Kitty and the Silver Bullet

Chapter 10

I called Mom in the morning. She didn't answer her phone. Dad didn't answer his. They'd already left for the hospital I was guessing. Mom never gave me an answer to my question. No—that was the answer. She hadn't changed her mind. She wouldn't let me save her. We'd have to trust the doctors and modern medical science to do it.

To tell the truth, I was glad. And if science didn't work, if the surgery didn't remove it all, well…I could ask her again. And again…

I left a message apologizing for not being there. She'd want the whole family there as they wheeled her into surgery. She'd be disappointed. But right now I felt like the best way I could protect my family was by staying away from them.

We had a plan, but had to wait to put it in motion, and it was killing me. The show wasn't until Friday night. I had to make it all the way through Friday, first. We had a lot to do to get ready.

And if we were on the move, Carl couldn't find us.

Ben and I drove to Longmont to take a look at Cormac's storage unit.

The Jeep was parked at Ben's mother's house, a bungalow near downtown, one of those cute little houses built in the thirties, all brick and tiny rooms, with a porch in front and a shed out back.

"I still haven't met your mom," I said as we walked around back to the end of the driveway.

"She's at work now. Let's get this over with, I don't want to explain to her why we're getting into Cormac's Jeep."

I couldn't blame him. Cormac hunted vampires and werewolves because that was what his father—Ben's mother's brother—had done, and their father before him. It ran in the family. Ben's mother knew enough to guess what kind of trouble we'd gotten involved in. Ben hadn't yet told her that he'd been infected with lycanthropy, that he'd become one of the family's enemies. I wasn't sure she knew that we'd shacked up together.

It was all just as well.

The key was right where Cormac said it would be, and Ben knew the storage place it went with. Cormac had rented a small unit, the size of a walk-in closet. This was somehow comforting. I'd been afraid that Cormac needed a warehouse to contain his arsenal.

"Yeah, this'll definitely be useful," Ben said after stepping into the closet and turning on the light. "I think some of it's my dad's. Cormac moved it off the ranch when it looked like the Feds were going to haul him in."

Ben's father—Cormac's uncle—had been active in a militia in the nineties. He was now serving time for illegal weapons possession and conspiracy charges. Ben hadn't spoken to him in almost a decade.

Most of the stash was organized, stacked neatly on shelves, rifle cases on the bottom, other boxes and metal cases higher up, boxes of bullets, and I didn't have to look to know that many of them were silver. In the back, longer weapons lay propped in a corner: javelins, spears—even some of those tips gleamed silver. Several crossbows of various shapes and strengths lay on another shelf. Cormac could kill anything, almost any way he wanted to with this stuff. He must have been gathering the collection for years. Or maybe he'd inherited it. The wood on some of the pieces seemed well varnished and smelled of age.

Ben brought an empty box from the car and started putting items into it. He opened cases, chose or rejected individual weapons based on no criteria I could name. Then he packed several boxes of ammunition and covered a pair of the crossbows with a tarp before bringing them into the light and loading them into the trunk.

"Point of no return," I said softly.

"Hm?"

"Is this going to work? What if I get everyone killed?"

"Second thoughts?" he said, leaning on the doorframe.

"It's got to be done. I don't know how else to do it."

Ben gave my arm a comforting squeeze. I was too startled to respond.

It had been my idea to go to the shooting range next and get some more practice. I had a feeling I needed all the practice in the world, and it still wouldn't be enough. We spent an hour shooting, burning through several boxes of plain ammunition.

I was starting to understand the attraction of shooting things. Mostly it was the noise. Even with the earphones, each shot burst like an explosion in my head. The noise traveled through my bones. It rattled loose everything else, the worries, anxieties, fears. All that remained was the noise and the punctured target a couple dozen yards away. I was getting better. All the shots hit the paper now. Most hit the center of the black target.

Ben and I didn't say a word to each other.

Back at the car, Ben put on gloves and reloaded the clips with silver bullets.

"Where does Cormac get those?" I asked. "Is there some kind of mail order catalog? A Web site?"

