Fresh pain burst to life in my rib cage, radiating in a widening circle. One hand pressed to my side, I struggled to stand up straight, panicked when I couldn’t.
An ugly cackling laugh clawed my inner chalkboard and pissed me off. This was my campus, and my Pride’s territory. He was the outsider, and it was time he learned how Pride cats dealt with intruders.
He pulled his fist back for another blow, but this time I was ready. Ignoring the pain in my side, I lunged to my right, reaching for a handful of his hair. My fingers tangled in a thick clump of curls. I shoved his head down and brought my knee up.
The two connected. Bone crunched. Something warm and wet soaked through my jeans. The scent of fresh blood saturated the air, and I smiled.
Ah, memories…
The stray jerked his head free of my grip and lurched out of reach, leaving me several damp curls as souvenirs. Wiping blood from his broken nose, he growled deep inside his throat, a sound like the muted rumble of an engine.
“You should real y thank me,” I said, a little impressed by the damage I’d caused. “Trust me. It’s an improvement.”
“Jodienda puta!” he said, spitting a mouthful of blood on the concrete.
Spanish? I was pretty sure it wasn’t a compliment. “Yeah, wel , back at ’cha.
Get your mangy ass out of here before I decide a warning isn’t enough!”
Instead of complying, he aimed his next shot for my face. I tried to dodge the punch, but couldn’t quite move fast enough. His fist slammed into the side of my skul .
I reeled from the blow, fireworks going off behind my eyelids. My head throbbed like a migraine on steroids. The whole world seemed to spin just for me.
At the edge of my graying vision, the stray fumbled for something in his pocket, cursing beneath his breath in a Spanish-like language I couldn’t quite identify. His arm shot out again. Not steady enough yet to move, I braced myself for impact. The blow never came. He grabbed my arm and pulled trying to haul me away from the deserted student center.
What the hell? When confronted by a Pride cat, any stray in possession of two brain cel s to rub together would take off with his fur standing on end. After what I’d done to his face, this one should have run screaming from me in terror. It was because I was a girl, I knew it. If I were a tomcat instead of a tabby, he’d already be halfway to Mexico.
I hate it when men aren’t afraid of me. It reminds me of home.
Backpedaling to keep from fal ing, I tried to yank my arm from his grip. It didn’t work. Angry now, I swung my free fist around, smashing it into his skull. He grunted and dropped my arm.
I rushed toward the al ey and snatched my bag from the ground. The stray’s footsteps pounded behind me. I tightened my grip and whirled around, swinging the pack by its straps. It smashed into his left ear. His head snapped back and to the side. More blood flew from his nose, splattering the parking lot with dark droplets.
The stray fel on his ass on the concrete, one hand covering the side of his head. He stared at me in astonishment. I laughed. Apparently the complete works of Shakespeare packed quite a wal op.
To think, my mother said I’d never find use for an English degree. Ha! I’d like to see her knock someone sil y with an apron and a cookie press.
“Puta loco,” the stray muttered, digging in his pocket again as he scrambled to his feet. Without another word—or even a glance—he took off across the parking lot toward the Lincoln. Seconds later, tires screeched as he peeled from the lot, heading south on Welch Street.
“Adios!” I watched him go, sore but pleased. Surely after that, Daddy will have to admit I can take care of myself.
Panting from exertion, I threw my bag over my shoulder and glanced at my watch. Damn. Sammi would be home from study group soon, and she’d be horrified by my bloody jeans and brand-new bruises. I’d have to change before she got in.
Unfortunately, keeping bruises hidden from Andrew would be much harder. Dating humans could be a real pain in the ass sometimes.
Stil picturing the intruder’s mutilated face, I turned back toward the al ey—and came face-to-face with another stray. Wel , face-to-head-shrouded-in-shadow, anyway. He stood five feet away, just out of reach of the pale moonlight, and I could see nothing but the hands hanging empty at his sides. I knew at a glance that they could do serious damage, even clenched around nothing but air.
I didn’t need to smel this stray to know who he was; his scent was as familiar to me as my own. Marc. My father’s second-in-command. Daddy had never sent Marc before—not once in five years. Something was wrong.
Tension crept up my back and down my arms, curling my hands into fists. I gritted my teeth to hold in a shriek of fury; the last thing I needed was to cal attention to myself. Human do-gooders were always out to save the world, but few of them had any idea what kind of a world they real y lived in.
I stepped slowly toward Marc, letting my backpack slide down my arm to the ground. I fixed my gaze on the shadow hiding his gold-flecked eyes. He didn’t move.
I came closer, my pulse pounding in my throat. He raised his left hand, reaching out to me. I slapped it away.
Shifting my weight to my left leg, I let my right foot fly, hitting him in the chest with a high side kick. Grunting, he stumbled into the al ey. His heel hit the corner of a wooden crate and he fel on his ass on a damp cardboard box.
“Faythe, it’s me!”
“I know who the hell you are.” I came toward him with my hands on my hips.
“Why do you think I kicked you?” I pulled my right foot back, prepared to let it fly again. His arm shot out almost too fast to see, and his hand wrapped around my left ankle. He pulled me off my feet with one tug. I landed on my rear beside him, on a split-open trash bag.
