Chapter 17

STRYKER

Itrail after the little wisp of a girl who just worked a miracle, unable to take my eyes off her. When she wobbles, her stride unsteady, my leopard barely resists the urge to snatch her up to my chest with the need to make sure she's okay. The only thing stopping me is, as a cat, I tend to forget other people have boundaries.

The last thing I want to do is scare her.

I don't think my beast could tolerate it if she was afraid of us.

When she wanders a little too close to the unhinged wolf, the beast lunges for her, and my ribs take a beating as my heart tries to escape its cage. I gently nudge her away from the danger, then I snarl menacingly at the wolf until the beast retreats and cowers against the far wall of his cell.

As soon as we pass, insanity floods back into the wolf's eyes, and he's once more pacing his cell in agitation. I continue to follow the girl, not letting my guard down for a second, the need to protect her riding me hard. My claws flex as we trail after the insect, and I barely resist the impulse to crush the bug. The only thing stopping me is the girl standing between us.

My obsession with the girl increases the longer I'm with her. She smells of sugar and spice, making me want to pull her close and run my tongue along her neck. I breathe lightly, but it only makes my mouth water and leaves me craving more. I'm not even aware that I'm closing the distance between us until she glances at me suspiciously over her shoulder.

I quickly duck my head, terrified of her seeing my monstrous face. I want her to see that I'm not a threat to her—otherwise, she will leave me as soon as we escape. The thought of her being afraid of me has my ears going back and my fur standing on end.

Mine!

The impulse to toss her over my shoulder and drag her somewhere safe is almost impossible to resist, but starvation over the last couple of months has left me weak. It galls me that I can't protect her properly, and I lower my head in shame, knowing that I'm not worthy of guarding her back. Maybe if I can prove myself to her, she'll see that she didn't make a mistake in saving me.

All my senses are on high alert, my muscles ready to spring into action, but again and again, my attention wanders back to the girl.

My mate.

I finally recognize the obsessive-compulsive symptoms, and I can only marvel at the knowledge, staring after her in complete awe. It's been so long that I gave up hope of ever finding her. The more time that passed without my mate, the more my beast took over, until I couldn't even remember the last time I was able to take my human form.

I didn't miss it until now.

Worry gnaws at my insides like baby wolverines that once she gets a good look at my beastling form, she might run away screaming. My beast is a little too big and a little too rough to be around someone as small and delicate as her. Her human form is so easily hurt that I shudder at the thought that even the lightest touch might accidentally crush her.

I try to shake off my rambling thoughts and focus on getting us out of here alive, but I can't look away from the tiny beauty. It's extremely rare for felines to mate. Most of our species are literal tomcats. When our kind finds our mates, we become completely obsessed with everything about them.

Our main focus switches to their happiness and safety, and we'll do anything to protect them.

They become our entire world.

My baser instincts demand I claim her here and now, sink my fangs into her shoulder so my mark is visible and everyone would know that she is mine.

Despite knowing this is the worst possible time to push the issue, my beast is clawing at my insides with the desperate need to know anything about my mate. Something as simple as just knowing her name would be enough to appease my beast for now.

I drum my claws against my leg, battling my nerves to speak to her, almost afraid to ask my question and draw attention to myself. I used to be a beautiful creature, but years of abuse have taken its toll. My whiskers are stunted, my fur matted, my body weak after months of starvation. I have nothing to offer her but my life.

What if that isn't enough?

My beast won't take kindly to her rejection.

Oh, he wouldn't hurt her—he would die before ever lifting a finger against her—but rejection would drive my beast crazy. Logic would become fuzzy, turning my beast into a bit of a Neanderthal.

The longer we go without claiming our mates, the more obsessed we become with them.

My symptoms are already starting to manifest, and I can't go a second longer without knowing more about her.

Taking a deep breath for courage, I clear my throat, then wince when it comes out all rough and growly and causes her to nearly jump out of her skin. She whirls with an adorable little scowl, and my insides turn gooey. While part of me feels like an ass, my beast practically glows, basking at having her undivided attention.