"There's a guy in Laramie who makes them," Ben said. "Been doing it for years."

"Everybody get them from this guy?"

"No. Other people make them. There's a community out there—Cormac's not the only one who does what he does."

I should have known that, but it was still a sobering thought. Shining a light into this shadow world didn't illuminate much of anything. It only made more shadows. Darker shadows. All this time, all these miles, I was still ignorant.

"Community, huh? Is there a union? Conventions?"

He just smiled.

I picked one of the silver bullets from the box and held it in my bare hand. Instantly, it started to itch, and a rash developed, splotchy red. I kept it in my palm, letting it burn.

"What are you doing?" Ben said.

I didn't know. Letting the pain grow, I stared at the shining capsule in my hand. It gleamed, brighter than the ones we'd spent on paper targets, like a bit of frozen mercury or a piece of jewelry, beautiful almost. Like magic. This little thing could kill me. And I held it, inert. Like playing with fire.

Ben picked it off my hand and slid it into the clip. I rubbed my hand on my jeans. Slowly, the pain and the rash faded.

"Maybe we won't have to shoot anyone," I said. "Maybe they'll just leave. Maybe I can convince them to leave town, leave us alone."

Ben took a long pause before saying, "Maybe."

"I don't want to have to shoot anyone, Ben."

Another long pause. "Then it's a good thing Dack and I are around." He packed the guns into the trunk and went to the driver's seat.

"This'll work," I said as we drove away.

"Yeah," Ben said.

Neither one of us sounded sure.

Finally, it was time.

Rick settled into the chair in the studio. He looked distinctly nervous, his gaze unsettled, his skin too pale, even for a vampire. I wanted this all to be over just to see Rick back to normal. I was used to seeing him confident and even amiable.

At least he was back to the suave Rick I was used to, all polish and expensive clothing.

"I'm only here because I have nothing to lose," he said.

"Oh, don't sound so glum. This'll be fun!"

Matt back in the booth didn't look so sure. Rick also looked skeptical.

"Humor me a little longer," I said. "Then it'll be all over."

"I leave it to you. You're the professional." He put on the headphones, glaring at me. "I have a small request, though. You need to call me Ricardo."

"That your real name?"

"It's a Master's name."

And that was another thing about vampires: Why did they have such a problem with nicknames? "Whatever you say."

Nothing more than sheer, pigheaded enthusiasm was carrying me along at this point. Show business, baby. Matt counted down, and the music cued up.

"Good night, everyone, and welcome to The Midnight Hour. It's vampires again tonight. It might sound like I've been doing a lot of shows on vampires lately, but that's just the way it goes. There seem to be a lot of them around at the moment. This time it's vampire politics. Like any other community, they have their leaders, their followers, their structures, their organizations—and their problems. Here to help us talk about vampires' wily ways and notions is a very special guest: Denver's own Master vampire, Ricardo."

This was going to piss a lot of people off. Kind of like kicking a wasp's nest.

"Hi, Ricardo, how are you this fine evening?"

"I'm just wonderful," he said, gritting his teeth but managing to sound honest. The microphone would hear honest, at least. "It's an honor to be on your show."

"Thank you, that's great to hear," I said. "I was starting to think most vampires put up with me because they think I'm cute and harmless."

"Oh, I wouldn't accuse you of that."

"Wait—which one?" He just smiled. "Right, moving on. Tonight I'd like to delve into some of the secrets, the hows and whys. The questions that never see the light of day, so to speak. But first, do you think you'll get in trouble for answering such questions? For breaking the code of secrecy?"

"Oh, probably. One thing or another will get me in trouble."

"So being a vampire is dangerous stuff."

"Yes. Usually. People assume immortality comes with vampirism. But you'd be surprised how much work the immortality takes. The old vampires are dangerous because they know what it takes to survive."

"Take note of that all you wannabes out there. So, Ricardo—how did you become the Master of Denver?"

