Stray

  The air conditioner clicked off, leaving us in total silence. I hadn’t even realized it was running until it stopped, and suddenly I heard nothing but my own pulse.

  As I lifted the phone to check the time again, a single warbling yowl of pain pierced the stillness, only to be cut off a second later. It came from the north.

  Marc. My head swung toward the backyard. My neck popped but I barely registered the sound. In an instant I was up, running for the back door.

  “Faythe, wait!” Brian shouted, stealth all but forgotten. I ignored him. Footsteps pounded on the tile behind me. Plastic crunched as he stepped on Eric’s phone where I’d dropped it. I turned the doorknob but nothing happened. I howled in rage, panicked because I couldn’t disengage the lock. Why hadn’t we unlocked the doors?

  Brian grabbed my shoulder. I turned on him, hissing. He let me go, palms raised in front of his chest. I shoved him with both hands. He stumbled backward, tripping down two carpeted steps to land on his ass in the sunken living room. He made no move to get up, and I turned back to the door.

  My heart hammering, I gripped the knob with both sweaty hands. I jerked it clockwise. Hard. Something snapped, and the door swung toward me. I shoved the storm door open. Its lock popped too, the sound faint beneath the roar of my pulse in my ears.

  I jumped off the back porch and landed with my legs already pumping. My feet shoved against the earth, fighting gravity itself. All I could think about was that someone on the north side of the path had been hurt, badly. Marc was on the north side.

  Thick clouds hid the moon, and I had only what light filtered through the upstairs windows with which to see. It was just enough for me to make out the top of the chain-link fence thirty feet ahead. I sprinted toward it, flying through the yard. As I neared the fence, I sped up. Grabbing the top of the metal frame, I launched myself over, shredding my palms in the process. I landed on my feet, both knees bent. Shock from the impact rippled its way up my legs. I straightened them slowly, my pain eclipsed by fear for Marc and dread of what I might find.

  Before the tingle faded from my toes, I was running again, headed for the footpath. Fifteen feet from the fence, I tripped over my too-big shoes and fell face-first into the dirt. I stood quickly, brushing fragrant grass clippings from my forearms with palms caked with blood and dirt. But before I could take another step, a deep feline growl rumbled from the trees to my left. The sound rolled across my skin, raising the hairs on the backs of my arms. I froze.

  He stood at the edge of the woods, ten feet down the path. His ears lay flat against his head, the tips pointing to either side. His tail swished slowly against the ground, stirring last years’ dead leaves. Reflective pupils flashed at me as he blinked. He growled again, low and threatening. He was growling at me.

  I frowned at him in confusion. It was Marc. Even half blinded by the dark and with only a moderately enhanced sense of smell, I recognized him. I knew his voice, his purr, his roar, and even his growl. It was definitely Marc, and he was mercifully uninjured. So why was he growling at me?

  Grass crunched behind me. Before I could turn, a hand wrapped around my neck, warm and damp, with a grip like iron. I yipped in surprise, my hands flying up automatically to try to pry it loose.

  Miguel. I didn’t need to see or smell him to know who it was and to realize my mistake. I’d tripped over my own feet, landing within arm’s reach of the man I’d meant to catch. Brilliant, Faythe.

  “Buenas noches, mi amor,” he said, using his free hand to pry my fingers from the hand around my neck. “Going incognito tonight?” Clearly uninterested in my answer, he squeezed my neck slowly, as if in warning.

  I gasped. Panic flooded my bloodstream. A sharp fluttering sensation consumed my stomach, as if the butterflies in my belly had razor-edged wings. I could still breathe, which meant he didn’t mean to kill me. Not yet, anyway.

  For a human, his grip might have been good enough to choke me. I could handle being choked. Choking was slow enough that a good elbow to his gut or stomp on his foot might throw him off balance, or at least give Marc a chance to pounce. But Miguel was a werecat, and his grip was good enough to snap my neck with a single sharp twist.

  But I’d take a slashed throat over a broken neck any day. At least that way I’d get to bleed all over his shoes. One final fuck-you before I died.

  Thirty-One

  Marc’s tail twitched, a play of shadows in the night, and something heavy thumped to the ground on my right, just ahead of us and out of my view. Marc’s eyes slid to the side, peering past me at whoever had dropped from the trees.