An ugly cackling laugh clawed my inner chalkboard and pissed me off. This was my campus, and my Pride’s territory. He was the outsider, and it was time he learned how Pride cats dealt with intruders.
He pulled his fist back for another blow, but this time I was ready. Ignoring the pain in my side, I lunged to my right, reaching for a handful of his hair. My fingers tangled in a thick clump of curls. I shoved his head down and brought my knee up.
The two connected. Bone crunched. Something warm and wet soaked through my jeans. The scent of fresh blood saturated the air, and I smiled.
Ah, memories…
The stray jerked his head free of my grip and lurched out of reach, leaving me several damp curls as souvenirs. Wiping blood from his broken nose, he growled deep inside his throat, a sound like the muted rumble of an engine.
“You should real y thank me,” I said, a little impressed by the damage I’d caused. “Trust me. It’s an improvement.”
“Jodienda puta!” he said, spitting a mouthful of blood on the concrete.
Spanish? I was pretty sure it wasn’t a compliment. “Yeah, wel , back at ’cha.
Get your mangy ass out of here before I decide a warning isn’t enough!”
Instead of complying, he aimed his next shot for my face. I tried to dodge the punch, but couldn’t quite move fast enough. His fist slammed into the side of my skul .
I reeled from the blow, fireworks going off behind my eyelids. My head throbbed like a migraine on steroids. The whole world seemed to spin just for me.
At the edge of my graying vision, the stray fumbled for something in his pocket, cursing beneath his breath in a Spanish-like language I couldn’t quite identify. His arm shot out again. Not steady enough yet to move, I braced myself for impact. The blow never came. He grabbed my arm and pulled trying to haul me away from the deserted student center.
What the hell? When confronted by a Pride cat, any stray in possession of two brain cel s to rub together would take off with his fur standing on end. After what I’d done to his face, this one should have run screaming from me in terror. It was because I was a girl, I knew it. If I were a tomcat instead of a tabby, he’d already be halfway to Mexico.
I hate it when men aren’t afraid of me. It reminds me of home.
Backpedaling to keep from fal ing, I tried to yank my arm from his grip. It didn’t work. Angry now, I swung my free fist around, smashing it into his skull. He grunted and dropped my arm.
I rushed toward the al ey and snatched my bag from the ground. The stray’s footsteps pounded behind me. I tightened my grip and whirled around, swinging the pack by its straps. It smashed into his left ear. His head snapped back and to the side. More blood flew from his nose, splattering the parking lot with dark droplets.
The stray fel on his ass on the concrete, one hand covering the side of his head. He stared at me in astonishment. I laughed. Apparently the complete works of Shakespeare packed quite a wal op.
To think, my mother said I’d never find use for an English degree. Ha! I’d like to see her knock someone sil y with an apron and a cookie press.
“Puta loco,” the stray muttered, digging in his pocket again as he scrambled to his feet. Without another word—or even a glance—he took off across the parking lot toward the Lincoln. Seconds later, tires screeched as he peeled from the lot, heading south on Welch Street.
“Adios!” I watched him go, sore but pleased. Surely after that, Daddy will have to admit I can take care of myself.
Panting from exertion, I threw my bag over my shoulder and glanced at my watch. Damn. Sammi would be home from study group soon, and she’d be horrified by my bloody jeans and brand-new bruises. I’d have to change before she got in.
Unfortunately, keeping bruises hidden from Andrew would be much harder. Dating humans could be a real pain in the ass sometimes.
Stil picturing the intruder’s mutilated face, I turned back toward the al ey—and came face-to-face with another stray. Wel , face-to-head-shrouded-in-shadow, anyway. He stood five feet away, just out of reach of the pale moonlight, and I could see nothing but the hands hanging empty at his sides. I knew at a glance that they could do serious damage, even clenched around nothing but air.
I didn’t need to smel this stray to know who he was; his scent was as familiar to me as my own. Marc. My father’s second-in-command. Daddy had never sent Marc before—not once in five years. Something was wrong.
Tension crept up my back and down my arms, curling my hands into fists. I gritted my teeth to hold in a shriek of fury; the last thing I needed was to cal attention to myself. Human do-gooders were always out to save the world, but few of them had any idea what kind of a world they real y lived in.
I stepped slowly toward Marc, letting my backpack slide down my arm to the ground. I fixed my gaze on the shadow hiding his gold-flecked eyes. He didn’t move.
I came closer, my pulse pounding in my throat. He raised his left hand, reaching out to me. I slapped it away.
Shifting my weight to my left leg, I let my right foot fly, hitting him in the chest with a high side kick. Grunting, he stumbled into the al ey. His heel hit the corner of a wooden crate and he fel on his ass on a damp cardboard box.
“Faythe, it’s me!”
“I know who the hell you are.” I came toward him with my hands on my hips.
“Why do you think I kicked you?” I pulled my right foot back, prepared to let it fly again. His arm shot out almost too fast to see, and his hand wrapped around my left ankle. He pulled me off my feet with one tug. I landed on my rear beside him, on a split-open trash bag.
