Miguel’s still-functioning digits dug into my throat. They reopened the wounds on my neck, cutting off what little air I was receiving.
Desperate to breathe, I broke two more fingers. Miguel’s howl rose in pitch, sounding remarkably like a cat’s screech. I squeezed his crotch tighter, and felt something pop. His shriek rose into tones beyond the human range of hearing. And final y he let me go.
I threw myself onto the dirt path, gasping for air. Ethan pounced, his fur indistinguishable from the night as he leapt over me. Moonlight flashed in his eyes.
Miguel’s keening ended in a wet gurgle. Metal crunched and squealed as Ethan drove him to the ground, flattening a lengthy section of the chain-link fence.
For a long moment, I lay stil on my stomach. I gulped air through my mouth, gorging like a half-starved child at a banquet. Every breath hurt, like swal owing fire.
My neck felt thick and slippery, and I kept touching it to find out what was wrong. It was slick with blood. My blood. Other than that, it felt okay from the outside. On the inside, my throat hurt like hel .
But it was over. Final y, it was al over. We had him, and once we had answers, Miguel would find out how the American Prides dealt with their enemies.
A hand appeared in front of my face. Glancing up, I saw Vic’s face clearly in the moonlight. I took his hand and he hauled me to my feet. Wrapping my arms around his chest, I clung to him, glad to share my simultaneous grief and relief with someone who clearly understood. He hugged me, rocking me gently. I knew he was thinking of Sara.
“Do you want to watch?” Vic asked, lightly stroking my hair.
“Wha?” My voice came out creaky, like I had laryngitis.
He turned me around gently, slowly, and leaned down to whisper into my ear.
“They’re going to do it now. Do you want to watch?”
Miguel lay on the ground, not three feet away. Marc stood next to him, his muzzle hovering over the jungle cat’s belly. Ethan sat by Miguel’s head, his open mouth inches from the criminal’s throat, where blood ran from four deep puncture wounds, one set on each side of his Adam’s apple.
“No!” I croaked, stil clinging to Vic as I stared at Miguel in horror. As I watched, his body shuddered, his legs convulsing. “They can’t do it yet.” I shifted my gaze to Marc, who was already watching me. “You can’t do it yet. We have to question him. We need to know where Luiz is, and who hired them.”
Marc shook his head slowly. Deliberately.
“What? What’s wrong?” I asked, twisting to look up at Vic.
“His throat’s crushed.” Satisfaction and regret battled for control of his expression. “He can’t talk. He’ll be dead soon anyway, but he deserves to suffer before he dies. If they’re going to do it, they have to do it now. In a few minutes, it’l be too late.”
I turned back to the man on the ground, studying his neck carefully in the moonlight. Vic was right. His throat was dented and misshapen. I wasn’t sure how he was even breathing.
Miguel stared up at me, blinking in fear, and I returned his gaze. There he was, the man who’d taken me from my home and beaten me senseless for fighting him. The man who’d kil ed Sara and left her disfigured and exposed for her brothers to find. The man who’d stolen Abby’s innocence and ruined her life.
Now he lay helpless in front of me, his eyes were wide with comprehension.
He must have known it would end this way. There was real y no other possibility.
“Do you want to watch?” Vic asked again, and Marc turned to look at me, waiting for my answer.
Sara’s face flashed in my mind, blue eyes shining at me from within my own memory. I saw Abby, bruised, violated and psychological y scarred. I nodded. I did want to watch. He deserved it. I’d earned it.
Lucas and Vic had wanted a shot at Miguel, but there wasn’t time now to beat him to death. Since neither of them had Shifted, the honor went to Marc and Ethan.
They shared the kil . We al watched.
I’d grown up with the Pride. I’d eaten more fresh deer than birthday cake, but I’d never seen anything like Miguel’s death in my entire life. There wasn’t time for prolonged and excruciating, which had been the plan, so the guys settled for just plain excruciating. And disgusting.
Marc roared in victory, standing over the body of his enemy. The sound was triumphant, and aggressive, and primal. It triggered instinctual longings in my own heart, and made my inner cat beg for the privilege of roaring alongside him.
When the last glorious note faded into the forest, Marc growled and swiped one claw across Miguel’s stomach.
Miguel’s spine bowed, pushing him off the ground as he gurgled and bucked against the pain. Lucas stepped on his fractured left wrist and Parker stood on his right, pinning him down. Four stripes appeared in Miguel’s shirt. Blood poured from the wounds, soaking the material almost instantly. The reddish-black rivulets ran over, flowing to nourish the dirt path with his life force.
Marc stepped back, and Ethan took a turn, crossing the fresh wounds with four stripes of his own, at a ninety-degree angle with the first four. It was disturbingly neat, yet undeniably revolting. Miguel jerked again and moaned, choking on his own blood.
Marc tore into Miguel’s stomach with his teeth, ripping away shirt and skin together. He dropped the hunk of flesh on the ground beside his victim. It reminded me, in a very surreal way, of my own aversion for chicken skin.
Ethan ripped away another chunk, dropping it on Miguel’s other side. They wouldn’t consume a single bite. They weren’t man-eaters, and Miguel wasn’t a meal.
