of the water, and though I was hungry, I barely glanced at them. I was aiming for something bigger, something I could chase, then rip apart before devouring.

  I heard just the thing.

  To the south, only a few yards away, a single twig cracked, accompanied by the rustle of leaves signaling the approach of something large. I froze, listening, my nose wiggling almost imperceptibly as I sniffed the air.

  Deer. Two of them. A male and a female, based on their scents. I was upwind for the moment, and they obviously hadn’t smelled me yet. A dense tangle of briars separated me from the deer, blocking us each from the other’s sight. They had no idea they were in danger. Perfect.

  Adrenaline surged through me with the power of a hundred cups of coffee. The chemical jolt of caffeine couldn’t compare to the natural high of the hunt. I looked up and around, searching for exactly the right branch. I found one with little trouble. It was low enough to jump onto without climbing, thick enough to hold my weight for at least half of its length, and close enough to others that I could effectively walk on a path of tree limbs until I was ready to pounce. Assuming the deer didn’t hear me and bolt.