  Miguel grabbed my left arm with his free hand, tightening his grip on my neck at the same time. He twisted backward and to the side, dragging me with him into the center of the path. From my new position I could see Marc on the left edge of my vision, his tail swishing along the ground slowly, angrily. Parker now stood on the path in front of me.

  “Come out!” Miguel shouted almost directly into my ear, and I cringed away from the sudden deafening sound. “I know you’re all up there. If you want your tabby to live, come down now!”

  While I watched, my left ear still ringing, Vic dropped onto the path fifty feet behind Parker, from Marc’s side of the woods.

  “There are more, mi amor,” Miguel whispered, his lips brushing my hair. “Who are they?”

  I shook my head as much as I could with my throat in his grip, refusing to answer.

  “Who are they?” His fingers tightened, and my windpipe began to close.

  Marc growled in Vic’s direction, and Vic stepped forward. “Lucas,” he said. “There’s only Lucas.”

  “Lucas, come join us!” Miguel called, loosening his grip on my neck.

  A moment passed in silence, then footsteps sounded from around a sharp curve in the direction of the cabin. Lucas stepped into view, walking slowly and carefully, as if afraid that any sudden movement would startle Miguel into killing me. Maybe it would have.

  My heart jumped painfully as I watched him approach. Where’s Ethan? And for that matter, where was Anthony? But as soon as I thought the question, I knew the answer. Anthony was gone. His dying cry was what drew me outside. The Di Carlos had now lost their youngest son, as well as their only daughter, and it was my fault, because this had been my idea. My stupid, stupid idea.

  “And the one in the house?” Miguel asked, stroking my cheek with his free hand. “The one who shouted your name?”

  He already knew about Brian, so it would do me no good to lie. “Brian,” I called, but my voice came out hoarse, so I cleared my throat and tried again. “Brian, come on out.”

  A soft, low-pitched growl met my ears, and I felt Miguel twist to glance behind us. Brian had Shifted. That’s what had taken him so long.

  “Over there with your friends,” Miguel ordered, and Brian complied, growling as he eased past us to stand between Marc and Parker, just as Lucas joined them. “This is quite a gathering, but I can only think of one thing we have in common.” His free hand slid down my left arm, over my waist, and around my hip.

  Marc stepped forward, still growling. The hand around my throat tightened even more, making my breaths short and shallow. “Get back,” Miguel ordered, and his voice made it clear why Eric and Sean had followed his orders. His was not a voice to be ignored.

  But Marc stood his ground. His eyes were spheres of reflected light, focused just above and behind me.

  “You wouldn’t want anything to happen to your tabby, would you?” Miguel adjusted his grip on my neck, his fingers forcing my chin up. He was no longer choking me. Instead, short, jagged fingernails dug into the skin to the left of my windpipe, his thumb mirroring them on the other side. He wouldn’t bother with breaking my neck now. He would just crush my throat. Or rip it out altogether. Of course, if he did, the guys would make short work of him. That wouldn’t help me though, would it?

  Marc’s eyes flashed at me as if in apology, and he stepped back. But he never stopped growling.

&nbs
p; “What do you want?” Parker asked, his voice taut with tension.

  “Why ask foolish questions?” Miguel’s accent was crisp in my ear. “Ask me what happened to your other cat in the woods. Ask me where Sean is. Ask me where Luiz is. Ask how I got this deep into your territory without getting caught. But don’t insult your own intelligence by asking for answers you already have.”

  Unperturbed, Parker tried again. “Where’s Luiz?”

  “That’s better,” Miguel said, sounding legitimately pleased by the new inquiry. “Instead of answering, let me ask you a question.” He barreled on, without waiting for a reply. “Have you had any trouble with humans? Any women missing? Any bodies found partially consumed? Because Luiz has a…a taste, shall we say?” Delight resonated in his voice, and my chest tightened. He was entirely too happy with his word choice. “Yes, he has a taste for human women. He likes them young and pretty. And raw. And three days ago I sent him on a project in your territory.”

  Project? Was he talking about the girl murdered in Oklahoma? Had Miguel ordered a hit on a human woman? Or women? Why?