"Finesse," he said, his face perfectly straight. "Sometimes it's just a matter of walking in and saying, 'Here I am.' "

Oh my God, I loved it. "Is that how such transitions usually take place?"

"Usually they're quite violent. Vampires are territorial. Taking another vampire's territory isn't something to be done lightly. But I firmly believe this territory is better off in my hands than my predecessor's."

This sounded like a political campaign, which was exactly the right description, I supposed. Except the tactics threatened to get much more vicious.

"Better off? How?"

"Safer."

"For vampires—"

"For everyone."

"Wait a minute, I may not know much, but I know vampires keep to themselves. Most of the fine citizens of Denver have never interacted with a vampire and wouldn't know one if they met one. How does a city's Master vampire keep the city safe for everyone?" I knew the answer; this was for the benefit of my listeners.

"Because when a Master vampire can't control his followers, the rest of the city's vampires, then no one is safe from them. They will hunt indiscriminately, uncontrolled. They'll kill. Most people never notice vampires because they're kept in check. They don't kill for blood. When that control is gone…" He left the statement hanging ominously. "It's the same with werewolves, you know that."

The system—alphas commanding their packs, Masters controlling the vampires—had been handed down for centuries. Most of our kinds knew they had to stay hidden to survive, to avoid the mob with torches and pitchforks scenario. Occasionally, though, we had rogues who lacked common sense. We had to police ourselves. The system was archaic, born in the days of monarchs and empires. It showed, even in someone relatively down to earth like Rick.

"I do, and we'll maybe get to that later in the show. But here's a question for you: Do you think maybe the system is outdated?" That caught him off guard. He narrowed his gaze at me. I said, "I don't expect you to tell me your age—I haven't yet gotten a vampire to admit his age—but tell me this: were you born in a country with a king? An absolute monarch, in the days when that actually meant something more than getting chased by paparazzi."

Cautiously, he said, "Yes."

I filled in a few holes. He'd been born in Europe, at least a couple hundred years ago. With a name like Ricardo, that probably meant Spain. Lots of holes remained, like when he'd become a vampire, when he'd come to America, and—the eternal question—how old was he really?

"Then does Denver even need a Master, or do you think the system is outdated?" I honestly wanted to know, and I had no idea what he was going to say.

"I thought you were supposed to be making me look good."

"I decided to go for heavy-hitting philosophy instead."

He took what I threw at him in stride, with a narrow gaze and nary a beat missed. "I think we already answered that question. You've met some of the vampires in question, and I don't think you'd really want them to have free run of the city."

It was hard to tell the difference from my end. They all seemed arrogant and selfish. They all wanted you to know they could own you if they chose to, if they didn't have someone like Arturo holding them back.

"You've got a point," I said.

Rick continued. "The system isn't absolute. The Master isn't an absolute monarch. The relationship works both ways—it's based on a more ancient, feudal form than anything most modern people are used to dealing with. Vampires put themselves under control of a Master. In return, the Master owes them protection. And if a Master can no longer provide his followers that safety—that's when the system falls apart."

"And you're saying Denver's old Master couldn't provide that protection for his followers."

"Yes, I am."

"Let's open the line for calls now and see what other secrets we can pry from Ricardo. Hello, Amanda, you're on the air."

"Hi, Kitty, thanks for taking my call!"

"No problem."

"And Ricardo, oh, my God, this is such an honor." I'd warned Rick about the hero worship. Even after all these calls, it was a bit perplexing.

"What's your question, Amanda?" I said.

"Ricardo—are you, like, hot?"

Rick blinked and looked at me with an expression that said help? I just grinned. I was the master here, and I had absolute power. I wanted to see him sweat it out. Do vampires sweat? Why didn't anyone ever ask if vampires sweat?

"Would you mind explaining the question a bit more?" Rick said, very diplomatically. I applauded him silently.

"I've seen all these movies and stuff, and the vampires in them, they're just so good-looking. So I just wondered if it was like that in real life. Are all Master vampires totally irresistibly good-looking?"

