HUNT
Rachel Vincent
The forest was singing, and its song was all mine. The others couldn’t hear it, with their human ears. They heard only the crackle-roar of the campfire and their own voices. Huddled in down jackets and sleeping bags, they thought they owned the world, by virtue of their ability to tame it, and that was an understandable mistake. But they’d never really seen the world. Not like I saw it.
* * *
Soon I’d have to go back to the campfire. To their idea of “roughing it” with battery-powered radios, canned food, and no-rinse bathing wipes, guaranteed to keep you fresh, even days into a showerless camping trip. Soon I’d have to put on my human skin and put away my feline instincts, so I could be Abby Wade, normal college sophomore. I could do that. I’d been hiding that part of my life for a year and a half, and my secret run was just a temporary reprieve from all things human.
Still, the next few moments were mine.
My paws snapped through twigs and sank into underbrush, pushing against the earth to propel me faster, higher. I was a streak of black against the night, darker than the forest, yet a part of it, as I hadn’t been in weeks. Small animals fled just ahead of my paws, scurrying through tangles of fallen leaves and branches. The scents of oak, birch, maple, and pine were familiar comforts, relaxing me even as they pushed me for more speed, greater distance. Thorns caught in my fur. Cold air burned in my nose and stroked the length of my body as I ran, like a caress from the universe itself.
I was welcome in the woods. I belonged there, at least for the next few minutes.
When I’d run fast and long enough to satisfy that initial need for exercise, I slowed to a gradual, soft stop, huffing from exertion. It was time to eat and replace the energy I’d burned during my Shift.
My ears swiveled on my head, pinpointing the sounds I needed to hear. Werecats can’t track by scent, like a dog, so we hunt with our ears and our eyes. On my run, I’d smelled mice and a couple of weasels, both of which stay active in the winter, but I was holding out for a rabbit, or even a beaver. No use wasting a deer with only me there to feed on it.
Something scuttled through the underbrush several yards to the southeast. Too fast and light to be a raccoon. Probably a mouse or a rat. Too much effort for too little meat.
I slowed my breathing and listened harder. From the north came a soft, rapid, swooshy heartbeat, but no movement. Whatever it was, it knew I was close and hungry. I turned my head and sniffed toward the north—I could pinpoint it with my ears, but would have to ID it with my nose. A rabbit. Perfect. Its fur wouldn’t be white yet—not in mid-October—but my cat’s eyes would still spot it. As soon as I flushed it out of hiding.
I pounced. The rabbit sprung from the underbrush and landed three feet away. I got a glimpse of brown and white fur, and then it was off again, racing through the woods and jumping over low shrubs and fallen logs.
I ran after it at half speed, reluctant to end the chase too soon—who knew when I’d have another chance to hunt? But seconds later, a scream shattered the cold, quiet night with a sharp echo of pain and terror.
A sudden spike of fear glued me to the forest floor. I knew that scream—that voice. Robyn. My roommate, and for the next three nights, my tent-mate.
No!
I turned and raced through the woods toward the campsite, my lungs burning, my heart trying to beat its way through my sternum. I had no plan, no thought beyond simply getting there, and only the vaguest understanding that if I burst into the camp in cat form, I’d scare her far worse than whatever had made her scream.
But I’d gone only a few yards when a second scream split the night again, followed by two deeper, masculine shouts of fear and pain. What the hell was going on?
I pushed myself harder, my brain racing now. Bear? There was no growling or roaring, and I hadn’t smelled anything even slightly ursine. Besides, black bears typically shy away from humans. As do bruins, though to my knowledge, no one had ever spotted a bear Shifter in the heart of the Appalachian Territory.
So what the hell was happening?
I flew through the forest, retracing my own path with no thought for the living buffet scurrying all around me this time. The screaming continued, terror from Robyn and Dani, sheer agony from their boyfriends. I’d seen a friend murdered once, and I recognized sounds I’d hoped never to hear again—my friends were being slaughtered.
My clothes hung on branches ahead, but I raced past them. The screaming was louder now, but there were fewer voices—Mitch had gone silent. I was too late for Dani’s boyfriend, and before I’d gone another few yards, Olsen’s screaming ended in a horrible, inarticulate gurgle.
My lungs burned and my legs ached—werecats are sprinters, not long-distance runners—but I pushed forward, demanding more from my body than I’d ever had reason to expect from it. This couldn’t be real!
