Stray

  I looked in the rearview mirror, watching the main house as I contemplated what to do. I’d taken that road before. Twice. Both times had been in the middle of the night, in a stolen car. Both times I’d been running away. Both times I’d been caught. But I couldn’t run this time, even just to think. I’d spent every moment since my homecoming trying to convince my family that I’d changed, that I was older and wiser. Sitting at the end of the driveway, freedom within sight, I realized that I couldn’t blame them for not believing me. If I wanted them to take me seriously, I’d have to prove I’d changed.

  Leaving would only prove that I hadn’t.

  Quickly, before my nerve failed me, I slammed the car into Reverse and stepped on the gas with my bare foot, backing carefully toward the main house. I was through running. I would face the consequences of my actions like the adult I’d claimed to be.

  But as the front gate grew smaller in the windshield, my resolve began to falter. I was still determined to confront my fears—just not yet. I still needed to think. I couldn’t face Marc again without knowing what I was going to say to him. Not to mention Jace.

  Halfway down the driveway, I noticed the ruts Owen’s truck had carved through the grass on repeated trips to the barn. I stopped the Pathfinder, staring at the outbuilding in the middle of the eastern field. The barn. I hadn’t been in the barn in ages. We’d played there as children, all five of us. Six, if Jace was visiting. We didn’t have animals, but we always had plenty of hay until Daddy sold it as winter feed. So during the summer, we’d play in the barn, using the bales as forts, castles, wrestling mats, tables and anything else our fertile imaginations could envision.

  Eventually, the others outgrew our hay bale playground, but I never did. In a houseful of boys, I’d needed someplace quiet to think and to read. Even years later, the smell of fresh hay brought to mind hours spent in the company of Jane Austen, Charles Dickens and Louisa May Alcott. The barn had served as my refuge once, and it would do so again.

  Using the side-view mirror for guidance, I backed past Owen’s ruts and shifted out of reverse, then turned onto the dirt path, already imagining the smell of hay. I pulled to a stop twenty feet in front of the barn, leaning over the steering wheel to stare out the windshield for a moment in silence. Nothing had changed. It was as if time stood still on the ranch, like we lived in some kind of weird warp zone of nostalgia.

  I opened the car door and got out, leaving the keys in the ignition and the headlights on. I wouldn’t be able to see much of anything, otherwise, unless I wanted to Shift—which I did not. Serious thinking was best done in human form, with no feline instincts to get in the way.

  My hand was on the knob of the small corner door, about to pull it open, when my bladder gave me my final warning. If I didn’t find a restroom soon, or at least a clump of brush, I was going to embarrass myself and ruin a perfectly good pair of shorts.

  Desperate for relief, I searched the dark for somewhere appropriate to relieve myself. Several yards away stood an apple tree, short but healthy and beautifully formed. It wasn’t my first choice but I no longer had the luxury of being picky. I headed for the tree in an all-out sprint, and almost fell twice as my feet slipped in the cool morning dew.

  The thin tree trunk didn’t provide much cover, but with no one else around, I was only hiding from my own humiliation.

  With the pressure on my bladder relieved, I took my time sauntering back toward the Pathfinder, mentally composing an apology to Marc. Goodness knows I’d done plenty of that in the past. Especially that infamous summer five years earlier.

  Two years before that, when I was sixteen and becoming seriously interested in boys from school, my mother and father had begun to push me toward Marc. They pushed, and I resisted, and they pushed some more. Eventually, they pushed too hard, and I actually fell—right into his bed. And wouldn’t you know it, as soon as they got what they wanted, they reversed course, telling us to slow down, that we had our whole lives to get to know each other that well.

  From then on, they’d tried to keep us chaperoned, at least until I was old enough to get married, the summer I turned eighteen. But by then, as I watched my classmates apply to college and choose their future careers, I’d realized what I would be giving up for Marc: my entire life. So, the night before our wedding, I’d snuck out of the house with my savings and taken Ethan’s then-new convertible for a two-week journey of self-discovery, hunting when I was hungry, and sleeping whenever and wherever the opportunity arose.