At last, Rick was smiling. He might even have been blushing a little. "I'm afraid I don't feel qualified to, ah, pass comment on my own appearance. Kitty—you want to offer an opinion?"

"He's not bad. He's got a little of that tall-dark-handsome thing going."

“Thank you. Too kind," he said, with plenty of sarcasm.

"Just keep in mind, Amanda, what vampires really want is your blood, and the way a lot of them get that is by looking as attractive as they possibly can. They use hotness as a lure. They're like those deep-sea fish with the tentacle lights."

Rick raised an eyebrow at me and mouthed the words tentacle lights?

"Anyway, moving on, next call please—"

And so it went. I had to shove the plan to the back of my mind and concentrate on the show. I wanted every show to be the best it possibly could, and having Rick on was something I'd wanted to do right from the start. That part of it, I enjoyed immensely.

After the first hour, I started to worry, because I'd expected a reaction by now. I had my cell phone ready. Dack was keeping watch at my parents' house, Ben at my mom's hospital room, and Charlie and Violet were watching Cheryl's place. They had instructions to call 911 if anything was about to go down. This was an emergency, wasn't it? I figured a bunch of wailing sirens would at least make the bad guys pause. That was all we needed—a pause during which we could evacuate.

My cell phone stayed quiet. What was happening outside the studio? Dare I ask?

Then it came. The first hornet left the nest, stinger all ready to go.

Matt cut in over my headset. "Kitty, line three's up."

That was the private line, in case someone had to get through the rest of the phone chatter to talk to me. Only a few people knew the number. But I had a good idea who this one was.

I punched the line. "Hello," I said carefully.

"Katherine, I have no idea what you think you're doing, but you will pay for this. Do you understand me? I would have left you alone but you've chosen sides and now—"

Bingo! Bait taken. Now time to set the hook. I switched the phone line over to live. "Hello, Arturo! Thanks for calling. You're on the air here at The Midnight Hour."

"Oh, no," he said. "No you don't. I won't be a party to this." His fury made his accent thicker. It lost some of its aristocratic edge, making me wonder: What had Arturo been before he'd become a vampire?

"I've got Ricardo here," I said. "Wanna talk to him?"

"Rick," Arturo said darkly, "this will win you nothing, you know that."

"Think of it as an opening salvo," Rick said.

I sat back to watch the fireworks.

"You weren't able to take over when you had an army at your back. What makes you think you can do it using a radio show?"

"Because you weren't this angry when I had an army," Rick said.

"You'll regret taking this fight into the open."

"I'm not the one who left a warehouse full of bodies for the police."

"Katherine will regret taking this fight into the open."

"She understands the risks as well." Rick and I exchanged a glance, of understanding and resolve. I felt like we were soldiers on the same battlefield. Once more unto the breach, dear friends…

"I don't think she does," Arturo said, his tone sharp. I could imagine him spitting as he spoke. "You haven't told her all that the Masters do. Yes, we control the vampires, yes we keep order. But you haven't told her everything, have you? You haven't told her about the stakes, about what else is out there, hungry for these cities—" Rick looked uncomfortable, and I knew Arturo was right. Rick hadn't told me everything. The rant reached a fever pitch. "When Denver falls because you couldn't hold them back—"

"Why are you so sure I won't be able to protect this city?" Rick countered.

"What the hell are you guys talking about?" I interrupted, dumbstruck. "Hold what back?"

They both fell silent. Oh, this was the big story. This was the secret lives of vampires coming to light for all to see. "What are you afraid of?" I prompted. "What are vampires afraid of?"

"Losing control," Rick said softly.

"Control," I said. "Is that it? Like, freaking out, going nuts, singing show tunes, that sort of control?"

"Vampires are about control," Rick said.

"Power," Arturo added. "What kind, and who controls it."

"I have news for you, guys. That's what everyone's about. Most people only aspire to having the power to control their own little lives, but there it is. The only difference is how completely enamored vampires are of their own perceived importance."

