Kitty and the Silver Bullet
Page 72
Behind him, something moved in the scrub, where trees started growing at the base of the hills. A wolf, moving in from the wild, trotted toward us. Then another. These were large—too big to be wild wolves. These were wolves that conserved the mass of their human halves—a hundred fifty, two hundred pounds maybe. Big, but still lithe, trotting smoothly and with purpose.
Behind them came a person—a woman, naked, flexing her muscles, her arms and hands, in a familiar gesture. She was about to shift.
I took a deep breath, trying to scent a nonexistent breeze, catching what odors the morning air carried. The pack. This place always smelled like pack—this is where they gathered, where they made their home. But this smell was alive, not a passive scent left behind on a place. The pack was here, now.
I ventured a look around. On all sides of us, people approached. I counted four, then six, then nine, and more. Shaun was one of them, coming from the street. He gave me a nod of acknowledgment. They weren't all dead. They'd found us.
Carl saw them, then. For just a moment, a hairsbreadth of a moment, he smiled, almost relaxed—he thought he was saved, that his pack would rescue him.
But they weren't his pack anymore, and they all moved toward him. Their glares held malice. In return for the abuse he'd handed out, on behalf of the ones he had killed, they wanted blood.
Carl's expression turned to panic.
He raised his hands in a pleading gesture. "Kitty, no, no, please! I'll leave. I'll leave Denver, I won't come back. It'll be yours, it'll all be yours."
"It's already mine," I said.
His face went slack, as if the muscles gave out. The wolves, on two and four feet, came closer.
"Please let me go, Kitty." He sounded like a little boy. "I'll never bother you again."
My mouth was dry. But I had to see this through. I couldn't turn away. "You'll leave Denver, never come back?" I said. "Same deal you gave me?"
He nodded quickly. "Yes, yes!"
A dozen monsters wanted his blood.
"I'm sorry, Carl. That's not for me to decide."
The pack closed the circle around him. A wolf clamped teeth around his waist, another raked claws down his back.
Carl screamed and started to Change. His wolf had sensed the danger and had clawed its way to the surface. His face stretched, growing a snout. His reaching arms bore claws, his skin shone with fur. But it was too late. The others were too many and too strong. They overwhelmed him, swallowed him in their crowd. I lost sight of him, but still heard him. His screams came fast and desperate, turning high-pitched and squealing, like the wailing of a dog, then gurgled to silence. They tore him apart.
I dropped the gun and ran to Ben.
"Ben! Ben, hold on, please—"
"Kitty!"
Already sitting up, he fell into my arms. We clung to each other, as if afraid of drowning.
My arms tight around him, his blood soaking into my clothes, smearing on my face, I kept saying, sobbing, over and over, "Don't die, don't leave me, don't ever leave me."
For all his injuries, he squeezed back just as tight. I couldn't breathe, and that was okay.
"I'm all right," he said, his voice weak. "I'll be all right. I won't go."
"I love you. I love you, Ben."
He kissed me. He could only find my ear because I pressed myself so tightly to him, my face against his neck. I responded, turning so my lips met his. He held my head, his fingers digging in my hair, and we kissed. I could taste the blood on his lips and face. I didn't want to come up for air.
Ben slumped against me, and I had a moment of panic. Maybe he wasn't all right after all, maybe he was dying, maybe—
He rested his head on my shoulder. He'd let himself relax, settling into my embrace. He wasn't going to shift, he wasn't going to die.
He murmured, "She kept saying, 'We'll give you back to her in pieces. We'll show you to her in pieces, before we take her apart.' And all I could think was, ‘Don't hurt her. Please don't hurt her.’"
Together, we sighed. The world had paused for a moment, and we took advantage of it.
"Are you sure you're okay?" I tried to get a look at him, at his injuries. But I didn't want to move. I wanted to keep him close.
"I feel like shit," he said, and chuckled. "Dack's with them, he's one of the bad guys."
"I know. He's gone, he went away."
"Did we win? Did the good guys win?"
"Yeah, the good guys won. Let's take a look at you."
He winced as he straightened, and we surveyed the damage: bruises everywhere, cuts on his arms. His shirt was so torn it practically fell off him. Slash marks covered most of his body. Face, neck, chest, stomach. They looked deep and oozed red. The skin around the wounds separated when he breathed. She'd wanted to make it slow, which I supposed I ought to be grateful for. It kept him alive for me.
"Oh my God," I whispered, wincing in sympathy.
He shook his head. "It's already better. Now that she's stopped, it's better."
"You should lie still for a while."
"As long as you keep me company."
I smiled. "Okay."
The noise from the pack—ugly, wet noises—had stopped. The wolves remained. Most had Changed to their four-legged selves, pushed over the edge by the blood and violence. But they were all calm now, lying down, licking their paws, or each other's muzzles. A couple of human forms sat among them, watching them. Their arms were bloody.
There was no sign of Carl.
The wolves gathered around me and Ben. The whole crowd of them, over a dozen, formed a circle around us. When they noticed me looking at them, they glanced away, bowed their heads, laid back their ears, lowered their tails. All signs of submission. All body language that said, You are the leader now.
"I'm not ready for this," I whispered into Ben's neck.
"Didn't you say you wanted kids?"
Not like this. One kid, maybe. A child of my own flesh and blood. Not…not a dozen killers. Still, I giggled, high-pitched and nervous.
