“Wearing a pink hoodie?”

“That’s her.”

“I just saw her over here, not two minutes ago. I’ll show you.”

“Thanks, I appreciate that.”

They set out toward a side street.

“Hey,” Daniel said. “While we’re at it, you haven’t seen my cat, have you?”

“What?”

“My cat. She took off, too. She’s brown, about this tall, really cute, with—”

A scream cut through the night. And no matter how often I hear that sound, I jump every time. Rae’s eyes went wild, and she started struggling as Derek pinned her to the wall. The man talking to Daniel wheeled toward the noise. Daniel shouted, “No!” and the guy flew clear off his feet—literally knocked over by that sonic boom shout, another of Daniel’s powers.

Daniel dove for the guy, and I heard the skitter of a gun hitting the ground as Daniel yanked it out and tossed it aside. The man’s partner was running to his aid when a tawny shape leapt from atop a building. A mountain lion. A hundred-and–twenty-odd pounds of muscle, fangs and claws. It fell on the second man, dropping him to the pavement.

“Good,” Daniel said between swings as he battled his opponent. “You found my kitty.”

Maya snarled at him. She easily pinned the second man while the first fought Daniel.

One thing a benandanti is really good at? Fighting. Yet it looked as if Daniel was just toying with his guy.

“Come on,” I whispered. “End it already.”

“He has a reason,” Derek rumbled beside me. Which was right. Daniel’s benandanti blood meant he had a tendency to lash out, but he’d gotten that under control months ago.

Derek’s head shot up as if hearing something again. He shoved Rae to the ground and pinned her there, and then he said to me, “Can you hold her?”

I nodded and moved onto her back, my knee against her spine, my hand on her neck. As Derek took off, I heard what he must have: the sound of running footsteps.

Seven

Seven

Daniel had been toying with his opponent to flush out the man’s allies, who were now joining the fray. I listened to the fight with relative calm. Daniel’s opponent was obviously no skilled assassin. I won’t say we were but…well, the Nasts weren’t training us for desk jobs. We all got private lessons with world-class instructors, who had determined the best mix to suit our personality and size. I got jujitsu and aikido, plus archery and marksmanship.

My dad nearly had heart failure the first time he saw me fire a gun, but I embraced the lessons because our months on the run taught me I needed to be able to defend myself, by any means necessary.