Nooooo! I could not come so close to getting him back—alive—only to have him snatched away from me again!

My heart tried to claw its way up my throat, and speech was suddenly impossible. Instead, a choking sound erupted from my mouth as I dropped the gadget on the table and struggled to draw a fresh breath. Only my hand gripping the back of a folding chair kept me upright.

Jace was behind me in an instant, taking the phone from my hand. Breathe…he mouthed, rubbing my back with his free hand.

“Faythe?” Kevin said over the line. Jace put the phone up to his ear, but I snatched it back before he could speak, finally sucking in a deep breath.

“I’m here.” I took a longer, calmer breath that time, and nodded to Jace that I was okay, just as Dr. Carver put a glass of ice water on the table in front of me. “But I want proof that you have Marc. That he’s still alive.”

“Hmm…” Footsteps sounded over the line, and a rough, scratching sound told me Kevin was covering the mouthpiece. Then he was back. “That’s gonna be hard to come by for the moment. He’s unconscious.”

Damn it. “Is he snoring?” I avoided Jace’s wounded gaze. “Or even just breathing loudly? I’ll recognize it, if it’s him.”

“You’re serious?” Kevin scoffed.

“As a neutered tom.”

Dan flinched at my phrasing, and Dr. Carver grinned—perhaps considering performing such a procedure on the wildcat. But Kevin got my point. “Fine. Just a second.” There was more rustling against the phone, then a soft sound met my ears: a strong, smooth inhalation, with just a hint of a rattle.

Tears formed in my eyes, flowing over when I blinked. I’d recognize that sleep-breathing anywhere. One long inhale through his nose, with a slight whistle on the front end, and a little puh sound at the end, where he exhaled through mostly closed lips. It sounded like he had a chest cold—hopefully not pneumonia—but Marc was very much alive.

For the moment, anyway.

I choked off a sob of relief as something brushed Kevin’s receiver again, then he was back. “Satisfied?”

“Not in the least.” I’d just tasted a scrap from the table, when what I really wanted—what I needed—was the whole damn feast. “So how’s this going to work?”

“A simple trade.” I could practically hear the satisfied smile in Kevin’s voice. “You for Marc. You show up alone, or we kill him. You show up without fur, or we kill him. You show up ready to play nice, or we kill him. Got it?”

Yeah, yeah. Standard hostage conditions, and about as sincere as a politician’s promise. “I got it. Who’s we?”

“Just me and a friend. I’m serious, Faythe,” Kevin warned, and all humor had drained from his voice, leaving it cold and empty. “I have no reason to keep Marc alive, except to exchange him for you. If that trade doesn’t work out, he’s no use to me.”

Kevin had been human once. Half-human, anyway. Had exile changed him so much? Or was this desperation to earn his way back into his birth Pride?

“I know.” I sipped from the water Dr. Carver had brought me, then turned my back on the toms and closed my eyes. I wasn’t sure I really wanted to know, but… “What do you want from me, Kevin?”

Someone else—someone not Kevin—laughed lasciviously in the background, until an angry noise from Kevin shut him up. “Information. We just want to talk to you.”

Well, that would certainly be a first…not that I believed it. No one had ever expended so much effort before just to get me to talk; usually people worked to get me to shut up.

“So, what? I show up and you let Marc go? How’s he supposed to leave if he’s unconscious?”

“We knocked him out, and we can wake him up just as easily.”

My grip on the back of the chair tightened until the metal groaned. “Damn it, Kevin, I swear, if you hurt him, I’ll rip your arms out of their sockets and beat your friend to death with them while you bleed out.”

“Oh, I believe you,” he said, though the amusement in his voice said that he did not. “But Marc was hurt long before we got to him.”

“Thanks to another one of your goons. Yet you expect me to just hand myself over and trust you to let him go?”

Footsteps clomped over the line, and that soft refrigerator hum was back, this time followed by running water. “I don’t give a shit what you trust. He goes out the back door the minute you come in the front. Or not at all. We do this my way, or you can take Marc home wrapped in plastic, and have a double service on Saturday.”

Fury shot through me like fire in my veins, and all three toms tensed at the rage and adrenaline I was dumping into the air. “You son of a bitch—”

“Save the drama,” Kevin snapped. “I’ve heard it all before. One hour,” he said, and this time his voice had the sound of finality. “At my house.” He rattled off an address I didn’t bother to write down—we knew damn well where he lived. “My watch says 11:07 p.m. If you’re not there at 12:07, Marc dies at 12:08.”

With that, the line went dead, and I was left staring at my phone. As I shoved it into my front right pocket, already bending for the backpack I’d dropped at some point during the phone call, my gaze caught on the tracker still lying on the table. I’d almost forgotten about it in the excitement of hearing Marc breathe.