  Parker and Vic exchanged a glance. They knew about the human murders. We all knew about them. We just hadn’t known enough about Luiz.

  “He’s a friend of yours?” Vic asked, stepping slowly toward the far edge of the path.

  Miguel’s chin scratched my neck as he spoke. “My brother, and my business partner.”

  “Who do you work for?” Lucas asked.

  “We work for no one. We are…independent dealers.”

  Independent dealers. Riiiiight. As if what he did could ever be defined by such a benign term.

  Lucas frowned. “Who hired you?”

  “Our client list is confidential.”

  What the hell? Was Miguel under the delusion that grand phrasing made his business legitimate? Or honorable? Or valuable? As different as the U.S. Prides were from those in Central and South America, they did have a few things in common. Like strays. No matter how important Miguel thought he was, the truth was that he was a stray, a second-class citizen. His “clients” might be willing to let him do their dirty work, but they’d never invite him to their table. Never.

  “Any idea where we can find Luiz?” This came from Parker.

  “Follow the trail of bodies. Each time he fails, there will be a new one.”

  That was enough for Vic. He didn’t care about Miguel’s cryptic answers. He didn’t care about Luiz and his human women. He only cared about getting me away from Miguel so he could avenge his sister and brother. “You know we won’t let you leave with her,” he said.

  Miguel laughed against my cheek, and my skin crawled with revulsion. “You won’t let me leave without her, either, so I’ll take my chances with the bitch.” His tongue slithered into my left ear, and I tried to jerk my head away, but his grip on my neck stopped me.

  “You want the truth?” Vic asked, his voice cold and hard with hatred. “You’re right. We won’t let you leave. But if you let her go, we’ll make it fast and easy. No pain. You have my word.” He paused, and I saw the lie in his eyes. He wanted Miguel to suffer, and he was not alone.

  When Vic continued, I could barely hear him. “But if you touch her again, I swear we’ll rip you apart one piece at a time and show you the bits as they come off.”

  Miguel laughed again, his chest shaking against my back. “I’ve already had my hands all over her. Haven’t you seen her face?” His right hand tilted my chin toward Vic while his left hand slid beneath Carissa’s halter top and across my bruised ribs. I hadn’t worn a bra because of the spaghetti straps, so when he cupped my breast, he touched bare skin. He squeezed, and tears blurred my vision. Not from pain, but from humiliation and the first infant flames of true rage.

  I snatched his hand out from under my shirt, squeezing his wrist as I pulled. Bones ground together, and Miguel gasped. His right hand tightened around my neck, and suddenly I couldn’t breathe.

  “Watch yourself, mi amor.” His breath teased my ear as I tried desperately to suck in one of my own. In my panic, I squeezed his wrist harder, almost horrified to hear a tiny crack as one of his bones fractured.

  Miguel flinched but didn’t loosen his grip. “You don’t breathe again until you let go,” he whispered, nudging my earlobe with his nose. His nails bit into my neck, seconds from breaking through my skin.

  Marc hissed and took a step forward, but there was nothing he could do until Miguel released my throat. So I let go.

  Miguel’s left arm dropped out of sight, and his opposite hand relaxed around my neck. I drew in as much air as I could, fighting not to hyperventilate now that I could breathe again.

  Marc’s tail whipped back and forth across the ground in warning, but Miguel didn’t seem to notice. “Is this your tabby?” he asked. “Are you the stray I smelled all over her? And I do mean all over.”

  Marc growled and inched forward, but Miguel only chuckled, dismissing him for the moment to address Vic. “If this tabby belongs to him, which one was yours?”

  Vic’s teeth gnashed together. He didn’t answer, but even in the poor light I saw the muscles of his jaw bulge.

  “Well, since the big guy has Abby’s pretty, red curls, I’m guessing Sara meant something to you. That little kitty was something special.” His accent thickened as his words ran together. “Do you know she spit in my face? And bit me?”

  Vic growled. It wasn’t the same sound Marc had made, because a human throat couldn’t produce such a low pitch. Still, it was a great approximation for someone on two feet.