Not wanting to frighten her any more, I quickly avert my gaze and watch her out of the corner of my eye. "What's your name?"

I'm not even breathing as I wait for her answer.

She looks at me a little quizzically, possibly questioning my sanity, but I refuse to be cowed. I give her a little smile, careful to keep my mouth closed and my fangs concealed, hoping to charm her into answering.

Her eyes narrow even more, her expression turning squinty, as if she's trying to decide whether or not to trust me.

At her undivided attention, I straighten my spine. I run a hand down my chest, then wince at all the matted, snarled fur, and I curse myself for my deplorable grooming habits. Months of captivity are no excuse.

I must look like a monster to her.

When she turns away without answering, my spirits fall, and my leopard caterwauls in my head. I manage to take a few shuffling steps after her when she relents with a sigh, then mumbles her name lightly under her breath. "Anita."

Her name imprints itself on my soul, and pleasure bursts in my chest at the small boon. The fact that she would trust me enough with her name gives me a boost of confidence, like I passed some sort of test, and I congratulate myself for being so smooth.

I feel like I won the lottery.

She's mine…she just doesn't know it yet.

I can't wait to demonstrate my worthiness. I'll go slowly. I can be a very patient man when hunting a prize such as her. Eventually, I'll be able to convince her that I would make an excellent mate.

I read humans adopt stray cats all the time.

It would virtually be the same thing.

It's only a matter of time before I earn the right to claim her for my own, and my fangs ache at the thought of being allowed to mark her.

ANITA

After being dropped on my head one too many times in the last hour, my mind is slow to clear. The farther we walk, the more I start to wonder where the fuck my kidnappers took me and why. "Where are we?"

"We're at the far side of a natural cave system." The cat-man answers almost eagerly, his voice low and scratchy from disuse, and I shiver at the husky tone. "They built the dungeons away from the other parts of the cave system because of the stench and screams."

The casual mention of torture makes my heart ache, and I glance at him over my shoulder, curious about the beastling, despite the situation. "What's your name?"

His bright blue eyes flash toward mine for just a second before he returns to scanning our surroundings, but I don't miss the satisfied smile that twitches his lips. It's cute how careful he is to not display his fangs when he speaks. "Stryker. My name is Stryker."

He practically purrs the name, his rumbling voice feeling like a caress, and my stride skips a step. The name suits him. Masculine. Powerful. Sexy. I clear my throat, fighting a blush, more than a little flustered at my inappropriate thoughts, and I decide to focus on the task at hand—escape. "Why did they take us?"

"They are collectors," the insect snarks, not even a hitch in her stride. "They don't need a reason."

Unfortunately, I don't think it's that simple.

"Collectors?" I've never heard the term, and I glance back at Stryker for clarification. Maybe it's foolish, but I feel at ease with him. That's not my normal reaction when someone is trailing after me, but he radiates such warmth and comfort that I just want to cuddle up with him. It's been so long since I felt any such emotions that I'm afraid to trust them.

"They hunt and collect rare creatures, storing them until they can be sold at an illegal auction that is held twice a year." His whiskers flicker and twitch, giving away his agitation. "They also take jobs from the dark web, searching for bounties."

He flicks a glance toward the insect, edging closer as if to protect me.

The girl snorts, her short white hair fluffing up in a way that has the strands sticking up at all angles. Her hair moves on its own, despite the complete lack of breeze to sway the strands, like they are little antennas collecting data from the air. She shoots a sardonic look at me, then quirks an eyebrow. "I'm curious which category you fall under."

A knowing smile crosses her face, revealing her sharp little teeth. Not waiting for an answer, she turns and continues down the dark tunnel, her feet looking like they barely touch the ground. The passageway narrows, giving off a dark, creepy vibe.

It's too quiet, the dirt muffling any sounds of approach, and it puts me on edge. I'm unable to get over the sensation that someone could creep up on us and none of us would be the wiser. The walls seem to close in on me, and anxiety tightens my chest.