Robyn’s screams intensified with her boyfriend’s silence, then suddenly stopped, and for a moment, my heart refused to beat. Not Robyn. I couldn’t lose my roommate of more than a year. The girl who left her toothpaste open on the bathroom counter and made me hot chocolate in the middle of the night, when nightmares woke me up.
Then in the sudden quiet, the forest produced a new voice, and my next steps were fueled by simultaneous terror and relief.
“… mouth shut, bitch, or I’ll slice you wide open. Her too.”
Robyn and Dani were alive—so far, anyway. But who the hell was with them?
A few steps later, I cringed as the scent of blood rolled over the forest, overwhelming my senses and shredding my heart. The sheer volume was horrifying, and the thought of how much Mitch and Olsen must have lost made me sick to my stomach.
I slowed as I approached the campsite, logic and caution finally catching up to the terror that had propelled my dash through the woods. I couldn’t help the guys, and I’d be no good to the girls if I burst into the clearing and got shot by some psycho backwoods hunter. So I snuck the last thirty feet or so, silent and virtually invisible in the dark, as only a werecat can be.
The campfire flickered through a tangle of branches. I blinked, edging forward slowly, hidden by a thick, fat bush. I saw Olsen first, and had to swallow the traumatized whine trying to leak from my throat. He lay on his back in the clearing, his shadow twitching on the ground with every lick of the orange flames. His blue eyes were open; his mouth was slack. His coat was unzipped, his shirt completely drenched in blood, which now soaked into the ground beneath him. He’d been gutted.
Mitch lay in the same position, a quarter of the way around the campfire, his face forever frozen in a grimace of agony. His stomach and chest had been sliced up the middle, but unlike Olsen’s, Mitch’s coat and shirt had been spread open, showcasing the full extent of the damage. So the girls would know the same thing could happen to them.
Nausea rolled over me for the first time ever in cat form. I’d seen a lot of slaughtered deer—I’d even brought down a couple myself. But these weren’t deer. They were friends.
My vision blurred until I couldn’t keep the bodies in focus, yet when I glanced away, my focus returned, as if my brain didn’t want to interpret the images of carnage my eyes were sending.
I blinked and forced the image back into focus, determined not to punk out. If I couldn’t even look at the corpses, how could I hope to save Robyn and Dani?
Maybe I couldn’t. I wasn’t a cop. I wasn’t even an enforcer. My summer training sessions with Faythe had included neither rescue missions nor hostage negotiation. But I had to try. I was all they had.
My roommate and her best friend knelt on the ground on the other side of the fire, and watching them through the flames sent chills through me. Like I was already seeing them die. They cried and huddled together, alternately staring at their butchered boyfriends and cringing up at their captors.
Three men stood between them and the campfire with their backs to me, each dressed in hunter’s camouflage. Two of them held hunting knives, still dripping blood onto the packed dirt. They were human, based on the scent, but every bit as monstrous as the cruelest Shifters I’d ever met. And one of them smelled vaguely familiar, though I couldn’t quite place his scent.
I backed carefully away from the bush concealing me and began to circle the clearing slowly and silently. I needed to be within pouncing distance before I made my move.
“Where is she?” the man in the middle demanded, and my heart actually skipped a beat. Did he mean me? Had they been watching us? Or had they simply seen five hiking packs and deduced an absence? Had they gone through my stuff to determine my gender?
“Where’s who?” Robyn said through chattering teeth, loyal to a fault. She would keep me out of this, even if it cost her last breath. But I couldn’t let that happen. They were scared and defenseless against men with knives, and I remembered being scared and defenseless. I remembered way too well.…
The man in the middle backhanded her, and Robyn fell over sideways, unable to right herself with her hands taped together in her lap. It took all of my self-control to hold in the growl itching at the back of my throat as I rounded the halfway point of the clearing. Drawing attention to myself before I was ready to fight would only get us all killed. That was one of the first things Faythe had taught me.
The tallest of the men hauled Robyn upright by one arm as I continued to circle silently, aching inside while she cried. “We know Abby was with you,” he said, and I froze in midstep. I recognized that voice. A few more feet, and my eyes confirmed what my ears already knew. Steve … something. He’d transferred into my psych class a week into the semester and had sat in the desk behind me ever since, trying to make conversation while I only nodded.
What the hell was going on? Had he followed us?
“Where’d she go?” the second man demanded, and I noticed as I edged along that the contents of both tents had been dumped in a pile about three feet from the campfire, including my sleeping bag and purse. Was this a robbery, or were they looking for me? Neither possibility made sense—college students don’t carry much cash, and I barely knew Steve and had never even met his accomplices.