"O alpha, my alpha," Ben said, and I punched his arm—very gently. He kissed my forehead.
Shaun hadn't joined the others in the kill. He'd stayed back, near me. Watching over us.
"You okay, Ben?" he asked.
Behind them came a person—a woman, naked, flexing her muscles, her arms and hands, in a familiar gesture. She was about to shift.
I took a deep breath, trying to scent a nonexistent breeze, catching what odors the morning air carried. The pack. This place always smelled like pack—this is where they gathered, where they made their home. But this smell was alive, not a passive scent left behind on a place. The pack was here, now.
I ventured a look around. On all sides of us, people approached. I counted four, then six, then nine, and more. Shaun was one of them, coming from the street. He gave me a nod of acknowledgment. They weren't all dead. They'd found us.
Carl saw them, then. For just a moment, a hairsbreadth of a moment, he smiled, almost relaxed—he thought he was saved, that his pack would rescue him.
But they weren't his pack anymore, and they all moved toward him. Their glares held malice. In return for the abuse he'd handed out, on behalf of the ones he had killed, they wanted blood.
Carl's expression turned to panic.
He raised his hands in a pleading gesture. "Kitty, no, no, please! I'll leave. I'll leave Denver, I won't come back. It'll be yours, it'll all be yours."
"It's already mine," I said.
His face went slack, as if the muscles gave out. The wolves, on two and four feet, came closer.
"Please let me go, Kitty." He sounded like a little boy. "I'll never bother you again."
My mouth was dry. But I had to see this through. I couldn't turn away. "You'll leave Denver, never come back?" I said. "Same deal you gave me?"
He nodded quickly. "Yes, yes!"
A dozen monsters wanted his blood.
"I'm sorry, Carl. That's not for me to decide."
The pack closed the circle around him. A wolf clamped teeth around his waist, another raked claws down his back.
Carl screamed and started to Change. His wolf had sensed the danger and had clawed its way to the surface. His face stretched, growing a snout. His reaching arms bore claws, his skin shone with fur. But it was too late. The others were too many and too strong. They overwhelmed him, swallowed him in their crowd. I lost sight of him, but still heard him. His screams came fast and desperate, turning high-pitched and squealing, like the wailing of a dog, then gurgled to silence. They tore him apart.
I dropped the gun and ran to Ben.
"Ben! Ben, hold on, please—"
"Kitty!"
Already sitting up, he fell into my arms. We clung to each other, as if afraid of drowning.
My arms tight around him, his blood soaking into my clothes, smearing on my face, I kept saying, sobbing, over and over, "Don't die, don't leave me, don't ever leave me."
For all his injuries, he squeezed back just as tight. I couldn't breathe, and that was okay.
"I'm all right," he said, his voice weak. "I'll be all right. I won't go."
"I love you. I love you, Ben."
He kissed me. He could only find my ear because I pressed myself so tightly to him, my face against his neck. I responded, turning so my lips met his. He held my head, his fingers digging in my hair, and we kissed. I could taste the blood on his lips and face. I didn't want to come up for air.
Ben slumped against me, and I had a moment of panic. Maybe he wasn't all right after all, maybe he was dying, maybe—
He rested his head on my shoulder. He'd let himself relax, settling into my embrace. He wasn't going to shift, he wasn't going to die.
He murmured, "She kept saying, 'We'll give you back to her in pieces. We'll show you to her in pieces, before we take her apart.' And all I could think was, ‘Don't hurt her. Please don't hurt her.’"
Together, we sighed. The world had paused for a moment, and we took advantage of it.
"Are you sure you're okay?" I tried to get a look at him, at his injuries. But I didn't want to move. I wanted to keep him close.
"I feel like shit," he said, and chuckled. "Dack's with them, he's one of the bad guys."
"I know. He's gone, he went away."
"Did we win? Did the good guys win?"
"Yeah, the good guys won. Let's take a look at you."
He winced as he straightened, and we surveyed the damage: bruises everywhere, cuts on his arms. His shirt was so torn it practically fell off him. Slash marks covered most of his body. Face, neck, chest, stomach. They looked deep and oozed red. The skin around the wounds separated when he breathed. She'd wanted to make it slow, which I supposed I ought to be grateful for. It kept him alive for me.
"Oh my God," I whispered, wincing in sympathy.
He shook his head. "It's already better. Now that she's stopped, it's better."
"You should lie still for a while."
"As long as you keep me company."
I smiled. "Okay."
The noise from the pack—ugly, wet noises—had stopped. The wolves remained. Most had Changed to their four-legged selves, pushed over the edge by the blood and violence. But they were all calm now, lying down, licking their paws, or each other's muzzles. A couple of human forms sat among them, watching them. Their arms were bloody.
There was no sign of Carl.
The wolves gathered around me and Ben. The whole crowd of them, over a dozen, formed a circle around us. When they noticed me looking at them, they glanced away, bowed their heads, laid back their ears, lowered their tails. All signs of submission. All body language that said, You are the leader now.
"I'm not ready for this," I whispered into Ben's neck.
"Didn't you say you wanted kids?"
Not like this. One kid, maybe. A child of my own flesh and blood. Not…not a dozen killers. Still, I giggled, high-pitched and nervous.
"O alpha, my alpha," Ben said, and I punched his arm—very gently. He kissed my forehead.
Shaun hadn't joined the others in the kill. He'd stayed back, near me. Watching over us.
"You okay, Ben?" he asked.