A tiny purr rumbles from behind me, just a whisper of a sound, and it's like a drug to my system. My body relaxes, the tightness in my chest easing, and I'm able to take my first deep breath since I woke up in this hellhole.

I glance back at Stryker, startling when I find his towering shape so close. Maybe I should be intimidated, but I kind of want to snuggle against him.

In this dark place, he feels like safety.

He continuously scans our surroundings, his ears constantly swiveling, and it's all I can do not to give a girlie squeal and demand he stoop down so I can touch them. They look so fluffy, I can practically feel the fur under my fingertips.

He inhales deeply, his mouth slightly open as if tasting the air, and the tips of his fangs peek out between his lips. It's just a hint, but it's enough to remind me that beastlings are not pets.

They are more likely to kill you than allow you to touch them.

Which means no petting the pretty kitty, Anita.

While he appears big and strong, I don't miss the slight tremble to his limbs or his unsteady steps. I don't mistake him for being weak, a beastling is never truly weak, but he's injured, starved, and possibly worse.

I'm not sure how long he can go before he'll collapse, and I worry my bottom lip with my teeth, cursing that I'm not strong enough to catch him or drag him out if he falls.

Over a short period of time, I've grown attached to the big lug.

There is no fucking way I'll leave him behind.

That means if someone comes for us, it will be up to me to protect him.

No pressure!

The dirt pathway gives way to stone, the cave system appearing more natural. Without even the smallest source of light, the darkness is oppressive, the air thick in my lungs. Though I can normally see in the dark, it's so complete that my vision can't penetrate more than three feet in any direction.

I'm not even aware that I'm emitting a soft glow until the tunnel brightens.

Glancing down at my skin, it's like my flames are lighting me from within, and I mentally curse. While I'm more comfortable being able to see the dangers coming, I'm like a fucking glow stick that will draw the attention of anyone in the vicinity.

"You're fine," Stryker murmurs, not looking at me when he speaks, his ears swiveling almost a hundred and eighty degrees every few seconds. "I'll hear them before anyone can get close."

I nod, slightly reassured. Though I'm not afraid of the dark, something about these narrow tunnels sets me on edge, almost like the ghosts of those who had been trapped before me are whispering at me to run before it's too late.

My feet pick up speed, but the floor of the cavern is uneven and rocky. The faster I try to go, the more unsteady my gait becomes, and I have to force myself to slow down so I don't twist an ankle or break my neck.

The wall to the left falls away, revealing a deep, bottomless chasm, and vertigo immediately hits. I recoil, lurching in the opposite direction, and Stryker reaches out to catch me. His reassuring touch steadies my heart, giving me enough courage to continue.

I hesitantly reach up and pat his hand, my palm tingling when his fur brushes my skin, calming me even further. "Thanks."

When he realizes I'm looking at him, he quickly drops his eyes, but he doesn't remove his hand.

He keeps me against the far wall and away from the ledge, the warmth of his hand bleeding into my skin, and I shiver when the scent of wildness and the icy chill of snow fills my lungs. When the passageway turns into a tunnel once more, he gives one last squeeze before he releases me, like he's reluctant to let me go, and I immediately mourn the loss of his touch.

We enter another tunnel system, the pathway even narrower, but instead of claustrophobia, I'm comforted by the cold stone walls instead of the gaping black abyss. Time and distance lose meaning when underground. We could have traveled five miles or ten hours, and I wouldn't have a clue.

When the tunnel finally expands, I should be relieved, but my steps slow.

Being out in the open makes me feel exposed and vulnerable.

Stryker nudges me forward, and I trust his judgment.

Insect girl doesn't even hesitate, strolling out in the open like she doesn't have a care in the world. A fluttering of bugs reaches my ears, the darkness crawls, and then it looks like hundreds of insects take flight, obscuring my view.

