Stray (Shifters #1)(42)

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 pin-pricks 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.