could unleash her hunting instincts.
Jorie was running after the Maki. She was quickly catching up with his lumbering form.
No!
Griffin bolted after them, but the slender Jorie was unexpectedly fast.
One of her hands shot out to snatch the backpack away from the mugger.
The Maki sensed a presence behind him. With a roar, he charged around.
His eyes widened when he realized it was Jorie, not Griffin, who had chased him down. This wasn't part of their plan. Still charged with adrenaline, the Maki stood with the knife suspended in mid-air.
Taking advantage of his hesitation, Jorie reached for the backpack.
Stupid! In his condition, the Maki would interpret it as an attack. Griffin lunged forward to hold her back, but the Maki was faster.
His knife slashed through the air, a natural extension of his hand, as his claws would have been.
Jorie stumbled back and crashed into one of the parked cars.
A hoarse cry of pain made Griffin's heartbeat speed up. Anger threatened to ignite. Blood! Her nose signaled her. Jorie's blood . He hurt her! With two big leaps, she had caught up with them. Her fist, already covered with fine, lengthening hair, drew back. Stop! You're not here to protect Jorie. You're here to trick her, remember? With an iron hand, she shackled her cat instincts that told her to hunt down the Maki.
His self-control wasn't as good. A giant paw smashed into the side of Griffin's head.
Pain exploded. Her vision blurred. Adrenaline pounded through her. Her skin burned, and she fought against the need to shift or fight back. No! she firmly told herself. This is not an attack; this is what you wanted. She let herself sink onto one knee.
The sound of the Maki's hurried footsteps made her hunter's instincts flare again. She shook from the effort to control her urge to shift.
Jorie!
The thought made her get to her feet.
Jorie was right next to her. She was bent over, and for a few horrifying seconds, Griffin thought the knife might have hit her in the gut. Then she saw the blood soaking her left sleeve. The coppery scent of it was almost drowned out by the biting smell of Jorie's pain, fear, and shock.
Age-old instincts boiled through Griffin's blood, telling her to hunt down the weak, cornered prey, but years of training allowed her to ignore the impulse and the tempting scent of fear. "Hey," Griffin murmured. "You okay?" She heard her own voice shaking and hoped Jorie believed it was just the shock, not guilt or the effort it took not to shift. "Let me see."
"It's okay," Jorie said through gritted teeth.
"Let me see," Griffin said using the tone of voice she had heard from her fathers, the Kasari lords. Gently, she peeled back the torn sleeve.
The heady scent of blood made her hunting instincts rattle against their cage. Griffin kept a tight grip on them as she looked at Jorie's forearm. Blood was dripping down, but Griffin had seen enough wounds to know it wasn't that bad. Oh, thank the Great Hunter! "Come on," she said. "We have to get the bleeding stopped."
Human wounds didn't heal as quickly as Wrasa injuries did. Griffin reached into the still open trunk of her rental car and took out the first-aid kit that she kept in her gear under the pretense of being prepared for backpacking. "This might hurt," she said.
Dark eyes that were now inky black looked back at her from a pale face. Jorie gave her a short nod.
Griffin unwrapped a gauze pad and pressed it down on the wound, trying to stop the bleeding.
Jorie's teeth crunched against each other. A cloud of pain stung Griffin's nose.
"Hold that for a moment," Griffin instructed, trying to ignore Jorie's emotions — and her own. She put a temporary bandage on Jorie's arm. "Are you hurt anywhere else?" Her gaze roved over Jorie's body. The knife had cut through the shoulder of Jorie's jacket, and the torn fabric of her sweatshirt peeked out. "Is your shoulder bleeding?"
"No, I don't think so." Trembling fingers flitted over her shoulder, pulling the
Jorie was running after the Maki. She was quickly catching up with his lumbering form.
No!
Griffin bolted after them, but the slender Jorie was unexpectedly fast.
One of her hands shot out to snatch the backpack away from the mugger.
The Maki sensed a presence behind him. With a roar, he charged around.
His eyes widened when he realized it was Jorie, not Griffin, who had chased him down. This wasn't part of their plan. Still charged with adrenaline, the Maki stood with the knife suspended in mid-air.
Taking advantage of his hesitation, Jorie reached for the backpack.
Stupid! In his condition, the Maki would interpret it as an attack. Griffin lunged forward to hold her back, but the Maki was faster.
His knife slashed through the air, a natural extension of his hand, as his claws would have been.
Jorie stumbled back and crashed into one of the parked cars.
A hoarse cry of pain made Griffin's heartbeat speed up. Anger threatened to ignite. Blood! Her nose signaled her. Jorie's blood . He hurt her! With two big leaps, she had caught up with them. Her fist, already covered with fine, lengthening hair, drew back. Stop! You're not here to protect Jorie. You're here to trick her, remember? With an iron hand, she shackled her cat instincts that told her to hunt down the Maki.
His self-control wasn't as good. A giant paw smashed into the side of Griffin's head.
Pain exploded. Her vision blurred. Adrenaline pounded through her. Her skin burned, and she fought against the need to shift or fight back. No! she firmly told herself. This is not an attack; this is what you wanted. She let herself sink onto one knee.
The sound of the Maki's hurried footsteps made her hunter's instincts flare again. She shook from the effort to control her urge to shift.
Jorie!
The thought made her get to her feet.
Jorie was right next to her. She was bent over, and for a few horrifying seconds, Griffin thought the knife might have hit her in the gut. Then she saw the blood soaking her left sleeve. The coppery scent of it was almost drowned out by the biting smell of Jorie's pain, fear, and shock.
Age-old instincts boiled through Griffin's blood, telling her to hunt down the weak, cornered prey, but years of training allowed her to ignore the impulse and the tempting scent of fear. "Hey," Griffin murmured. "You okay?" She heard her own voice shaking and hoped Jorie believed it was just the shock, not guilt or the effort it took not to shift. "Let me see."
"It's okay," Jorie said through gritted teeth.
"Let me see," Griffin said using the tone of voice she had heard from her fathers, the Kasari lords. Gently, she peeled back the torn sleeve.
The heady scent of blood made her hunting instincts rattle against their cage. Griffin kept a tight grip on them as she looked at Jorie's forearm. Blood was dripping down, but Griffin had seen enough wounds to know it wasn't that bad. Oh, thank the Great Hunter! "Come on," she said. "We have to get the bleeding stopped."
Human wounds didn't heal as quickly as Wrasa injuries did. Griffin reached into the still open trunk of her rental car and took out the first-aid kit that she kept in her gear under the pretense of being prepared for backpacking. "This might hurt," she said.
Dark eyes that were now inky black looked back at her from a pale face. Jorie gave her a short nod.
Griffin unwrapped a gauze pad and pressed it down on the wound, trying to stop the bleeding.
Jorie's teeth crunched against each other. A cloud of pain stung Griffin's nose.
"Hold that for a moment," Griffin instructed, trying to ignore Jorie's emotions — and her own. She put a temporary bandage on Jorie's arm. "Are you hurt anywhere else?" Her gaze roved over Jorie's body. The knife had cut through the shoulder of Jorie's jacket, and the torn fabric of her sweatshirt peeked out. "Is your shoulder bleeding?"
"No, I don't think so." Trembling fingers flitted over her shoulder, pulling the
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