The girl twirls in the middle of the mass, her head tilted back and a glorious smile lights up her face. A beetle the size of my hand lands on her shoulder, its wings fluttering, and she tips her head toward the bug.

I cringe at the thought of her eating it, but it looks like they are communicating instead. The girl smiles, her eyes flashing toward mine, and then more bugs join the whirling mass, obscuring her completely from view.

After a few seconds, the dark mass rushes toward the two tunnels, streaming into the darkness before vanishing. A few bugs linger, slower than the rest, but they zoom off as well, leaving an empty chamber.

The girl is gone.

I'm not even surprised at the double cross. I glance at Stryker in time to see his lips curl into a snarl. He's glaring at the two tunnels, but he doesn't leave my side, and a warm glow fills my chest at his loyalty. I step toward the exits, peering at the ground for clues, but there are too many footprints to distinguish hers from the others. "Can you tell which direction she took?"

Stryker follows me like my shadow, standing guard. At my question, he lifts his face and tentatively sniffs the air. Curious to see if I can sense anything, I take a few steps into the cavern, and inhale deeply.

Almost immediately, the stench from the tunnels invades my senses.

It's like a stink bomb was set off.

I rear back, falling on my ass as I scuttle backward to get away from the source. I slam into Stryker's legs, and my eyes flash up toward him in surprise, having forgotten him in my panic. I wilt against him, my hand on my chest as if it would calm the violent pitter-patter of my heart.

His brows furrow, his blue eyes narrowing as he peers back and forth between the two exits, searching for the threat. He inhales deeply before I have a chance to warn him, sending him into a sneezing fit.

He staggers back from the offensive smell, burying his nose into the crook of his arm, but the damage has been done. Eyes streaming, he shakes his head, then sneezes once more. Instead of blaming me, he gives me an apologetic look. "I'm sorry. I'm unable to track her. The bugs covered her trail and burned out my senses. I'm useless."

He lowers his eyes, his body rigid with shame, and my heart lurches in sympathy. I reach out and rest my hand against his foot—paw?—and give him a comforting squeeze. He jolts, his eyes latching onto my hand where I'm touching him, and I wonder if I committed some sort of faux pas.

I tense, but before I can pull away, he drops into a crouch next to me. I jolt at the unexpected move. When I peer up at him, it's to find him watching me from under his long lashes. Very slowly, giving me time to pull away, he grabs my hand, then gingerly places it on his arm. His grip isn't tight, allowing me plenty of opportunities to retreat. When I don't resist, he covers my hand with his own and helps me rise to my feet.

A tiny purr rumbles in his chest, and Stryker stiffens, the sound dying like a gas-guzzling car engine that has run out of fuel. He quickly looks away, but he doesn't let go or step back.

I'm both bemused and charmed by the courtly gesture. When I leave my hand on his arm, the gentle purr returns, and the stiffness leaves his spine. He shuffles a little closer, monitoring the shadows without looking at me, but I get the impression he's hyperaware of my presence.

I should be unnerved by my reaction to this man, but all I feel is possessive, and it's even more important that we get out of this tunnel alive.

The longer we wait, the more the air thickens with danger. The sense of time running out feels like tiny, drunken phoenixes fluttering in my chest, their burning touch like acid.

I glance between the two tunnels, pausing on the left tunnel when the hair on the back of my neck lifts.

"What do you sense?" Stryker asks, stepping so close that he brushes against my back with every breath.

I'm not even sure he's conscious of his actions.

My skin usually crawls when people get into my space, but I barely resist the urge to lean against him. I purposely don't look at him, not wanting him to know I'm so affected by his nearness.

I nod down the tunnel, then clear my throat. "Danger."

He immediately glances at the tunnel, then gently nudges me in the opposite direction. "Then we'll go this way."

I take a single step, stop, then shake my head and look in the other direction again. I nibble on my bottom lip before ultimately pointing down the left tunnel. "No, we need to go that way."

His claws flex once.

Twice.