Rick started to interrupt. "Kitty—"

"You, too, Rick! You're not exempt from this. You may be better than most but you're still sitting here talking about how you know what's right and you know what's best. Well I'm sorry, but you're going to have to start taking the rest of us into account!" Whoa, that rant had been building for a while. I managed not to apologize for it; it needed to be said.

A pause hung for a moment—dead air. My thoughts had scattered, and I quickly marshaled them to try to follow my diatribe with something clever.

But Arturo spoke first. "Rick. You do not have the resolve to play this part. You want a salvo, I will show you a salvo."

He hung up.

That was when I noticed Matt waving over the board, pointing at his watch. I hadn't been watching the time, and I'd almost missed the end of the show.

I talked fast. "Right. I have about twenty seconds to explain what just happened. I'm not sure I can, except to say that yes, Ricardo here's a friend of mine and he's got some rivals out there. Any of you looking to vampirism to solve your problems, keep that in mind. You'll only trade one set for another. Stay safe out there and I'll return next week. This is Kitty Norville, voice of the night."

The on-air sign dimmed, and I could see Matt's sigh of relief from here.

"You're right, of course," Rick said quietly. "We've spent centuries ruling our worlds at the expense of others. It's a hard habit to break."

I tried to make my smile friendly. "Nice of you to say so. But we'll have to discuss the political philosophy of the whole thing later. Remember, that was only phase one."

Matt came in from the booth. "Kitty, what's going on?"

Rick and I were already on our way out the door. "I'll let you know when it's all over."

"I don't like the sound of that."

"Good. You shouldn't. Matt—do me a favor and if anything weird starts happening around here, you see any people who don't look right, anyone who shouldn't be here, or if anyone turns up missing unexpectedly, call 911. Don't wait, don't hesitate. Just call."

"Kitty, what the hell—"

"I'm sorry. I can't explain. I'll see you later." I hoped. My heartbeat felt like a jackhammer in my chest. Carl and Meg wouldn't have to lift a claw to kill me. Stress would do it just fine.

We left the studio with about four hours until dawn and waited in front of the building. Not much time for what I wanted to do. Ben was already waiting in the parking lot. Shaun pulled up in his car right on schedule, just after the show, like I told him to. My pack was growing, I thought with trepidation.

We'd ruffled Arturo's feathers, now it was time to ruffle Carl's. I had to keep moving, plowing ahead as fast as I could, before I had second thoughts. It wasn't too late to back out of the whole thing, was it? As Ben and Shaun approached, I said, "Hi, guys."

They eyed each other warily, and their gestures were uncanny. Their wolves were speaking in their sideways glances, the way they avoided staring at each other directly, the way they made sure not to approach each other, but to approach me in parallel, not coming near each other. They were sizing each other up without offering a challenge. Did they even realize they were doing it?

I made myself relax, to keep the tension in the air from spiking any more than it already had. I needed these two to cooperate. To trust each other. I needed them to be a pack, even though they'd never met each other.

"Ben, this is Shaun. Shaun, Ben." They didn't offer to shake hands. Just nodded in acknowledgment, keeping their gazes down, maintaining an easy distance between them. Their noses were working, though, their nostrils flaring.

"He's yours?" Shaun said, and I heard an unspoken question in his tone: He's your mate, your alpha, and I must defer to him as well?

"That's right," I said. He nodded, then moved a step back, giving Ben precedence. Making way.

God, this was weird.

"All right," I said. "Let's get a move on."

"Kitty, good hunting," Rick said, moving off to his BMW. He was going to the hospital to keep watch over my mom, at least until dawn. "And be careful."

"You, too."

The three of us piled into my car.

"Where we headed?" Shaun finally asked as I turned onto Highway 6 toward Golden. I hadn't told him the details. I just said I needed a warm body for an expedition. He'd been trusting enough not to ask any more questions.

"We're going to the Park and Ride on 93. We'll drop the car off and head into the hills. Then we start marking territory."

"You're kidding," Shaun said.

"Gives a whole new meaning to the phrase 'pissing contest,' " Ben said, grinning.

