Stray. Rachel Vincent

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 skull.

      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 cells 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 falling, 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 alley 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 fell 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 wallop.

      To think, my mother said I’d never find use for an English degree. Ha! I’d like to see her knock someone silly 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.

      Still picturing the intruder’s mutilated face, I turned back toward the alley—and came face-to-face with another stray. Well, 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 smell 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 call 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 really 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 alley. His heel hit the corner of a wooden crate and he fell 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.

      “Damn it, Marc, I’m sitting in this morning’s fresh-squeezed orange peels.”

      He chuckled, crossing his arms over a black T-shirt, clinging to well-defined pecs. “You nearly broke my ribs.”

      “You’ll live.”

      “No thanks to you.” He pushed himself awkwardly to his feet and held out a hand for me. When I ignored it, he rolled his eyes and pulled me up by my wrist. “What’s with the kung fu routine, anyway?”

      I yanked my arm from his grip and stepped back, glaring at him as I wiped orange pulp from the seat of my pants. “It’s tae kwon do, and you damn well know it.” We’d trained together—alongside all four of my brothers—for nearly a decade. “You’re lucky I didn’t kick your face in. What took you so fucking long? If you guys are going to hang around without permission, you might as well make yourselves useful when I’m in mortal peril. That is what Daddy’s paying you for.”

      “You handled yourself fine.”

      “Like you’d know. I bet he was halfway to his car by the time you got here.”

      “Only a quarter of the way,” Marc said, grinning. “Anyway, I was the one in real danger. I got cornered by a pack of wild sorority sisters in the food court. Apparently it’s mating season.”

      I frowned at him, picturing a throng of girls in matching pink T-shirts giggling as they vied for his attention. I could have told them they were wasting their time. Marc had no use for human women, especially silly, flirtatious trophy wives–in–training. His dark curls and exotic brownish-gold eyes had always garnered him more attention than he really wanted. And this time they’d kept him from doing his job.

      “You’re a worthless bastard,” I said, not quite able to forgive him for being late, even though I didn’t want him there in the first place.

      “And you’re a callous bitch.” He smiled, completely unaffected by my heartfelt insult. “We’re a matched set.”

      I groaned. At least we were back in familiar territory. And it was kind of nice to see him too, though I would never have admitted it.

      Turning my back on him, I grabbed my book bag and stomped to the other end of the alley, then into the empty quad. Marc followed closely, murmuring beneath his breath in Spanish too fast for me to understand. Memories I’d successfully blocked for years came tumbling to the front of my mind, triggered by his whispered rant. He’d been doing that for as long as I could remember.

      My patience long gone, I stopped in front of the student center in the same circle of light, and whirled around to face Marc. “Hey, you wanna drop back a few paces? Did you forget how spying works? You’re supposed to at least aim for unobtrusive. The others pretty much have it down, but you’re about as inconspicuous as a drag queen at a Girl Scout meeting.” I propped my hands on the hips of my low-rise jeans and scowled up at him, trying to remain unaffected by the thickly lashed eyes staring back at me.

      Marc smiled, his expression casual, inviting, and utterly infuriating. “It’s nice to see you too.” A wistful look darted across his face as he glanced at my bare midriff, his gaze moving quickly over my snug red halter top to settle on the barrette nestled in my hair.

      “Go home, Marc.”

      “There’s no reason for you to be rude.”

      “There’s no reason for you to be here.”

      He frowned down at me, thick brows shadowing his eyes, and my mood improved. I’d gotten rid of his smile. Was I really that petty? Hell, yeah.

      “Look,