Nudity was too routine in a houseful of werecats to be considered sexual. It took a certain context—a particular kind of intimacy and erotic intent—for bare skin to cross the line between ordinary and arousing. In fact, tight or skimpy clothes were more exciting to most toms because they were intentional y sexy, whereas nudity was simply natural.

But my mother lived in some kind of 1950s fantasy world that even most human households would consider prudish. “Katherine Faythe Sanders, put your shirt back on this instant!”

Uh-oh. All three names.

“Real y, Faythe, was that necessary?” Michael asked, but the glimmer of amusement in his eyes was unmistakable. I smiled. Like Daddy, he probably genuinely disapproved of most of my wardrobe, but he had no problem with nudity, so long as it served a valid purpose. Only my mother did.

I glanced around the room, taking in the guys al at once. “I’m going hunting, if anyone wants to join me.”

“I’m in.” Ethan’s shirt hit the floor a second before Jace’s. Parker laughed out loud.

“Boys, please don’t encourage her,” my mother groaned, setting down one coffeepot to prop her hand on her hip. “She’s wild enough on her own.”

“They’re just blowing off steam, Mom,” Michael said. He hadn’t taken anything off, but he hadn’t stopped us either. Good for him.

Stil fully dressed, Owen stepped over the growing pile of discarded clothes.

“I’d love to go,” he drawled, “but I’m coverin’ for Marc in Oklahoma.”

I crossed my arms beneath my bra, noticing his ensemble for the first time. He wore a T-shirt, jeans, and sneakers. No boots, or even a cowboy hat. He was going incognito, as a normal, non-western human.

“I’l be back tomorrow, and I’l hunt with you then, okay?”

“Promise?” I asked.

“I promise.”

“Be careful.” I hugged him, squeezing as hard as he’d squeezed me the night before.

He gave me a goofy grin. “What was that for?”

Sneaking a sideways look at my mother, I tugged him toward the hal . “I’l walk you out,” I said, pulling the office door shut behind us. We ambled slowly toward the front door. “Marc thinks the stray is involved with Sara, and now maybe with Abby.”

“I only said it was a possibility,” Marc corrected me.

I jumped, flushing from embarrassment. He was right behind me, but I hadn’t heard him slip out of the office. I was definitely going to have to work on my listening skil s.

“I’l be careful,” Owen said, a grin teasing the corners of his mouth. “I have to go now, or I’l miss my flight. But I’l see y’al tomorrow.”

Behind me, the office door flew open, and nude men poured out into the hal way, my mother right behind them. Choruses of “Bye, Owen” echoed across the foyer, and Mom took time out from her tirade on youthful anarchy to give him a kiss. She gave me a scowl.

I smiled at her, and unbuttoned my pants.

Ten

Owen’s car pulled out of the driveway as I led the parade of tomcats out the back door and toward the woods. Because of our various daytime obligations, we rarely got the chance to hunt during the day. Under other circumstances, ours might have been a jubilant excursion, but we didn’t race this time, in spite of the unseasonably cool breeze and the sunlight glinting off our skin. Morning dew lingered in the shaded sections of the yard, but not one eager foot ran to trail through it. We weren’t in a playful mood, and there were no jokes or good-natured boasts about speed and agility, or even the comparative length of anyone’s canines.

Michael was right, we were blowing off steam.

The guys emanated anger, like lightbulbs lit up with rage. They were worried about Sara and Abby, but they were also nursing injured pride. As enforcers, they were insulted that someone feared the council little enough to invade our territory and steal one full quarter of our eligible women. They were eager for the chance to avenge the insult and rip the offender to shreds in the process. And until then, they had some destructive energy to burn.

I wasn’t insulted. I didn’t real y care whether or not anyone feared me, because no one ever had. But I was scared, real y frightened, for the first time in my life. I was afraid for Sara and Abby because no matter how hard my mother tried to delude herself, I knew the chances of us finding them uninjured were slim. They were strong, and I couldn’t imagine them cooperating with their captors if they thought there was any chance of escape.

In spite of Marc’s transparent assurances, I couldn’t believe the human murders and the tabby disappearances were unrelated. I didn’t believe in coincidence, but I certainly believed in justice. And in revenge. If either girl was hurt, the council wouldn’t stop hunting the responsible party until they found him and took him out, not with a vet’s peaceful never-wake-up serum, but in a manner so violent, painful and drawn-out that the mere rumor of what happened would be enough to prevent such occurrences in the future.

The thought of someone hurting Sara and Abby fueled my Shift, propel ing it at a rate I’d never before experienced and dulling the pain somewhat because my brain was too busy to acknowledge discomfort. I came into my fur bursting with a furious energy and the uncontrollable urge to maul something. Or someone.

Bloodlust. My tail twitched nervously at the thought, trying to deny what my brain knew for a fact. I recognized the symptoms, though I’d never personal y experienced them. I had the urge, a true physical need, as well as a psychological one, to sink my teeth into skin and shred flesh with my claws. I could already taste the blood, like a flashback for my taste buds. Only it wasn’t just that I remembered what blood tasted like, but that I could actual y feel it in my mouth, a shadow-taste, like a blood phantom haunting my tongue.