Stray (Shifters #1)(23)

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.
I hunkered on my back legs, wiggling my hindquarters to find just the right position. My eyes focused on the low branch. I jumped. My front paws hit first, in silence, followed an instant later by my hind paws. I fought panic as my left hind leg slipped from the branch, threatening to upset my balance. I clenched the branch with my hind claws, freezing in place until I regained my equilibrium. Huffing in relief, I repositioned myself slightly for a better view. From my new height, I could see the deer in a small clearing ahead: a light brown doe and her fawn, his back sprinkled with white spots.
For a moment, I felt a twinge of guilt over my intent to kill Bambi’s mother, but such was the way of life in the forest, and it didn’t bother me for long. Especially when I saw the fawn tugging on a low leaf. If he was old enough to eat greens, he was at least partially weaned and probably old enough to survive on his own.
Heart pounding, I tensed, getting my balance just right. I jumped up onto the next branch, pausing briefly to steady myself before taking the next leap. I approached my prey from behind as the wind carried her scent to me, like a preview of coming attractions. Ahead, the doe leaned down to nibble at a blade of grass, blissfully unaware of what the next few minutes would bring. Her ignorance excited me, bringing my breath in fast, quiet pants. Her life depended entirely on my whim, and I loved the feeling of power that knowledge brought. For the first time since I’d come home, I was in control, with no one to answer to and nothing to fear.