//Un//marked

// chapter 9 //

Snap.

Long canines nearly found their way into his shoulders. Dewkit jumped, fur against the fence at his back, rolling himself into as small a ball as he could. The creature before him brought its square muzzle closer, its large black nose twitching and drool falling in strings from its jaws.

The wet of the creature's nose touched the kit and he uncurled himself, lashing out with thorn-sharp claws. His strike left three red gashes, along with a renewed bloodlust in its beady black eyes.

"Help!" Dewkit squeaked again, racing away from the creature as quickly as he could. It missed him by a hair, crashing its tan and black body into the fence before wheeling around and following him. Its legs were much longer than Dewkit's own and there was nowhere to hide in the Twoleg garden.

Dewkit launched himself at the fence, scrabbling at it with his front paws. His crumpled back leg helped to break his fall as he came tumbling back down.

The creature was closing in. He had two options: stand and fight or let it eat him alive.

The grey tom curled himself up again, waiting for the fangs to pierce his skin. It was useless, he would die either way.

Then, he heard a fierce yowl and a strangled yelp. A chorus of hissing and growling commenced, followed by the sounds of claws ripping through fur. Dewkit shivered, not daring to look up. The ground shuddered beneath him as something heavy fell to it.

Next thing he knew, he was being lifted up. Dewkit cried out, struggling with all his might, but whoever held his scruff tightly in their jaws ignored him, taking a mighty leap and landing on the fencetop above instead.

"Stop struggling, beetlebrain," the muffled voice commanded, placing him on top of the wooden slats. "I just saved your life, is that any way to thank your rescuer?"

Dewkit blinked up at the figure before him. He was long and lithe, enough to see his ribs poking through his fur in the light of the moon, but also enough to define the slight muscles of his legs and chest in shadow. His brown tabby fur was clean, if a little messy, and his tail and ears ended in tufts.

The kit's hazel eyes met bright amber ones. "Thank you," Dewkit breathed, glancing down into the Twoleg garden. The creature was nowhere to be seen.

"That dog nearly got you," the tom replied. "Why are you on your own in such a dangerous place, small one? Especially with that limp of yours?"

Dewkit felt panic and embarrassment fill him at the tom's observations. "I got separated," the kit stammered, pushing back his ears and shuffling his paws. "No one came looking for me."

Saying the words out loud only made him feel worse. He suddenly felt an urgent need to wail.

"Think we can follow their scent?" the tom suggested, twitching his nose upwards at the stars.

"No need," came a growl from behind Dewkit. Warmth filled him as a grey tail wrapped around him, holding him close.

The brown tabby tom got to his paws, nodding his head courteously. "I will be on my way then."

"Not so fast." Dewkit became aware of other cats standing in the shadows, some on top of fences and others below in the Twoleg gardens. He realized they were surrounding his rescuer.

"You're not from these parts," Bronco said as he stepped forward. He was larger than the other tom and regarded him coldly.

"How do we know we can trust you?" Nightchaser asked as he approached the brown tabby from the other direction, neatly putting one paw in front of the other.