  “Each girl is special, of course,” Miguel continued, wrapping his free arm around my rib cage, heedless of his injured wrist. His thumb brushed the underside of my breast through the nightshirt, and I couldn’t suppress a shudder.

  He liked it. Miguel liked forcing a reaction from me. He pressed me tighter against him, his breath brushing my neck. “Yes, they each have their own style. Some fight up until the very end, like your Sara. Or I guess she’s our Sara now, no?”

  Fury flashed in Vic’s eyes, and Parker put a warning hand out to calm him. They were waiting for a shot at Miguel, and were clearly running out of patience. But then, so was I.

  “Some are too scared to resist at all, but those are mostly the human girls. I think that’s why Luiz likes them. Then others—like little Abby—make a lot of noise at first, hissing, and crying and trying to crawl away. But once you get in one good thrust—” he rammed his hips into me, and I would have lost my balance if he hadn’t been holding me up “—they kind of give up, like there’s nothing left worth fighting for. And Abby was fresh. Untouched. Muy dulce.” Very sweet.

  Lucas’s arms bulged as his huge hands curled into fists. His cheeks flushed in outrage.

  Marc slipped silently forward while Miguel was focused on Lucas, but Miguel caught the movement, even on the edge of his vision. “Uh-uh,” he said. “Don’t come too close. I don’t want to have to break your tabby’s neck. At least not before I’m done with her.” He slid his free hand down my stomach and beneath the low waistband of my borrowed pants, careful with his injured wrist. His fingers hovered just above my pubic bone.

  My hands clenched around material from the sides of Carissa’s pants, and I took shallow breaths, afraid the slightest movement of my stomach would nudge his hand farther down. Only the memory of fighting to breathe kept me from removing his hand myself.

  “She and I have unfinished business. Don’t we, mi amor?”

  Yeah, I thought. Your death.

  His grip forced my chin even higher as his lips brushed my ear. “But I tell you what,” he said, now speaking to Marc. “If I don’t like my free sample, I’ll return her. Used, of course. But then, we strays are accustomed to secondhand goods, aren’t we?”

  If Miguel thought he could bait Marc with jabs at his heritage, he was wrong. Marc had long since developed emotional calluses, and remarks like that didn’t even faze him. But sticking a hand down my pants did.

  M
arc hissed, arching his back as his tail swished furiously. He took several gliding steps toward us, his fur glistening in a beam of moonlight shining through a hole in the clouds. He leapt to one side and landed gracefully on all four paws, several feet from the guys on the path.

  Miguel turned toward Marc, now keeping all five of them easily in view.

  I stared at Marc, confused because his movements seemed pointless and panicked, like a hostage dancing during a bank robbery. But his eyes never left mine. He was up to something. We had come to a standstill. Miguel wasn’t going to let me go, and they weren’t going to let him take me. So something had to change.

  “Skittish, kitty?” Miguel asked, chuckling at what he mistook for nervous indecision on Marc’s part. But Marc never did anything without a reason, even if no one else understood his motive. What the hell was he doing?

  Marc hissed again, showing off long white canines, both top and bottom. His ears flattened against his head as his whiskers arced forward. Leaves crackled as he pierced them beneath his claws. He was posturing, doing everything he could to keep my attention.

  No, wait. Not my attention. Miguel’s. He was trying to distract Miguel, but from what?

  “One move and she’s dead,” Miguel said, finished playing now that Marc clearly meant business. He pulled his hand from my pants and wrapped it around my upper arm, just beneath my shoulder, squeezing hard enough to bruise, in spite of the pain it must have caused him.

  Marc hunkered against the ground. He grew absolutely still, moving nothing but his eyes. He was watching, waiting for the opportunity to pounce.

  Marc’s tail twitched. Miguel’s right hand clenched around my throat. His fingernails sank into my skin with an eerie popping sensation, followed immediately by sharp pain and darkness on the edges of my vision.

  But his grip loosened almost immediately, and I could breathe again. It had been a spasm, I was almost sure of it. Marc had spooked Miguel, whose hand inadvertently clenched around my throat. It was good to know Miguel wasn’t impervious to fear, and that he wasn’t ready to kill me yet. But if Marc pushed him too far, he might do it anyway, by accident.