Pride (10 page)

They’d also definitely altered our course, so that we were no longer leading the stray to the murder scene.

“What are we doing?” I breathed so softly I barely heard my own voice. But Marc heard me.

“Drawing him out,” he murmured as softly as I’d spoken. Memories of us whispering to each other on much more pleasant nights almost made me miss his next words. “We’re going to have to let Jace take him.”

“He won’t go near Jace,” I whispered. “The claws are too much of a threat. One of us will have to draw him out.”

“I’ll do it.” His response was automatic, and it was exactly what I’d known he’d say.

“He won’t be interested in you. I’m better bait.”

“No.”

I’d known he’d say that, too. It was a direct quote from my father.

“Fine. Lose him.” I resisted the urge to shrug and let the stray know we were whispering. “Malone’s just waiting to see all three of us humiliated, and this will make him pretty damn happy.”

“You can be a real bitch sometimes,” Marc said without pausing even a second in his smooth, relaxed gait. But there was real irritation in his tone.

“So I’ve heard.” I smiled in the dark, knowing I’d won. “We gonna do this or not?”

“Fine. You get to play your favorite role. I’ll kiss you, and you slug me. Make it good, then run off.”

He was going to kiss me? “He’ll never buy that,” I said, stepping over a fallen pine branch. But in truth, my hesitation came from the potential kiss—our first since we broke up. Kissing Marc was not a good idea. It would just make me want more of what I could no longer have.

“Of course he will. He’ll buy it because he wants to. And so what if he doesn’t? No stray’s going to give up his shot at a tabby. You’ll run off, he’ll follow you, we’ll follow him, me on the ground, Jace in the trees.”

Jace fake-sneezed to let us know he understood his part.

Before I could argue further, Marc grabbed my arm and swung me around. He kissed me so hard and fast I didn’t have time to think. Which was bad, because I forgot I was supposed to be resisting. Instead, I
settled,
sinking into him like I might my favorite armchair.

Some unacknowledged tension in me eased, and I felt myself relax, both mind and body. Even with Jace listening and the stray no doubt watching from the brush, Marc’s scent and touch—as familiar to me as the planes of my own face—triggered responses I’d thought never to feel again. At least, not until I’d convinced him to give me another chance.

I tasted Marc, and recollection merged with reality, leaving me hopelessly confused, and craving something that was no longer an option. For several moments I kissed him back, and he let me, our role-playing forgotten amid the assault of memory and craving.

Then, when I’d nearly forgotten not only where I was, but
who
I was, his left hand snuck beneath my jacket and up my shirt. He pinched the flesh over my ribs, twisting brutally.

I gasped and shoved him away, furious until I remembered that I’d missed my cue. “Son of a bitch! That—”
fucking hurt! “—
was
completely
out of line!” My right hand curled into a fist, and when I let it fly, Marc didn’t duck. He took the blow as planned, on his left jaw. His head snapped back, and before he could “recover,” I took off through the brush.

Before I’d gone twenty feet, I stumbled over an exposed root, and had to grab a branch to stay upright.
Stupid human feet.
I glared at a clump of brush I could have bounded right over on four legs, but had to go around on two, my arms pumping furiously at my sides. I kept one eye on the ground, desperately wishing for my sharper cat’s vision as I searched the shadows in vain for obstacles before I tripped over them.

I had to concentrate so hard on staying upright and in motion that at first I thought of nothing but outrunning the
stray. I paid little attention to where I’d been or where I was headed—or where Marc and Jace had gone—because I was accustomed to running in cat form, with a sensitive nose and ears to guide me.

After a couple of minutes of running, I realized I was alone. I stopped in a small clearing to listen. My own heartbeat drowned out the ambient chirps, croaks, and slithers of any woodland creatures not scared off by my mad dash through their forest home, but above even that I heard the distant sounds of a human crashing through the woods in my direction.
Marc
.

He and Jace had probably hung back at first, to let the stray think he had a chance, but they were no longer playing around. They—though I couldn’t hear Jace, in cat form—were racing toward me now. However, even as I listened, the sounds veered to the west. If they didn’t correct their course, they’d miss me. But if I alerted them too soon, they might arrive before the stray, and ruin our chance to catch him.

On the other hand, if the stray arrived too early, I’d be well and truly
fucked
.