  They’d found me, of course, and because I’d still loved him, the apology I owed Marc was the single hardest thing I’d ever had to compose. But this new one came in a close second.

  I was less than a foot from the double barn doors when the headlights flickered to my left. Concerned for Jace’s battery, I turned away from the barn, squinting into the bright light as I veered toward the Pathfinder.

  Metal creaked in front of me, and the lights sank, then bobbed, blinding me all over again. Startled, I jumped, my hand moving automatically to shield my eyes. They focused reluctantly. I froze, my mouth suddenly dry.

  A man leaned against Jace’s grille, his features indistinct in the wedge of darkness between the two cone-shaped beams of light. Had Jace heard me start his car? With my eyes crippled by the headlights, my nose came to the rescue. One whiff of the dew-scented, early-morning air told me exactly who I’d let sneak up on me.

  Sean.

  Cold sweat broke out behind my knees as I sidestepped to my right, out of the blinding glare. As my eyes adjusted to the dark, I made out his face, confirming the identity his scent had already given me. Sean had a rather prominent nose and short, light brown hair, crowning a slender build that almost made him look frail. But he was a tomcat, and no cat was frail. Sean could probably throw your average muscle-bound creep through the wall and into the next room, and the creep wouldn’t realize his mistake until he was already airborne.

  I realized my mistake. I just didn’t know how to fix it. Unless…

  My mind raced as an ambitious idea took shape. I glanced around without moving my head, searching discreetly for any sign of his accomplices. If Sean was alone, I was certain I could take him down by myself. Surely then my father would realize I didn’t need to be protected—or confined. I saw nothing out of the ordinary. Except for Sean.

  “I don’t suppose you’re here to turn yourself in?” I said, keeping him in sight as I backed slowly toward the front wall of the barn. My voice sounded obscenely loud to me in the predawn hush.

  If Sean was worried about anyone hearing me, he gave no sign. Nor did he smile. He just shook his head slowly, firmly. “I’m sorry, Faythe,” he said finally, confirming my suspicion. He had come for me. And from the look in his eyes, I could almost believe he actually was sorry. So why risk coming into Alpha territory—onto my father’s private property, no less? He had to know he didn’t stand a chance.

  “The guys are on their way,” I said, glancing around again as I wiped my sweaty hands on the tail of Marc’s shirt.

  Sean shook his head again, a small smile playing on his thin lips. “No they aren’t. Greg would never let you out alone in the middle of the night.” His eyes flicked to my feet. “And barefoot, at that. They don’t even know you’re gone yet.”

  Damn. He’d called my bluff.

  I took another shuffle-step back, my feet sliding across the gritty dirt. “You were watching the ranch,” I said, realizing I was right even as I spoke. “Where from?” Each minute I could keep him talking would increase the chances of Marc waking to find me gone.

  Sean tossed his head toward the road without ever taking his eyes from me. Smart. “The woods across from your front gate.”

  I blinked at him, my face blank with confusion. He was lying. He had to be. How could a houseful of Alphas not have known the enemy was at the gate—literally? “How long?” I clenched my hands into fists, preparing to fight as adrenaline flooded my veins, bringing with it a sense of panicked
determination.

  He grinned, clearly proud of himself for evading the entire council. “Less than an hour.”

  Oh. That’s how. He’d arrived after the other Alphas left for their hotel and we’d all gone to bed, some of us sleeping off massive amounts of alcohol. I guess patrolling our own property hadn’t been such a bad idea after all.

  My heart thumped painfully as self-doubt chipped at my confidence, wearing away my plan until there was nothing left of it but a foolish impulse. Would anyone hear me scream? I wondered, wishing I could see the main house from my position. Anyone awake would hear me easily, but I wasn’t sure about those sleeping soundly, as everyone surely was.

  Sean shifted against the grille, settling one red sneaker on the front bumper. He propped both elbows on the hood behind him, and my eyes checked automatically for dents in Jace’s new car. “This was supposed to be reconnaissance, strictly look-and-listen. But then you pulled up to the gate, right in plain sight, and he couldn’t resist taking a shot at the grand prize.” Sean shook his head as if he were disappointed in me. “You could have at least made him work for it.”

