Kitty and the Silver Bullet

Chapter 16

The sky was pale now. Take care of him, Cormac had said. Keep him out of trouble. How would I ever be able to face him again? What would I say? I'd gotten Ben killed. I wiped tears from my face.

How was I going to keep going without Ben?

No time for that. I am a hunter. I can already taste their blood. My mouth waters for it. I let that part of Wolf edge into my mind. Our territory, our mate, they can't do this to us.

We've learned to fight. We'll show them. Or die trying.

They lived at the edge of town, near the foothills, on a chunk of land with a backyard that opened to wilderness. This was the heart of their territory. The pack came here to run on full moon nights. Even if they weren't at their house, they'd be around here. I was betting Dack knew exactly where. Ben and Dack would have gone here to find Carl and Meg, and Carl and Meg would draw Ben here to kill him. I knew this as if I had smelled their trail the whole way.

Carl's truck was in the driveway, but the house was dark, like no one was home. But it was also the crack of dawn, so who knew. An unmarked sedan sat half a block away; someone in the front seat was sipping coffee and looking bored—Hardin's stakeout. I drove another couple of blocks. There, on the street outside a state park trail-head, Ben's car was parked.

My heart lurched and a new wave of nausea struck me. Like morning sickness, like a miscarriage. Impending death, settling in my gut.

I passed Ben's car and drove a few yards farther, peering through the cottonwoods to the open field beyond, hoping to spot something, looking for signs that they were near. Couldn't see anything. I'd have to go looking for them. I stopped, shut off the car, and reached for my bag.

If you need to kill someone, make sure the thing's loaded. That was what he'd said. I remembered all his instructions, like he was standing behind my shoulder, whispering to me. I could feel his arms around me, guiding my own.

I popped the clip. Full up, bullets gleaming silver. Slid it back into place and chambered a round.

Sure didn't take long to get into this gun thing, did it? I wished it were over so I could curl up and be sick. But the Wolf whispered, I am a hunter.

The world wavered to gray again. It was the dawn, it was the Wolf's sight. It drove me on. Steadied me. Could only think of one thing now: them, and death.

"Rick? Rick, what are you doing here?" Dack came through the stand of cottonwoods, walking toward the street. He saw the BMW, recognized it, assumed.

My first catch.

I stepped out of the car. Thank God the BMW was low to the ground—I could actually look over it without appearing ridiculous.

"Rick's not a morning person. You know that," I said.

Dack froze, and his eyes grew round. He hadn't expected to see me. Absolutely hadn't expected to see me.

"Where's Rick?" he said carefully.

"The basement of Obsidian."

"What—"

"Arturo's gone. Rick's ordered Mercedes out of town. And we know all about you." I rested the gun on the roof of the car. "You should have sided with the strongest vampire."

He ran. Didn't even hesitate. Flat out sprinted toward Ben's car. Quickly—belatedly—I raised the gun and fired. Squeezed the trigger, and again, and both times the weapon jumped in my hand. Forgot Ben's whispering voice, everything he taught me. Didn't hit Dack—one of the trees shredded splinters, where I accidentally shot it instead. By then Dack had safely climbed into Ben's car and had lurched it around in a U-turn to drive away.

Son of a bitch had stolen Ben's keys.

Ben.

I let Dack go and ran to the trees. Did some quick math—fired twice, fifteen rounds, thirteen left. Should be enough. If I could keep my aim straight, I only needed two. I followed my nose.

There they stood, in a field on the other side of the cottonwoods, out of view of the street. All three of them. Ben was on his feet—but Carl was holding him there, standing behind him, wrenching both his arms back and pinning him immobile so Meg could torture him. Blood covered her, spattering her face and soaking her clothing. She was letting her wolf slide to the fore, and her hands had turned to claws. She had been slashing at Ben. I was twenty paces away, but I could make out wounds. He had cuts, parallel lines across his cheeks and across his neck as if someone with claws had grabbed him there and squeezed. His shirt was shredded, dripping with blood.

She had been taking him apart, piece by piece, while Carl held him still.

I painted this scene by inference, because they had paused. Meg had taken a few steps away from Ben—probably drawn by the sound of gunfire, trying to decide whether to go see what was wrong.