The third man stepped forward, silently threatening Robyn and Dani with the knife when no one answered. My blood boiled, even as fear spiked my veins with adrenaline demanding to be used.
Robyn cringed, tears pouring down her cheeks. But Dani answered, staring at the blade now inches from her throat. “She went for a hike!”
“In the dark?” Steve crossed bulky arms over a bulkier chest, the tip of his knife tapping against the waist of his thick camo pants.
Dani shrugged, and I saw a spark of the stubborn defiance that made her fun to debate—and might soon get her killed. “She likes nature.”
“And she took a flashlight,” Robyn added, shaking violently, either from the cold or from shock. “Please, you can have anything you want. My purse is over there.” She nodded toward the pile of supplies. “Just take it and let us go.”
“Oh come on, this is a party!” Steve glanced at his friends with a look of anticipation that chilled my blood. “But we’re one girl shy. You have her number?” Robyn nodded slowly, and Steve glanced at the third man. “Tim, give her a call.”
I’d circled to within feet of my roommate by the time Tim—shorter and thicker than Steve—hauled Robyn to her feet. She whimpered when his hand slid into the front pocket of her jeans, and fresh tears rolled down her face. My claws curled into the underbrush, itching to rip through his flesh instead.
I watched Robyn and Tim, waiting for my opportunity to pounce, but in my head, I saw something else. Another man. Another place. A bruising grip on my own arm. A cruel, unwelcome hand, followed by pain, and screaming, and humiliation.
The bastard leered at Robyn until she closed her eyes; then he shoved her down again and flipped open her phone. He was already scrolling through the contacts list by the time she hit the ground. He pressed a couple of buttons, then held the phone to his ear, and they all waited.
But I already knew what would happen, and sure enough, a couple of seconds later, my phone rang out from inside my purse, on the edge of the pile of sleeping bags and hiking packs.
“Damn it, she didn’t take her phone!” Steve kicked my purse across the clearing without bothering to open it, as his dark-haired accomplice hung up Robyn’s phone.
Of course I hadn’t. My cat skin suffered an obvious and bothersome lack of pockets.
“Fine,” Steve said at last, having resigned himself to some inconvenient conclusion. “She’ll come back—where else could she go?” He shrugged. “We’ll just start the party without her.”
No … I recognized that tone. That slimy, hungry grin. I knew what would happen next, if I didn’t stop it.
Tim dragged Robyn away from Dani and closer to me. Robyn screamed and kicked, trying to twist free, but none of it fazed him. He dropped her on the ground and her head hit a fallen tree branch. Robyn moaned, dazed, and I could practically see the fight drain out of her.
“Get off her!” Dani shouted, struggling to get to her feet without the use of her hands. Her cheeks were dry and scarlet, fury eclipsing her fear, at least for the moment. She would fight them. And it would get her killed.
The third man glanced at Steve, brows raised, silently asking for permission. He hadn’t said a word so far, but his clenched fists spoke volumes.
Steve nodded and gestured toward Dani with one open hand. “She’s all yours, Billy. I’m holdin’ out for the little redhead.”
Me of course. Boy, wouldn’t he be surprised to see me sporting black fur and claws instead? One hundred and four pounds was only a scrap of a woman but added up to one hell of a cat. Not that he’d ever know it was me.
Billy shoved Dani down, then kicked her in the ribs before she could roll away. Bones cracked. Her shout ended in a grunt of pain, and then he dropped on top of her, his huge, bloody hunting knife pressed into her throat. “One more word, and I’ll cut your fucking head off.”
Silent tears rolled down Dani’s face, and each breath was a pained gasp. Her eyes closed and her head rolled to one side as he fumbled at the waistband of her jeans, and suddenly I couldn’t move.
Bars. Tears. Pain. Blood. Terror.
No, that was all over. All but the terror. It had been two and a half years, yet the terror came back like a fucking razor-tipped boomerang. My heart beat too hard. The whole world began to go gray beneath memories of my own helplessness and humiliation.
No! This can’t be happening.… Not again. Not in the human world. Not while I cower in the bushes.
Run! the voice inside my head shouted, as each breath slipped from my throat faster than the last. They’ll do the same thing to you if they find you. And you can’t survive it again.
But that was a lie told by the scared little girl still huddling in a dark corner of my mind. I’d grown up. I’d moved on. I’d learned to fight. True, my skills were unproven, but they were there, and they were a game changer. And beyond all of that, I was in cat form. They’d never recognize the Abby they were looking for in my current configuration of flesh and bone—and fur.