  “Him?” I asked, already dreading the answer. And too late, I realized what he was doing. Sean was the diversion. He was keeping my attention focused on him, and away from what really mattered.

  The answer to my question came from behind me, the barest whisper of a hard sole on packed dirt. “Buenos días.”

  My heart lurched, and the first flood of true fear washed through me, tingling and scalding at the same time. He was so close his breath stirred my hair, but he hadn’t been there a second ago. I would have sworn to it.

  And the scent was wrong. Close, but wrong. This was definitely a jungle stray, but not the one I’d fought the other night.

  Pain pricked my bare thigh, and my breath caught in my throat. The tranquilizer burned as it invaded my system. A hand clamped over my mouth, cutting off my scream before it even began. Terror unfurled in my stomach and I battled nausea, determined not to choke on my own vomit.

  I half turned and caught a glimpse of strong Hispanic features similar to Marc’s, except for the savage gleam in the stranger’s eyes. Then he swung me back around, his other arm encircling my waist, pressing my back into his chest. All I could see then was the hood of Jace’s Pathfinder, where Sean no longer leaned.

  Giving in to panic, I clawed at the hand over my mouth, confused when my nails wouldn’t sink into his flesh. With my next breath I smelled rubber and understood: he wore long, thick gloves. He’d come prepared. And in that moment, I realized how desperate my plight had become; I’d put myself at the mercy of my greatest fear. Just when I thought I’d reached the pinnacle of bad judgment, I’d surprised myself again.

  Eyes wide with terror, I glimpsed movement ahead and to my left: a car door swinging open. My captor lifted me off the ground, carrying me ahead of him as I struggled. I kicked at his legs, still clawing at the gloves. But before he’d even reached the car, the tranquilizer began to take effect. My arms grew heavy and dropped to my sides. My legs hung limp. I could do nothing to stop him from stuffing me into Jace’s car.

  At the driver’s side of the Pathfinder, he let go of my mouth to buckle my now limp form into the seat, using the shoulder harness to hold me upright. Sean sat behind the wheel with the car already in gear. Why on earth had I left the keys in the ignition?

  Adrenaline raced through me, trying to propel my limbs into action. But nothing happened. I was terrified by my helplessness, my complete inability to command my own body. My head lolling to one side, I stared through tears and graying vision at my abductor as he slid onto the seat next to me. “You’re the stray,” I whispered, mildly surprised by the calm but mushy quality of my own voice. “The jungle cat.” As he nodded, my eyes closed and refused to open, leaving me in the dark, terrified of the hand caressing my face and the voice in my ear.

  “Buenas noches, mi amor,” he whispered, his breath warm against my cheek. It was the last thing I heard before losing the battle for consciousness.

  Sometime later—though how much later, I couldn’t have said—I woke up enough to recognize the jostle and sounds of highway travel, and to realize that the sun had come up. I lay on my side, on the floor of a windowless commercial van. My hands were tied behind my back, but I didn’t have the strength yet to test my bonds. My right arm was completely numb and impossible to move, which I hoped was a temporary state caused by lying on it for too long. But before I could test that theory, I passed out again.

  The next time I woke, the light was brighter through the front windshield, and I still lay on my side in the van. But it wasn’t moving. Two men were arguing in Spanish at the front of the vehicle. Sean and the stray.

  I tried to wiggle the fingers of my right hand, concerned because it was still numb. My fingers worked, but the movement shot an unbearable wave of pinpricks up the length of my arm. And apparently that one small movement caught someone’s attention.

  “Ella está despierta,” the stray said. Vinyl creaked behind my head, and the van rocked. He knelt by my side and took my chin in his hand, tilting my head up so that I had to either look at him or close my eyes. I closed my eyes.

  “You will look at me eventually.” His accent was spicy, the auditory equivalent of a good, hot salsa. Under other circumstances, I might have found it pleasant, but in my current predicament, pleasure was a foreign concept.

  Heart pounding, I pressed my eyes shut tighter, on the theory that passive resistance was my best shot at survival.