Shaun whistled low. "Carl's going to hate this."

"That's the idea. It's not a full moon, so he won't be out. None of the pack’ll be out. He won't know what we've done until he steps out of the house tomorrow morning and takes a big breath of air." I didn't want to be anywhere near him at that moment. If we did it right, he'd smell it on the air: foreignness, invasion, another pack moving in. He'd smell us.

"I've never done anything like this before. It sounds like fun," Ben said. I couldn't tell if he was joking. And I felt terrible, because even though he'd met Carl and Meg, he really had no idea what I was getting him into. He might have helped Cormac hunt vampires and werewolves on occasion, but he'd never had to fight for dominance as one of them. His battles were usually in courtrooms, where people followed rules.

Flying by the seat of my pants didn't begin to cover this.

"You're crazy," Shaun muttered. "We are so dead. We're so gonna die."

Ben looked at him over the car seat. "Then why are you even here?"

"We're not going to die," I said. "We'll keep moving. We won't stop long enough for them to be able to find us."

Shaun wouldn't let up. "That's fine for you to say as a human. But are you going to remember that great plan as a wolf? How am I going to remember it?"

"I'll remind you," I said, low enough for it to be taken as a growl. That and a quick glance in the rearview mirror made him settle down. He actually cringed a bit.

A girl could get a big head over that kind of power. Not now, though. I had a job to do.

"Shaun, if you're not sure about this, you don't have to do it. I'll let you out, take you back, whatever."

"No, I'm sure. I'm just nervous. That's all."

He might have said scared and it would have been as true.

"I know. Just keep thinking about the big picture. This is supposed to make everything better in the long run. This is supposed to keep people like Jenny from getting killed."

"Yeah, I know."

Ben put his hand on my thigh—a touch of comfort. I hadn't realized how tense I was until I twitched at the pressure. But his touch transmitted calm. Stay calm. This'll work.

We arrived all too quickly. Quicker than I thought we would. No traffic at 2:00 a.m. Maybe that was it.

"We can still change our minds," I said after I shut the engine off.

"You're the alpha," Ben said. "Isn't that what you keep saying? It's not up to us."

"Ben—" It came out as a whine.

"Are you guys married?" Shaun said. "'Cause you sound married."

I leaned my forehead on the steering wheel and groaned. "How did my life turn into this?" I didn't even want to see how Ben was taking the comment.

Shaun quickly said, "No, it's in a good way. Way better than Carl and Meg."

"What do they sound like when they argue?" I said.

"They don't argue. They don't even talk to each other. Compared to them, you guys are Ozzie and Harriet."

Ben patted my arm. "Come on, dear. When this is all over, we can go home and you can make me a martini and fetch my slippers."

We climbed out of the car. "Oh, no. I don't think so."

Ben glanced at Shaun. "See? No Ozzie and Harriet here."

Shaun shook his head, and I had a sneaking suspicion he wanted to laugh.

A ridge of hills and ravines ran north and west from here, leading up to the Flatirons, roughly marking the western edge of Carl's territory. He and his wolves ranged farther into the mountains on occasion. But the foothills and plains along this stretch were their favorite stomping grounds. Kicking the wasp nest. Yeah.

Wolf coiled inside me, like my insides were pacing even though I wasn't. For once, we agreed on something. She was as pissed off at Carl as I was. Carl was breaking trust with his wolves; he'd killed wolves under his protection. He wasn't a good alpha, and we had to do something about that.

I walked up the side of the hill, beginning the trek into wilderness. I sensed rather than saw Ben and Shaun hesitate, then follow. Even if one of them had spoken, had called to me, I didn't think I could answer. Not with human words. I was entering Wolf's world.

First thing was to find a den. I found one where stands of pine trees started growing, up in the hills near Coal Creek Canyon. Trees stood over a sheltered hollow. It couldn't be seen at all from downslope. We could stash our clothes and have a safe place to come and sleep it off. And it was relatively near the car for that fast getaway come morning.

