Stray (Shifters #1)

I could have called my father to report the intruder. I probably should have called him, so he could send the designated spy-of-the-day to take care of the problem. But calling would necessitate speaking to my father, which I made a point to avoid at all costs.

Unlike most of my fellow tabby cats, I knew how to fight; my father had made sure of that. Unfortunately, I’d never made the jump from theory to practice, except against my brothers.

My resolve as stiff as my spine, I stepped out of the light and into the darkness.

I glanced quickly behind me, looking for signs of life from the quad. It was empty now, as far as I could tell. There were no potential witnesses; everyone with half a brain was either studying or partying. So why was I playing hide-and-seek after dark with an unidentified stray?

I was feeling foolish now, chasing a stranger down a dark alley at night, like some bimbo from a bad horror film.

The difference between the movies and reality was that in real life, I was the hairy monster, and the only screaming I ever did was in rage. I was about as likely to cry for help as I was to spontaneously combust.

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.

Shifting my weight to my left leg, I let my right foot fly, hitting him in the chest with a high side kick.

A hand settled on my shoulder, heavy and warm. I looked up, fighting back tears. Marc stood in front of me, with a plate in his other hand and concern in his eyes where there had been only anger moments earlier.

Embarrassed by my near collapse and still furious with Marc, I slapped his hand away from my shoulder. The sound echoed throughout the room for much longer than I thought it should have. His eyes widened in shock as his arm dropped to hang at his side.

"Don't touch me," I whispered through clenched teeth, glaring at him. He had no right to try to comfort me after the stunt he'd pulled in the woods.

Marc's cheeks flushed with humiliation as his expression hardened into anger.

The others stared openly, their food apparently forgotten.

My chair made a harsh scraping sound as I shoved it back from the table. All eyes were on me as I stood. I turned away from them, letting my hair fall to shield my face. The only thing worse than having the guys witness my little breakdown would be having to accept their comfort. I didn't want comfort, I wanted solitude. I had to get away from them all, but especially from Marc. "Excuse me, guys," I mumbled. "I've lost my appetite." (pp127-8)

Marc shook his head. “Danny knows all the other south-central Pride cats, if not by name, then by scent. He said this one had a foreign smell to him. Central, or maybe South American.” His eyes held mine captive, waiting for his meaning to sink in.

My heart leapt from fear bordering on terror, as I thought of the stray on campus. He’s a jungle cat. And he’s collecting tabbies, but killing humans.

South American cats were an entirely different kind of animal. They formed no councils, acknowledged no political borders, and suffered no negotiations. With the Amazon rain forest at their disposal, the Prides in most of the southern hemisphere indulged their feline instinct at the expense of their humanity, meaning they lived more like actual jungle cats than like people, as if over the past few hundred years, the world had moved on without them. Their territorial boundaries were in a constant state of flux, swelling and shrinking with the slaughter of each Alpha and the rise of his successor.

The only rules jungle cats submitted to were the laws of nature, namely that you claim only that which you can defend. They fought to the death on a regular basis for the two things that mattered most to them: the right to control a territory and the right to sire another generation of savage monsters. It was a violent and chaotic existence, defined by a lack of stability and a short life expectancy.

Jungle cats were my secret fear, my version of the bogeyman in the closet. But unlike the bogeyman, they were very, very real.