His growl echoes in the cavern, his fangs flash, and his blue eyes almost glow as he gazes down the left tunnel. I can tell he wants to protest, and it's taking everything in him not to pick me up and run in the opposite direction.

He sucks in a deep breath, probably praying for patience. The fur on his body fluffs up, most likely from him battling his instincts, then he nudges me to the side, takes the lead, and steps into the left tunnel.

I trail after him, my feet scuffling against the stone, and a flash of movement in front of me catches my attention. A fluffy white tail with large, black spots sways back and forth with his every step, and I have to clench my fingers into fists to resist the urge to reach out and grab it.

My brain demands that I find out if it's as soft as it looks.

Floofy!

I'm prancing after him, mesmerized by the hypnotic back and forth swish. I'm so distracted that I don't notice him stopping until my nose is practically buried in his fur, and a muffled, "Oomph," escapes me.

Blushing furiously, I hastily step back, more than a little disappointed when his tail drops to wrap around his ankle, and I sulk that I missed my chance to cop a feel. Desperate for a distraction, I peer cautiously around him. He glances down at me, putting a clawed fingertip to his lips, then points down the darkened tunnel.

That's when I see the faint light.

When I lean forward, dark voices and menacing laughter echo down the tunnel, but they are too far away for me to understand what they are saying.

Glancing up at Stryker, I nod in understanding.

He raises a brow, silently asking if I want to go back, but I only shake my head. A small snarl curls his lips, but he nods and moves forward. For such a big man, he's virtually silent when he moves. I don't know if it's something from his beastling side, the pads of his feet muffling the noise, or an instinctual talent.

Whatever it is, I'm jealous, very much feeling like a bumbling toddler as I follow in his wake, trying to mimic his stealthy movements.

The closer we get, the clearer the voices become, and the more my heart sinks. There are at least five guards, but there's something wrong with them. They are short and lean, their proportions unnatural, like something is off with their bone structure, but I can't tell if it's because their limbs are a little too long and sinewy or if their chests are slightly too thick.

It's like they've been inbreeding for decades.

Their eyes are a little off center and slightly too big, and their teeth are crooked and wicked sharp, but it's their high-pitched laughter that grates along my nerves. Their hair is a mousy brown and patchy in spots, like an entire colony of lice took up residence decades ago and never left. What remains of their fur forms a messy mohawk down the center of their skulls.

Stryker crouches at the edge of the opening, giving me a clear view into the space, and I barely stifle my gasp.

In the middle of the room is the girl who abandoned us.

Gone is the cocky smile. She's huddled against the far wall, broken and bleeding. One of her wings dangles awkwardly behind her, and bits and pieces of it are gone, giving the image of a stained glass window missing a few panes. Her hair is matted, like she's been doused with something, and I see a man holding what looks like a fire extinguisher.

Hundreds of bugs lie scattered about her, many of them dead or dying, their bodies twitching as if trying to get to her, but they can't.

The guards have their backs to us, the smaller beastlings obviously pack animals of some sort.

We could easily walk past them without alerting them to our presence, since the guards are totally focused on their prey, but my feet are rooted to the spot.

As much as she might be an ass, no one deserves that fate.

I glance toward Stryker, only to see him scowling back at me. Emphatically shaking his head, he points a clawed finger toward the exit.

I grimace and shake my head, and his expression hardens. A calculating look enters his blue eyes, as if he's debating if he could get away with dragging me off, and I back away, suddenly wary.

A silent chuff escapes him, then his shoulders sag, and he glances back into the room where they are torturing the girl like it's a game. Determination hardens his face, his ears swivel, and his body tenses like he's going to pounce.

Shit!

I glance around for a weapon, anything I can use to defend myself, only to find rocks.

More and more rocks.

I crouch, heft a decent-sized stone, then nod toward Stryker.

He lifts three fingers in the air, slowly counting down, and I allow my powers to flare to life.

Three.

Two.

One.

I shoot to my feet and charge out of the darkness just a step behind Stryker.