  He slid one hand beneath my shorts and stroked my inner thigh.

  I jerked my chin from his grip and scooted backward, skinning my arm on the carpet. Undeterred, his hand followed me, triggering the memory of Marc’s hand in the same place only hours earlier. Marc’s touch had made me cry out, made me writhe in anticipation as I lifted my hips to meet him.

  The jungle cat’s hand sent nausea rolling through me, as much from the contrast as from terror and revulsion. My passive-resistance theory melted away like snow in July. I opened my eyes to glare at him. Fury lent me courage. “Fuck you,” I growled, but it may not have been my best choice of words.

  “Soon, mi gatita,” he said, his breath hot and wet on my cheek.

  I knew enough Spanish to translate that much. He’d called me his little kitty.

  Tossing my hair from my face, I tried to look as threatening as I hoped I sounded. “Get your filthy hand off me before I bite it off.” My neck ached from holding my head up, but I wasn’t willing to take my eyes off the stray. At all.

  Smiling, he squeezed my thigh hard enough to make my eyes water, but I refused to cry out. Laughter met my ears. I hate being laughed at.

  Closing my eyes briefly, I said a silent prayer for speed and force. Then I sucked in a deep breath and kicked out with my left leg. I arced high, aiming for his face.

  The stray caught my ankle in midair. He twisted my leg down and around, using the leverage to flip me onto my stomach. With one hand, he pinned my ankles together, holding my feet in the air above my hamstrings.

  I thrashed, trying to free my feet. It did no good.

  Behind me now, the stray leaned against my legs, pressing the fronts of my thighs into the rough carpet from knee to hip. Straining to look over my shoulder, I saw him pull a coil of nylon cord from his pocket.

  “I enjoy a challenge, gatita.” The cord scratched my skin as he looped it around my ankles tight enough to bite into my flesh. I still fought to free my legs, but he pinned me with his body weight. “And from what I’ve heard, you promise to be the best one yet. Maravilloso.”

  I could guess at that one, too. He was pleased. Great.

  “You underestimated the dosage, Miguel,” Sean said from somewhere behind my head. The van swayed again as he stood. “We’re only halfway there.”

  Miguel glanced up, knotting the cord as he spoke. “Fill another syringe.”

  I heard Velcro rip open and the distinctive clink of glass on
glass. Panic clutched at me with fingers of ice, sending chills throughout my body.

  “Here,” Sean said, and Miguel knelt at my side to accept the syringe. “What if that’s too much?” Sean’s concern sounded real.

  I craned my head to look in the direction of his voice, hoping to make eye contact, but all I could see was a familiar red sneaker near the edge of my field of vision.

  “Then she will sleep through the best part.” Miguel thumped the side of the syringe, studying the dosage.

  The lump in my throat felt as big as a peach pit, but I spoke around it, staring at the needle. “If you sedate me again, I swear the first thing I’ll do when I wake up is kick your ass all the way back to the Rio Grande.” My threat might have been more impressive if I wasn’t speaking with one cheek pressed into the filthy commercial carpet of a rented van.

  Miguel chuckled. “First of all, mi amor, my ass, as you say, is Brazilian, not Mexican. But mi amigo, here, does not understand Portuguese, so we are limited to Spanish and English for our conversations.” He smiled, a grotesque travesty of joy, and the sight triggered my gag reflex. I swallowed convulsively to keep from vomiting, but the worst was yet to come. “And second of all, this tiny prick—” he waved the needle in front of my face “—is the least of your worries, assuming you wake up to feel the next one.” His laugh left little doubt about his meaning.

  Terror tightened my stomach. Pain shot through my limbs as I fought my bindings. I tried to stop, knowing I would hurt myself long before the nylon cord broke, but I couldn’t. Struggling had become an involuntary response.

  Miguel waved the needle in front of my face again, apparently just to watch me thrash. I banged my knee against something hard. Pain shot up my leg, settling in for the long haul behind my kneecap. Angry and hurting, I shouted a series of foul curses, any one of which would have made my mother wince.