Brian grabbed my shoulder. I turned on him, hissing. He let me go, palms raised in front of his chest. I shoved him with both hands. He stumbled backward, tripping down two carpeted steps to land on his ass in the sunken living room. He made no move to get up, and I turned back to the door.

My heart hammering, I gripped the knob with both sweaty hands. I jerked it clockwise. Hard. Something snapped, and the door swung toward me. I shoved the storm door open. Its lock popped too, the sound faint beneath the roar of my pulse in my ears.

I jumped off the back porch and landed with my legs already pumping. My feet shoved against the earth, fighting gravity itself. Al I could think about was that someone on the north side of the path had been hurt, badly. Marc was on the north side.

Thick clouds hid the moon, and I had only what light filtered through the upstairs windows with which to see. It was just enough for me to make out the top of the chain-link fence thirty feet ahead. I sprinted toward it, flying through the yard. As I neared the fence, I sped up. Grabbing the top of the metal frame, I launched myself over, shredding my palms in the process. I landed on my feet, both knees bent. Shock from the impact rippled its way up my legs. I straightened them slowly, my pain eclipsed by fear for Marc and dread of what I might find.

Before the tingle faded from my toes, I was running again, headed for the footpath. Fifteen feet from the fence, I tripped over my too-big shoes and fell face-first into the dirt. I stood quickly, brushing fragrant grass clippings from my forearms with palms caked with blood and dirt. But before I could take another step, a deep feline growl rumbled from the trees to my left. The sound rolled across my skin, raising the hairs on the backs of my arms. I froze.

He stood at the edge of the woods, ten feet down the path. His ears lay flat against his head, the tips pointing to either side. His tail swished slowly against the ground, stirring last years’ dead leaves. Reflective pupils flashed at me as he blinked. He growled again, low and threatening. He was growling at me.

I frowned at him in confusion. It was Marc. Even half blinded by the dark and with only a moderately enhanced sense of smel , I recognized him. I knew his voice, his purr, his roar, and even his growl. It was definitely Marc, and he was mercifully uninjured. So why was he growling at me?

Grass crunched behind me. Before I could turn, a hand wrapped around my neck, warm and damp, with a grip like iron. I yipped in surprise, my hands flying up automatical y to try to pry it loose.

Miguel. I didn’t need to see or smel him to know who it was and to realize my mistake. I’d tripped over my own feet, landing within arm’s reach of the man I’d meant to catch. Brilliant, Faythe.

“Buenas noches, mi amor,” he said, using his free hand to pry my fingers from the hand around my neck. “Going incognito tonight?” Clearly uninterested in my answer, he squeezed my neck slowly, as if in warning.

I gasped. Panic flooded my bloodstream. A sharp fluttering sensation consumed my stomach, as if the butterflies in my bel y had razor-edged wings. I could still breathe, which meant he didn’t mean to kil me. Not yet, anyway.

For a human, his grip might have been good enough to choke me. I could handle being choked. Choking was slow enough that a good elbow to his gut or stomp on his foot might throw him off balance, or at least give Marc a chance to pounce. But Miguel was a werecat, and his grip was good enough to snap my neck with a single sharp twist.

But I’d take a slashed throat over a broken neck any day. At least that way I’d get to bleed al over his shoes. One final fuck-you before I died.

Thirty-One

Marc’s tail twitched, a play of shadows in the night, and something heavy thumped to the ground on my right, just ahead of us and out of my view. Marc’s eyes slid to the side, peering past me at whoever had dropped from the trees.

Miguel grabbed my left arm with his free hand, tightening his grip on my neck at the same time. He twisted backward and to the side, dragging me with him into the center of the path. From my new position I could see Marc on the left edge of my vision, his tail swishing along the ground slowly, angrily. Parker now stood on the path in front of me.

“Come out!” Miguel shouted almost directly into my ear, and I cringed away from the sudden deafening sound. “I know you’re al up there. If you want your tabby to live, come down now!”

While I watched, my left ear stil ringing, Vic dropped onto the path fifty feet behind Parker, from Marc’s side of the woods.

“There are more, mi amor,” Miguel whispered, his lips brushing my hair.

“Who are they?”

I shook my head as much as I could with my throat in his grip, refusing to answer.

“Who are they?” His fingers tightened, and my windpipe began to close.

Marc growled in Vic’s direction, and Vic stepped forward. “Lucas,” he said.

“There’s only Lucas.”

“Lucas, come join us!” Miguel cal ed, loosening his grip on my neck.

A moment passed in silence, then footsteps sounded from around a sharp curve in the direction of the cabin. Lucas stepped into view, walking slowly and carefully, as if afraid that any sudden movement would startle Miguel into kil ing me.

Maybe it would have.

My heart jumped painfully as I watched him approach. Where’s Ethan? And for that matter, where was Anthony? But as soon as I thought the question, I knew the answer. Anthony was gone. His dying cry was what drew me outside. The Di Carlos had now lost their youngest son, as wel as their only daughter, and it was my fault, because this had been my idea. My stupid, stupid idea.