I could survive this. I could prevent this. I could end it.
“No!” Robyn screamed, trying to shove Tim off with her bound hands. “Stop, please!”
And that was all I could take.
I leapt out of the bushes, fury now pulsing through my veins, hotter than blood. A growl rumbled from my throat and rolled across the clearing. I slammed into Tim’s side, knocking him off Robyn and onto the ground. My front paws pinned him to the dirt.
Around me, everyone froze. For one long second, they didn’t even breath, and several hearts actually skipped beats. Then Robyn took a single, shallow breath, and began edging away from us slowly, pushing herself with her feet because her hands were still tied. She was as scared of me as she was of him, and terror had now driven comprehension from her eyes. For the moment at least, Robyn had checked out.
Tim was sweating in spite of the cold, and the scent was part fear, part adrenaline. But not enough fear. I leaned in closer, and the huff of breath from my nose blew his dark hair back. I sank my claws through his thick camo jacket and into flesh. He flinched, and when his mouth dropped open in surprise, I saw blood staining his teeth.
I sniffed while he shook in terror beneath me. The blood was Robyn’s. The bastard had bitten her.
The entire world bled to red. I lunged, and the next few seconds were a series of unfocused, disconnected sensations. My teeth sank through something firm and warm. Tim jerked beneath me. I tossed my head, and flesh tore with a satisfying ripping sensation. Warm, fragrant blood sprayed my face, my shoulders. The form beneath me jerked one last time, then lay still.
Someone screamed.
I backed off the body, cleaning my muzzle out of long-term hunting habit, and looked up to find Robyn staring at me, huddled against the side of the nearest tent, shrieking uncontrollably. Her jacket lay on the ground to her left and she clutched the remains of her torn shirt to her chest, but the bloody bite mark on her right shoulder was exposed.
Without thinking, I stepped toward her, confused by my simultaneous human need to comfort her and my cat’s inclination to first clean the fresh blood from my fur.
Robyn screamed harder at my approach, going hoarse now, so I stopped, physically shaking myself to clear my head. To fend off encroaching bloodlust and cling to my ill-fitting human logic. She was bitten, but otherwise unharmed. She’d be fine, physically.
I turned away from Robyn, forcing myself to ignore that small part of me that wanted to chase her, just because she wanted to run. My roommate wasn’t prey. But the men who’d hurt her were.
Steve stood where I’d left him, his back to the fire, his white-knuckled fist still clenching a bloody knife. He watched me carefully, steadily, blade held ready, and again I saw too little fear to suit me. He’d have to be either stupid or insane to openly challenge a giant cat, and frankly, I was hoping he was both.
I growled, and for one surreal moment, I wondered if he could see the other me peeking through my greenish cat eyes. The human me, who’d once suffered what he and his friends had tried to deal out. That Abby couldn’t fight back, but this Abby could and would.
Steve’s blood whooshed rapidly through his veins. His eyes were bright and glossy with exhilaration. His arm tensed. He raised the knife for a strike, but I saw it coming.
I swatted the blade from his hand with my front paw, and my blow swung him around. He went down a foot from the campfire, but was up in an instant.
“Good kitty…,” he whispered, his voice low and steady, both hands spread in a defensive posture as I growled. He glanced over me, and a sudden scuffle at my back made my fur stand on end. I leapt to the side, but was too late to completely avoid the blow. Billy’s huge knife slashed across my front right leg, several inches from my shoulder.
I hissed, and suddenly the blood-scent on the air had a new flavor. My flavor.
Dani scooted away from Billy. I took a step forward, trying to drive the men closer together, where I could see them both, but my injured leg half collapsed beneath me. I couldn’t walk on it. Not for long anyway.
Steve noticed the limp, and I could see him assessing his chances. He had a real shot at survival now, and he knew it. He backed slowly toward the tent and hauled Robyn up by one arm. She screamed again. I limped forward, hissing, but before I could attempt another pounce, he glanced behind me, at Billy.
“We can’t bring them both,” he said. “Do her.”
“No!” Dani shouted, and her shuffling grew frantic. She understood before I did.
I whirled to see him haul Dani up by one arm. She dug her heels into the dirt, trying to pull free. I stepped toward them, and my leg folded again. Billy shoved his knife into her stomach and dragged it up through her flesh. Dani’s eyes went wide, and her mouth fell open. I roared in grief and outrage. He let go, and she collapsed onto the dirt, blood pouring from the gaping hole in her torso....
allforjesus2001