“Where’d you stash her?” Darren clomped up the stairs as I threw open the door to the fourth floor. That was as high as I could get, without heading to the roof. “You know I’ll find her.”

The hallway warped and stretched in front of me, like a carnival mirror maze, and I wasn’t sure whether that was from the tranquilizer or exhaustion.

“Not long now!” Darren pushed open the door behind me, but he wasn’t running anymore, and he wasn’t shooting either. He knew he didn’t have to.

When I realized I wasn’t going to make it to the stairs at the other end of the long hallway, I stopped and grabbed the nearest doorknob. Twisting it took too much effort, and the click of the broken lock sounded distant, as if I were hearing it through a tunnel. I pushed the door open, listening to the steady rhythm of Darren’s footsteps at my back. My legs folded beneath me just inside the room.

Gravity ripped the doorknob from my grip as the floor flew up to meet me, and the side of my skull hit the linoleum with a sickening thud.

A shadowy form appeared over me as I blinked sluggishly, struggling to stay conscious.

“Hello, Abby. I’m officer Darren Park. What do you say we get to know each other?” He lifted me, and as my head fell back against his arm, the world went dark.

“Aaaaabby… Wake up, now.” The voice was familiar, and just hearing it made my stomach churn, but at first, I couldn’t quite remember why. “We have a lot to talk about.” Something patted my cheek, and my eyes flew open. Darren’s face hovered over me, and the memories snapped back into place.

Robyn.

Dart gun.

Hunters.

Nonononono!

I tried to push him away, but my arms wouldn’t move. Neither would my legs. I couldn’t sit up or roll over. I couldn’t move at all except to breathe and to blink. I was frozen. Paralyzed. At the mercy of a psychotic hunter with a badge.

A cold draft stirred my hair from the gap at the bottom of the window. My bare feet were warm from the heating vent over the end of the bed. I couldn’t move, yet I could still feel everything.

Terror surged through me, and my chest felt too tight. I couldn’t breathe. There was nothing covering me but borrowed clothes, yet I felt a brutal pressure crushing me with the weight of my own nightmares. My memories.

I had to move.

“Where’s Robyn?” Darren sat next to me, and when the mattress sank beneath his weight, panic shot up my spine like a flame fed with fuel. I recognized the creak of the springs. I knew every lump and crack in the plaster overhead. I knew that drafty window. He’d carried me back to my dorm room.

I was going to die in my own bed.

“I’ve checked every room on this floor,” he continued. “If I have to go look for her again, you’ll both die slowly and painfully.”

Wait, he’d already looked for Robyn but hadn’t found her? Where the hell was she? Was this some kind of trick?

My pulse thudded in my ears. How long had I been out?

It would have taken several minutes to check every room on the third floor, and Jace had said he was on the way. Could I stall long enough for help to arrive?

“You may not be able to move yet, but you’ll feel every slice.” Darren held up a knife, and fresh panic tangled my thoughts.

“Some kind of miracle drug, huh?” he said. “You’d be surprised what can be removed from the evidence room without anyone noticing. After you and Robyn took out Steve and the others, I realized they’d underestimated you. I won’t be making the same mistake.”

My body was frozen, but my mind raced. Robyn must have crawled out of Julie’s closet while Darren was chasing me on the fourth floor. Which meant that her paralytic had at least partially worn off. Which made sense. Darren was a cop, not a doctor, but he’d know that an overdose could kill, and that it’d be safer to err on the side of caution. At least until he had whatever he wanted from his prey.

He’d been washing a fresh bite wound when I’d found him, and if she’d just bitten him, she couldn’t have been paralyzed for long. If her paralytic had worn off that quickly, mine probably would too. If I could keep him talking until that happened, I might actually have a chance to escape.

Darren stood and the mattress squealed again, but I breathed easier, thanks to the new distance between us. “Where is she, Abby? What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?”

How was I supposed to—

But when my mouth opened, I understood that my tongue was as functional as my eyes. “Fuck you,” I croaked, thanks to my dry throat, and that’s when I realized that pissing off the guy with the knife might not be the best idea.

Darren bent toward me, holding the knife up, and my heart thumped so hard the whole room seemed to shake with each beat.

“Hargrove’s dead.”

Darren blinked, and I relished his shock. The only way to ward off his slice-’n’-dice routine would be to keep him off balance.

“I ripped his throat open and watched him bleed out on the floor.” I tried to move my right hand, but nothing happened. I’d never felt so helpless in my life. The only weapon available to me was my mouth, and I had no choice but to use it. “I hope you have another sick taxidermy station set up somewhere, because your lake cottage is crawling with shifters, and your expert is rotting in a black plastic bag like the human garbage he is.”

“You’re lying.” His grip tightened on the handle of the knife. For a second, I was afraid he’d just stab me and be done with it.

Dial it back, Abby.

“You know I’m not lying. How else would I know about your cottage, with the hidden basement staircase and the stuffed werecat standing guard in your living room? It’s over, Darren.”

“It won’t be over until we’ve hunted every one of you into extinction.”

I didn’t bother telling him that really wasn’t necessary. With so few tabbies, we were headed in that direction anyway.

“You don’t stand a chance.” I watched nervously as he started to pace the length of my bed. “There are only a few of you left, and we know all about the last couple of your hunting buddies.”

“Couple?” Darren laughed, and chill bumps popped up the length of my arms. “Do you actually think Gene Hargrove and I found out about you and your freak shifter species on our own? I wish I could take credit for that, but there are others. All over the world. You guys are a sport. Big game hunters pay serious money to learn how and where to hunt shifters, and the only rule is that they gotta die in cat form. Most of those rich bastards will pay thousands to have their trophies stuffed and shipped home.”