From the south, dry leaves crunched and a twig snapped. It was Marc, not quite as stealthy on two feet as he was on four. Or maybe he was letting me know he was near. I strained against the near silence, listening so hard my own pulse roared in my ears, but I heard nothing from either Jace or the stray. Neither could I smell them, which was starting to make me nervous in spite of the breezeless night and my less capable human nose.

I turned a slow circle in the clearing, eyes open for any sign of sleek, glossy fur amid the shadows and thick brush. Before I’d completed an entire rotation, a sudden awareness sent chills up my spine, and neither it nor the goose bumps sprouting on my flesh were due to the mid-November cold.

I was being watched. Some subconscious cat part of me
had picked up a subtle scent or sound and raised a red flag for my conscious human half.

My heart hammered hard enough to bruise me from the inside out, and I could barely hear over it. I turned slowly, and at first saw nothing but more trees and bushes. But then there was a small flash of light in the dark. No, not
a
flash.
Two
flashes of white light in the deep night shadows. Moonlight reflecting off cat eyes.

I slid my right hand slowly into my back pocket and pulled out the folding knife, my finger on the button and ready to press. But I kept it behind my back, out of sight. A surge of adrenaline raced through me, and my free hand curled into a fist. Those were
not
Jace’s eyes. They were a pale, earthy greenish-brown, with no hint of blue. My pulse rang in my ears.

The stray had found me first.

T
he cat blinked, and I shuffled backward. Dead leaves crunched underfoot, and I winced at the sound, as if it might give away my position. But I’d already been found by one tom, and needed to be found by two more.
Maybe I should start shouting…

No.

Foliage rustled as he stepped out of the bushes, tail swishing slowly, head high, ears pricked and on alert. I studied him, memorizing his form for possible identification later—one of the first things I’d learned as an enforcer. I inhaled, learning his scent, too, which told me without a doubt that he was male. And that he had
not
infected the stray I’d killed with the meat mallet. But just because he hadn’t scratched
that
stray didn’t mean he hadn’t infected another. Or done something worse.

He carried no stench of disease or infection, and he walked without a limp, both of which indicated good health. He looked young—I was guessing early thirties—and was smaller than Marc. Unfortunately, for werecats, size wasn’t the only determining factor for danger; I was proof enough of that.

But the bottom line was that he was a stray tom, and I was a tabby. He was drawn to me by curiosity, and by an instinct he hadn’t been born with and probably didn’t yet understand. To walk away unscathed, I’d have to satisfy his interest and keep him calm until Marc and Jace arrived.

“Good kitty, kitty,” I murmured, unwilling to release the blade on my knife until or unless he looked openly hostile. Wielding my weapon too soon would almost surely provoke that hostility.

Marc, where the hell are you?

The stray took another step toward me, his ears folded back, tail held low and stiff. He was still more curious than aggressive, which was no big surprise. I was typically the first tabby most strays had ever seen, and they generally had no idea there was anything to fear from me until it was too late. Of course, I was usually in cat form too, and I was
never
unaccompanied…

Okay, there has to be some kind of protocol for this
. Still eyeing the cat, I searched my memory, running through everything I’d learned since becoming an enforcer. What did the guys do when they were stuck in human form, barely armed, facing a stray with full use of his claws and canines?

The answer did nothing to reassure me: They fought, or they died.

Fighting was a last resort, and dying wasn’t an option.
So, what are you good at?

Talking. According to Marc, I could talk the color off a crayon. Of course, that usually got me
into
trouble, rather than out of it. But it was worth a shot.

I got as far as, “Hi,” then I was stuck. I couldn’t decide between, “What’s your sign?” and “Please don’t eat me.”

The cat ignored my greeting, and his nose twitched as he took in my scent. He hadn’t seen my weapon, and if he’d smelled the metal, he didn’t seem bothered by it. He edged
closer and I backed up, but after one step my foot landed unevenly on a mound of dirt, and my right hand—still clutching the knife at my back—scraped a tree trunk. There was nowhere else to go, unless I was willing to run from the cat. But that would be suicide. Even if he didn’t
plan
to attack, if I ran, he’d chase me out of instinct.

“Do you live around here?” I asked after a moment’s hesitation.

To my surprise, the stray cocked his head to one side, as if in question. Or confusion.

“Here.” I raised my left arm to take in the immediate surroundings, and the cat jerked.
No sudden moves, Faythe. He’s already jumpy.
“Do you live in these woods? On this mountain?”