Desperate to breathe, I broke two more fingers. Miguel’s howl rose in pitch, sounding remarkably like a cat’s screech. I squeezed his crotch tighter, and felt something pop. His shriek rose into tones beyond the human range of hearing. And final y he let me go.
I threw myself onto the dirt path, gasping for air. Ethan pounced, his fur indistinguishable from the night as he leapt over me. Moonlight flashed in his eyes.
Miguel’s keening ended in a wet gurgle. Metal crunched and squealed as Ethan drove him to the ground, flattening a lengthy section of the chain-link fence.
For a long moment, I lay stil on my stomach. I gulped air through my mouth, gorging like a half-starved child at a banquet. Every breath hurt, like swal owing fire.
My neck felt thick and slippery, and I kept touching it to find out what was wrong. It was slick with blood. My blood. Other than that, it felt okay from the outside. On the inside, my throat hurt like hel .
But it was over. Final y, it was al over. We had him, and once we had answers, Miguel would find out how the American Prides dealt with their enemies.
A hand appeared in front of my face. Glancing up, I saw Vic’s face clearly in the moonlight. I took his hand and he hauled me to my feet. Wrapping my arms around his chest, I clung to him, glad to share my simultaneous grief and relief with someone who clearly understood. He hugged me, rocking me gently. I knew he was thinking of Sara.
“Do you want to watch?” Vic asked, lightly stroking my hair.
“Wha?” My voice came out creaky, like I had laryngitis.
He turned me around gently, slowly, and leaned down to whisper into my ear.
“They’re going to do it now. Do you want to watch?”
Miguel lay on the ground, not three feet away. Marc stood next to him, his muzzle hovering over the jungle cat’s belly. Ethan sat by Miguel’s head, his open mouth inches from the criminal’s throat, where blood ran from four deep puncture wounds, one set on each side of his Adam’s apple.
“No!” I croaked, stil clinging to Vic as I stared at Miguel in horror. As I watched, his body shuddered, his legs convulsing. “They can’t do it yet.” I shifted my gaze to Marc, who was already watching me. “You can’t do it yet. We have to question him. We need to know where Luiz is, and who hired them.”
Marc shook his head slowly. Deliberately.
“What? What’s wrong?” I asked, twisting to look up at Vic.
“His throat’s crushed.” Satisfaction and regret battled for control of his expression. “He can’t talk. He’ll be dead soon anyway, but he deserves to suffer before he dies. If they’re going to do it, they have to do it now. In a few minutes, it’l be too late.”
I turned back to the man on the ground, studying his neck carefully in the moonlight. Vic was right. His throat was dented and misshapen. I wasn’t sure how he was even breathing.
Miguel stared up at me, blinking in fear, and I returned his gaze. There he was, the man who’d taken me from my home and beaten me senseless for fighting him. The man who’d kil ed Sara and left her disfigured and exposed for her brothers to find. The man who’d stolen Abby’s innocence and ruined her life.
Now he lay helpless in front of me, his eyes were wide with comprehension.
He must have known it would end this way. There was real y no other possibility.
“Do you want to watch?” Vic asked again, and Marc turned to look at me, waiting for my answer.
Sara’s face flashed in my mind, blue eyes shining at me from within my own memory. I saw Abby, bruised, violated and psychological y scarred. I nodded. I did want to watch. He deserved it. I’d earned it.
Lucas and Vic had wanted a shot at Miguel, but there wasn’t time now to beat him to death. Since neither of them had Shifted, the honor went to Marc and Ethan.
They shared the kil . We al watched.
I’d grown up with the Pride. I’d eaten more fresh deer than birthday cake, but I’d never seen anything like Miguel’s death in my entire life. There wasn’t time for prolonged and excruciating, which had been the plan, so the guys settled for just plain excruciating. And disgusting.
Marc roared in victory, standing over the body of his enemy. The sound was triumphant, and aggressive, and primal. It triggered instinctual longings in my own heart, and made my inner cat beg for the privilege of roaring alongside him.
When the last glorious note faded into the forest, Marc growled and swiped one claw across Miguel’s stomach.
Miguel’s spine bowed, pushing him off the ground as he gurgled and bucked against the pain. Lucas stepped on his fractured left wrist and Parker stood on his right, pinning him down. Four stripes appeared in Miguel’s shirt. Blood poured from the wounds, soaking the material almost instantly. The reddish-black rivulets ran over, flowing to nourish the dirt path with his life force.
Marc stepped back, and Ethan took a turn, crossing the fresh wounds with four stripes of his own, at a ninety-degree angle with the first four. It was disturbingly neat, yet undeniably revolting. Miguel jerked again and moaned, choking on his own blood.
Marc tore into Miguel’s stomach with his teeth, ripping away shirt and skin together. He dropped the hunk of flesh on the ground beside his victim. It reminded me, in a very surreal way, of my own aversion for chicken skin.
Ethan ripped away another chunk, dropping it on Miguel’s other side. They wouldn’t consume a single bite. They weren’t man-eaters, and Miguel wasn’t a meal.