I started stripping, pulling off my shirt. Shaun did the same. Ben watched us.

"This is weird," Ben said. "Doing this in front of a stranger. It's like having sex with the curtains open."

He didn't have any experience with a real pack, where naked wasn't sexual, it was just natural. He'd only ever Changed when it was the two of us. And yeah, curled up together the next morning, sex was usually involved. I couldn't blame him for making the connection. But I did anyway.

"Would you get your mind out of the gutter?"

"Can we trust him?" Suddenly he sounded serious. And he was right. This was war, and there were spies. I only knew Shaun as someone from my old life who didn't like Carl.

"You can trust me," Shaun said, his shirt off, his jeans unzipped, half undressed. "I trust her." He gave me that look that a subordinate gives his alpha. That focused gaze, waiting to be told what to do, when to jump.

I hadn't done anything to earn that trust. Not yet. I didn't deserve it. I hadn't been able to save Jenny. I nodded to him, all the acknowledgment I was able to give.

He finished undressing, and a sheen of sweat covered his skin. His hands were shifting already, thickening, and his back hunched. Ben saw it; he'd clenched his own hands into fists, and his hair was damp. He was close, too.

"Ben." I touched his hand, and it uncurled to grasp mine. I drew close to him. "I need you, okay? I need your help. I can't do this by myself."

"You seem to be doing just fine." His cheek brushed mine. His other hand caressed my back. God, I wanted him. I wanted to ditch this whole thing and run into the woods with him.

We kissed, and the touch was hot, tense, desperate. A last kiss before battle.

"Later," I whispered, hoping he'd been thinking the same thing. He nodded.

Nearby, Shaun gave a grunt—or what had been Shaun gave a grunt. In his place, a dark and silvery wolf shook out his fur and turned to us with gleaming eyes. His tail was low, questioning.

Ben was trembling, holding in his own wolf. I started unbuttoning his shirt. "Come on. It's time."

We got most of his clothes off before he fell, kicking on his pants as he shifted, bones melting and skin sliding, the other form bursting out of him, swallowing him. He didn't make a sound, kept it all in and just let it happen. Flowing like water was how I thought of it. His wolf was rusty gray, turning to cream on his nose and belly. The two wolves approached each other, heads low, sniffing. Ben growled and Shaun ducked, clamping his tail between his legs. That was all it took. Pack order established. Ben was alpha male. Weirdly, I was proud of him.

I looked at my two wolves. When I knelt, they came to me, rubbed against me, smelling me, and I stroked them. "Thank you for believing in me," I said, and maybe they understood and maybe they didn't. But Ben wagged his tail once.

Go go go—

And Wolf was right, I couldn't hold it any longer.

This is war.

This is battle, this is chaos, this is breaking taboos, edging into the territory of another pack. Seeking out this alien scent, letting it surround her—the nearness of danger makes all her hair stand on end, and a growl is ready to break loose in her throat.

And yet, she seeks it out, and the danger thrills her. She knows: We are stronger, we will win, we must.

She has a pack. A small one, but hers, and they follow, her mate and the other at her flanks. With their ground-eating strides—sometimes trotting, sometimes loping—they cover miles of ground on plain and hill. All the while,at junctures and borders, they mark. At the reeking places where the other pack has marked they especially linger.

There is joy in this as well, and she stops her followers to play, leaping at each other, snapping, yipping. Her mate finds a rabbit and they eat. Then they range again, mindful of the battle.

She feels the dawn approach rather than notes any sign of it—the lightening of the sky, the first songs of birds. Just as the urgency of war drove them for the few hours of night, the same urgency tells her they must be away from here by daylight. They must sleep, so she leads them back to their den. The three of them settle down, curled up nose to tail, touching, safe in each other's company.

I woke up in a strange place, with strange pressures around me. I lie on my side, on dry grass with pine boughs overhanging. Ben was in front of me, his head against my chest, one arm over my waist, the other tucked between us. He was snoring a little—it was awfully cute. Another body pressed close against my back, breathing deeply in sleep. Shaun lay against me, back to back.

