Pride. Rachel Vincent

I didn’t want anyone else in my life—or in my bed—and I wanted him to know it. But we both knew that if Marc’s protective—or possessive—behavior got out of hand, I’d put an end to it. So far, that knowledge had been enough to keep him in line.

      Jace purred, rubbing his head against my palm. I smiled and scratched between his ears. Then, with no warning but the tensing of muscles between his shoulder blades, he leapt out from under my hand and soared between two trees. He bounded up a steep bluff, around a clump of thorny bushes and out of sight.

      Marc and I glanced at each other. I raised one eyebrow. He nodded, and we were off, legs flying, arms pumping, Marc still clutching the uneaten half of his sandwich in one hand. My canteen bumped my thigh and I laughed as I ran. It was probably a waste of air in my inefficient human lungs, but I didn’t care. Running wasn’t about work. It was about running, whether on two feet or four. Whether in fur or denim. Exercise was exercise, and I hadn’t been getting anywhere near enough of it lately.

      Cold air stung my throat as I sucked in huge mouthfuls. My muscles gloried in the freedom of movement without restraint. My legs itched for speed I couldn’t give them in human form. But I could damn sure try.

      A sudden burst of energy pushed me ahead of Marc, and I grinned at his grunt of frustration. Shaggy evergreens and skeletal deciduous trees raced past as I ran, blurs of green and brown on the edge of my vision. Ample moonlight filtered through the bare branches above, alternately illuminating my path and cloaking it in deep shadow. I was hot on Jace’s tail when that first surge of euphoria hit me. Adrenaline flooded my bloodstream. Dead grass crunched beneath my boots. Naked branches slapped my jacketed arms and my bare neck and face, and still I ran, paying no heed to the cuts and scrapes I’d probably regret later.

      Even in human form, to smell the forest was to know it. Scents swirled all around me, so strong and varied I could almost see them in the very air, churning in the dark as my motion disturbed them. Rabbits, squirrels, possums, deer, moose—or was that elk? And wolf. I was surprised there were any of those left, with so many cats running around.

      Next came charcoal and pungent cedar ash, from an old, dead campfire. Were those even legal here? Leaf mold, tree moss, crushed pine needles, and…barbecue sauce? Someone had neglected to clean up a campsite.

      Jace darted left around a red fir and across a distinct hiking trail. I rushed after him, and Marc’s footsteps fell at my heels.

      Jace’s tail disappeared over another small hill, and I dug in with the toes of my boots, climbing the incline after him, grabbing exposed roots and dangling vines for support. The only advantage my two-legged form carried in the forest was the convenience of human speech. Everything else was harder—more work for less result. Especially jumping. Jace had soared right over the hill, barely pausing halfway up for a powerful shove against the earth with his hind legs. But I actually had to climb, pulling with my arms and pushing with my feet. I slid, and would have lost my footing entirely if not for Marc’s hand on my rear, heaving me up.

      At the top of the hill, I took two running steps after Jace, then hesitated as a familiar scent rose above the tangle of forest smells surrounding me. Bear. A bear’s been through here recently.

      No, not just a bear; a bruin. Keller.

      Marc had cut ahead of me when I’d slowed, but he stopped when he noticed me lagging behind. “What is it?”

      “Nothing. I picked up Keller’s scent.”

      “Yeah, he came through here on his way to the lodge. His cabin’s about six miles northwest of here.”

      I nodded, and slowed to an actual stop beside him to rest. My human lungs were winded by what would barely have been a workout for a cat. “How close are we to where they found the cop?”

      Marc pulled the GPS unit from his jacket pocket and pushed a couple of buttons. Then he turned to his left, and glanced at the screen again. “We’re going the wrong way. It’s about two miles northeast of here.”

      “Better call Jace back then.”

      Marc shoved the GPS back into his pocket and slid two fingers partway into his mouth, leaving a gap between them. He inhaled deeply, then blew over his fingers, producing a very shrill, very loud whistle, which I couldn’t replicate to save my life.

      Seconds later, Jace burst from between two bushes and plopped down on the ground at our feet, licking dirt from one paw as if there was nothing more important to be dealt with at the moment than personal hygiene. Which was pretty damn typical of a cat, honestly.

      “Wrong way, dumbass,” Marc said genially.

      Jace paused in mid-lick, rolling his eyes up to meet Marc’s. He blinked once—in dismissal, I’m sure—then returned to his grooming, apparently unconcerned with either the name-calling or his own flawed sense of direction. Also typical of a cat.

      “Okay, Fabio, that’s enough primping. Let’s go.” Reaching down, I grabbed a handful of fur and skin from the back of Jace’s neck and pulled. He growled lightly—a mock warning—and rose with my hand. I rewarded him with a stroke down the entire length of his back, which he extended by trailing his tail through my palm too. Greedy tomcat.

      Chuckling, I scratched his head, then headed off in the direction Marc had pointed out. He followed, still chewing on the scrap of meat and bread that had survived our race through the woods. Half an hour later, I was cursing my human legs. Hiking through the forest on two feet was serious work, and the constant incline—we were literally climbing the side of a mountain—didn’t help.

      Around the halfway point, we stopped to drain our canteens. Marc refilled them with two bottles of water from the pockets of his baggy pants, while Jace lapped from a stream he’d found. Twenty minutes later, we were half a mile from the sight of the murder, according to Uncle Rick’s GPS. But we never made it that last half mile.

      I’d just shoved aside the millionth branch to slap me in the face when sudden stillness in front of me dragged my focus from my own scrapes and bruises to Jace. He stood frozen, ears twisted to the sides, tail twitching nervously.

      He smelled something, and my automatic reaction was to sniff along with him, though the chances of my human nose picking up whatever he smelled were slim to none.

      So I was shocked when it actually did.

       A stray.

      I stiffened, and Marc’s hand settled silently on my shoulder, letting me know he’d noticed it too, and warning me not to speak. And as if it mattered. Our sudden silence and stillness would tell the stray—wherever he was—that we’d noticed him.

      The very fact that I could smell him in human form meant two things. First, the scent was fresh. Second, the stray was close. He had to be, or his scent wouldn’t be so strong. And it was strong. The stray must have been exactly where we now stood only moments earlier. We’d practically tripped over him.

      Jace’s tail twitched faster, and he stared into the branches of a tree to our left. He’d spotted something. I followed his gaze, peering into the heavily laden pine branches, but could make out nothing more than needles and shadows.

      Then, suddenly, Jace snorted through his nose and dismissed the distraction, like he might dismiss a mouse too small to bother chasing. He started walking again, continuing on our current heading as if he hadn’t noticed anything.

      I stared after him, then glanced at Marc, who grabbed my upper arm and hauled me after Jace, warning me not to speak with a single glance. That was a talent I’d always envied. The only thing I could do with a single glance was piss people off. Which was not a very valuable skill to have when one is on trial for her life.

      When we’d walked for several more minutes, Marc sticking close to my side without actually touching me, I realized the stray was following us. I could no longer smell him, and I only heard him because I knew what to listen for. But he was definitely there, and the guys definitely knew it.

      They’d also definitely