That time he bobbed his head once, then tossed his muzzle toward the north.

“You live that way?” I asked, and he nodded again. Suspicion sent a vine of doubt twisting through me. Keller hadn’t mentioned any werecats
living
near his territory—only loud, obnoxious invaders.

I glanced toward the north, as if I might be able to see his home through all the trees and brush—not to mention the mountainside—and thus verify his claim. And when I turned to face him again, the stray stood less than five feet away, still watching me. He’d distracted me, then snuck up on me, and I’d fallen for it, thrown off by his apparent cooperation.

“Clever kitty.” Unlike the last stray,
this
one was neither sick nor confused, so I saw no reason not to gut him if he pounced.

The cat’s nose twitched again, and his whiskers arced forward. He froze, and his ears swiveled one hundred and eighty degrees, listening to something outside the range of my regrettably human ears.

Marc and Jace?
Please let it be them.

Eyes still on me, the stray began to swish his tail slowly. His
ears returned to their normal position. I had his full attention now, and could practically see eagerness in his very feline expression.

He was preparing to make a move. Either Marc and Jace were too far away to worry about, or they were close enough to rush him into action. I was betting on the former, since I could neither hear nor smell them.

I swallowed thickly and inched another step to the right, my spine still pressed against the tree, the knuckles of my right fist scraping against bark. “What do you…?”
Damn it, yes-or-no questions, Faythe.
“Do you want something from me?”

The stray bobbed his head again, and a soft, low-pitched bleating sound rumbled up to me. He was purring, now less than a foot away. His gaze was glued to my face, his mouth open, teeth exposed.

Unfortunately, I was pretty sure I knew what he wanted, and “companionship” didn’t quite cover it. That was the problem with being one of very few tabby cats in existence. The supply doesn’t meet the demand, so those demanding often got a little…
eager
.

The cat closed the distance between us. My heart thudded in my throat. He nudged my left hand with his head, and I tried not to flinch. I consider uninvited physical contact grounds to bite off some part of the offender’s body.

My dull human teeth would only piss him off. But even with it behind my back, my knife was inches from his throat. I could end our little standoff with the press of a button and one quick slash.

But he hadn’t actually hurt me, or even really threatened me, so killing him seemed a little…rash.

Dread settled into my stomach like sour milk at the realization that unless I was willing to kill him, I had no real recourse, other than cooperation. I spread my free hand, hoping to pacify him—though the very
thought
of playing along struck discordant notes of fury and disgust in me. He rubbed one cheek
against my palm, much as Jace had done minutes earlier. He was replacing Jace’s scent with his own, effectively claiming me.

My skin crawled with revulsion. Casual physical contact among littermates or Pride members was both accepted and expected. But between strangers, it was an insult. A threat. A social faux pas about the size of the Grand Canyon.

I told myself the stray probably didn’t know that; he hadn’t grown up in our society. But I had, and I couldn’t help feeling disrespected. The best I could do was cringe quietly, knowing any resistance I gave could get one of us hurt, if not killed. And since survival trumped pride any day of the week, I was more than willing to play along. Just not happily.

I was just getting a handle on my own revulsion, when a feline snarl ripped through the forest from a distance, shredding our pretense of friendly petting as well as the eerie hush around us.

The stray froze beneath my hand. My fingers went still and my eyes closed in silent prayer. The snarl hadn’t come from Jace, but I had no doubt it involved both him and Marc, and that it was the reason they had yet to arrive.

Leaves crunched at my feet, and suddenly my hand was empty. Something tugged on my jacket sleeve and I opened my eyes to find my left cuff pinched between the cat’s front teeth.

“Hey, let go!” I demanded, summoning anger to replace the fear curdling the contents of my stomach. Fear cripples you, but anger helps you fight, and I now knew without a doubt that I would soon be fighting. “You do
not
want to know what happened to the last cat who pissed me off.”

Okay, technically all I’d done was scratch the end of his nose with my partially Shifted teeth, but the cat
before
that…
He’d
gotten his brains splattered all over both me and several square feet of dry brown grass.

In response to my blatant but evidently unbelievable threat, the stray rolled his eyes—an oddly human gesture for a cat—and tugged urgently on my sleeve.

What he wanted was clear. It was also not going to happen.

“Uh-uh!” I shook my head. “No way in
hell
am I going to wander off through the woods with the first tom who rubs up against me.”

