But then the stray removed one paw from my chest, settling some of his weight on the ground between me and Marc, and suddenly I could breathe again. Not well, but good enough.
I swallowed air in huge mouthfuls, spitting it out as fast as I pulled it in, and only a concerted effort on my part stopped me from hyperventilating. When I could see clearly again, I turned my head, pressing my cheek into soft, cold, fragrant dirt as I peered around the stray’s leg. Marc stood fifteen feet away. He had a gash on his forehead, blood smeared across the left side of his face, and a bloody rip in the corresponding sleeve of his coat. But he was alive and upright, and everything else would come in time.
“Let her go,” Marc ordered, in near-flawless imitation of my father’s obey-or-die voice.
The stray growled and dropped his muzzle to my neck. Stiff fur brushed my skin, and I whimpered before I could stop myself.
Marc jerked into motion, snatching a long, thick branch from the ground near his feet. He swung his club up and took two steps forward.
Four shards of pain pricked my chest, above my left breast, and I screamed, more shocked than really hurt. Startled by Marc’s sudden movement, the stray had unsheathed his claws, which pierced my leather jacket, shirt, then my flesh.
The cat resheathed his claws immediately, reinforcing my theory that he didn’t want to kill me—unless he had to. And when my eyes found Marc again, I saw something flicker in the dark behind him, in the hand he held behind his thigh. A flashlight? How was that supposed to help me? Was he planning to blind the damn stray?
Marc’s hand moved again, and the light flashed brighter this time. Only it wasn’t really a light. It was more like a glint—moonlight flashing off something…metal? Had he found my knife? No, it was too thin. More like a…
Syringe. He had the tranquilizer.
Wonderful. Unfortunately, Marc would never get close enough to use it without startling the stray into killing me. But evidently he didn’t plan to.
Marc glanced up at Jace, and gave him a tiny nod—a signal for something.
Jace roared—an impressive display of anger and dominance, I must admit—and the stray hissed, his head whipping toward the sound instinctively. While the cat was distracted, Marc tossed the syringe toward me. It thumped onto the ground near my hip.
The stray turned toward the sound, hissing, and one heavy paw landed on my stomach.
“Do it!” Marc whispered urgently to me, and my hand flew to my side, fingers scrambling in a mound of moss for the syringe—almost literally looking for a needle in a haystack.