A pack. Waking up in a dog pile of naked bodies, safe and comforted by their warmth. I'd forgotten what it was like. I wanted to revel in the feeling for hours.

But we weren't safe. We were in enemy territory, and we'd set a urinary time bomb that would be going off any minute now.

I elbowed Shaun and shook Ben. "Come on. We have to get going. Up up up, guys."

Ben groaned and took a firm grip on my arms, holding me in place while he sidled closer to me. His eyes were closed, and I couldn't tell if he was awake. Then he started necking me, working his way to my ear, where he started nibbling.

He sure knew which buttons to push. I just about melted. "Ben…this…this isn't—" Oh, come on, a little voice said…This was just fine. Make that a big voice.

Oh, no. There were so many reasons why this wasn't the time or place for this. "Ben. Wait." I pulled away and took his face in my hands. Finally, he opened his eyes. Then glanced over my shoulder, to where Shaun was sitting up and watching us.

"Don't stop on my account," he said with a laugh behind his leer.

Ben gave me a look—smirking and clearly annoyed. "I didn't sign up for this," he said, nodding at Shaun.

"You didn't sign up for any of this." I kissed his forehead.

"Ozzie and Harriet," Shaun said, shaking his head again.

I glared. "Let's get out of here."

Shaun was smiling, seeming far more content with the world than he had a right to be. "It's good to have you back, Kitty. Back and all grown up."

I thought about what I must have looked like through his eyes: I'd been weak. I'd felt small, vulnerable, at everyone's mercy. Then I disappeared for months and came back waging war. And this made him happy? He must have seen something I'd missed.

"Thanks," I said and held my hand to him. He clasped it, securing a bond of pack, of friendship. I was ready to pull both of them into a group hug, no matter how much Ben grumbled about it.

But Ben was looking out, across the hill, through the trees. "Someone's coming."

Shit. Too late. We'd waited too long.

"Who?" I whispered. The three of us had straightened, lifting our faces to the air, smelling—three wolves in human form, alert and wary, all senses firing.

Shaun said, "She's coming from upwind. She wants us to know she's here."

She. Meg, I thought in a panic. I took a deep breath, catching the smell that Shaun had found. Human and wild—lycanthrope, yes. And female. But it wasn't Meg. I'd recognize Meg. Her scent lived in my nightmares.

Meg wouldn't give us any warning. She'd pounce, and she wouldn't be alone. This was one person, and Shaun was right; she was giving us a good long approach. We waited, still and quiet, until she emerged from the trees. She was average height and build, with an edge: sharp features, wiry limbs. Her auburn hair was short, brushing around her ears. She wore a tank top and shorts, and she might have been anyone out for a morning stroll, but for the look in her eyes: hooded, anxious. Her jaw was set, and her shoulders tense, a bit like rising hackles.

"Becky," I said.

She was another one of Carl's, a couple years older than me both in chronological age and in time as a lycanthrope. She was tough, maintaining a spot in the middle to upper end of the pack hierarchy. She was one of the ones who thrived in this life. My first thought: I had underestimated him. Carl had expected something like this and sent a patrol. He was ready for us, and we'd been caught. We'd lost. Sitting here in the great outdoors, naked, along with the two men, I couldn't help but feel like I'd been caught at something illicit. That made me blush, and the blushing made me angry.

But then, she'd been the one who tried to help Jenny. What was she doing here now?

"What are you going to tell Carl?" I said. "You going to run back and tell him we're right here, easy pickings? Is that what he sent you out here to find?"

She shook her head, and her voice was low. "He didn't send me. I came out here for a walk. To think. I do that sometimes. Then I smelled you and followed you here."

I was taken aback. "Carl doesn't know we're here?"

"Oh, he will. You guys were busy last night." A smile flickered, and she looked away. To the wolves, that was a gesture of peace, of submission. It heartened me.

"You're going to tell him."

"No," she said. She licked her lips. Gaze downcast, she said, "I want to join you. Take me with you."