The stray growled fiercely, and my pulse thundered in my ears. My nose picked up a sudden surge of the stray’s scent in the air. He was pissed, and likely scared, and his body was releasing extra pheromones to warn everyone near him. Which would be me. Only me. All by myself.

However, even if he
was
trying to help me, I couldn’t leave Marc and Jace behind, especially when one or both of them might be injured.

He pulled my sleeve again, hard this time. “You can’t just
grab
strange girls and start dragging—”

But apparently I was wrong, because he planted his rear feet firmly in the ground and gave my jacket a mighty yank. I had to brace a hand on his shoulder, curling my fingers in thick, unfamiliar fur to remain standing. The next tug moved us several feet, me hunched over and tripping in the meager moonlight, him stepping quickly and confidently, even moving backward.

“Stop it!” I shouted on purpose this time, hoping Marc and Jace were close enough to hear me. But my words gave the stray no pause. The time had come for more offensive measures.
Damn it
.

I drew the knife from behind my back, slamming one finger down on the button. The blade popped out with a satisfying metallic thunk. “You’re not giving me many options here,” I warned as his eyes lit on the blade, gleaming in a stray beam of moonlight.

He growled again, and for a moment, neither of us moved. Then he braced his front paws on the ground and jerked me to his right by my arm. I stumbled, off balance, and only remembered to swing the knife up at the last second. But that was a second too late.

His left paw arced toward me and slapped at my hand. Even with his claws retracted, the powerful shot knocked the knife from my fist and left my whole arm numb and tingling.

The knife flew off to my right and clattered against a tree trunk, then disappeared, buried within a pile of leaves. Now I was alone with an unknown stray, in the dark, in unfamiliar woods—and completely unarmed. If I remained stuck in human form much longer, I was clearly going to need some serious training with a blade.

Until then, all I had was anger and instinct, now singeing every nerve ending in my body. I was one big live wire, buzzing with fear and indignation. But my indecision was gone. “Let me go!” My arm flew along with my last word, and my fist slammed into the side of his skull before the cry had faded from my mouth.

Stunned for a moment, the stray swayed on his feet—all four of them. He blinked, then his mouth opened, and I was free.

I raced down the dark hillside in the direction I’d come from. Hopefully. At my back, the stray roared in fury, and thundered after me. “Marc!” I yelled as the running pant closed in on me from behind. “Jace!”

“Faythe!”

My head whipped around in search of Marc’s voice. He was at least okay enough to yell, and he wasn’t too far away now. I veered toward him, confident he would never have revealed his location if the cat who’d snarled was still a threat.

From behind me came a harsh crunch-sliding sound and the pant of labored breathing as the stray made a sharp turn to follow me. His next huff was too close for comfort—too close for
survival
—so I shot forward to gain a little distance, then skidded to a halt, spinning on a bed of leaves before I’d even stopped sliding. I grabbed a bare branch overhead with both hands. The stray lunged for me. Grunting, I swung
myself forward. Bark cut into my palms. My legs arced into a beam of moonlight, knees bent.

I didn’t make it into the tree—a world-class gymnast I am
not
—but my legs swung high enough that the stray passed right under me. By the time he skidded to a halt, I was racing in the opposite direction, away from both friends and foe.

I couldn’t outrun the cat, much less outclimb him, and I could only avoid him until he tired of the chase. Or until I grew too exhausted to continue—which would be any moment. Already my lungs burned, and my side felt like it was being ripped open with each deep breath.

Out of options now, I slowed to first a jog, then a walk, one hand pressed to my left side. Then I stopped entirely. Behind me, the cat’s steps slowed too, which I took as further proof he was trying to catch me, not kill me. Unfortunately, that knowledge wasn’t very reassuring. If he got close enough, he could knock me out with the swipe of one sheathed claw, then drag me anywhere he wanted.

I turned to face the stray, leaning against the nearest tree trunk, and immediately held my palm out in the universal signal for “stop.”

The stray threw his head back and roared, and his fury echoed throughout the trees. It was pretty impressive. But it didn’t change my mind. I was
not
going with him.

He started forward, determination written in each firm step, and I backed away slowly. I was trapped again, and too exhausted to run. But I was my father’s daughter, and I would
not
go down without a fight.

My right hand curled into a fist, and I took my “ready” stance, showing the stray my intent. Then a deep growl rumbled over me, humming in my very bones. It was aggressive and angry—a very fine threat. With a very
familiar
feel…