I wanted to watch Ben, find some sign that he was moving, that he was going to be all right, that they hadn't gone too far and that his injuries wouldn't kill him. We were less than a mile from where T. J. had died, after Carl ripped out his heart. I couldn't watch that again. I couldn't take that happening again. It was all I could do not to scream in agony.

Meg saw me and snarled. Beyond words.

Dack had delivered him, and they were dealing with him. Then, Ben's keys in hand, Dack was probably leaving to go get me, lure me out here on some pretense. Maybe he'd say he'd help me rescue Ben. That had probably been part of their deal with Arturo—Carl and Meg could keep the pack, but they had to get rid of me and Ben. Or maybe it had been Mercedes's idea. Like Rick, we were too independent, too much trouble. She sent her minion to get rid of us.

They'd planned on killing the three of us—me, Ben, and Rick—the same night we planned on killing them. It had all come down to who got there first.

I had a flash: all the things I could say to Meg, all the mercy I could show her—stop, get away from him, don't make me do this. Get out of Denver, you get the same deal Carl gave me, go away and never return.

She moved toward me, her bloodied hands clenched, shoulders tight like hackles, and I sensed the attack she was about to make—the tensing muscles, the quickening stride. I stood my ground. She was so fixated, so high on adrenaline and victory, she didn't see the gun I held at my side, behind my thigh, out of sight.

She thought she had the power here, but she didn't. That knowledge gave me strength.

This time, I was calm, and Ben's instructions whispered at me. Take a breath. Hold the gun in both hands. Aim. Exhale slowly. It only took a second. Her eyes registered a moment of surprise. She hadn't expected to see a weapon.

I aimed for her head. Fired. Fired again.

One bullet hit her shoulder, another her chest, sending out sprays of blood. She spun back and fell. Didn't even cry out.

Carl ducked, flattening himself on the ground. Released, Ben fell beside him—not moving. I choked on a cry.

Meg writhed on the ground. I kept my distance. The gun was warm in my hand. I held it straight before me, sighting down the barrel. The wounds hadn't killed her. I'd have to finish it. I didn't want to have to do this, please, God, don't make me do this…

Then, she wailed. Seized by pain, she arced her back, flung out her arms, clutching at the grass. Her head tipped back, and her mouth opened wide, screaming. I smelled something—ill and rotten, it came from her, growing until it vied with her normal human-wolf scents. The wounds didn't smell just of blood. Sickness oozed there, too, something sour and burning, growing to be overpowering.

I stepped closer.

Meg didn't notice. All her muscles clenched, pulling her body into a trembling, fetal form. The wounds, marked by bloody splatters, had blackened. The veins in her neck had blackened, showing the trail of poison carried from the wounds by her bloodstream. In another moment the searing trails of silver poisoning traced down both her arms, into her face. Under her clothing, they would soon mark out her whole body.

She stopped shaking. Her eyes and mouth had frozen open, and her fingers remained tensed in the shape of claws. They were only fingers now, harmless, and covered with blood.

"Oh, my God," breathed Carl. I turned to look at him, and he scuttled away from me. Afraid of me. I wasn't even pointing the gun at him.

Oh, this moment was a long time coming.

Moving toward him, I raised the gun, aimed it. I forced myself to step slowly, exhibiting calm, exhibiting power, when all I really wanted to do was throw myself to the ground at Ben's side. Or let Wolf come out and rip into Carl. I could almost feel his blood on my tongue.

Ben moved, starting to sit up—alive. He was alive. He clenched his jaw, grit his teeth, bent over in the wracked pose that meant he was fighting his wolf, trying to keep from shifting. All that pain and anger called his wolf up, and he was fighting it. I couldn't go help him yet.

On his feet now, Carl was still backing away.

"Kitty," he said, his voice sounding different than I'd ever heard it. Tighter. Higher. Fearful. Close to panic. "Don't…don't do this. I know you don't want to do this. Kitty."

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.

"Getting there." He showed no inclination to try the next step of struggling to his feet, but that was fine. We could stay here awhile. We were safe now.

"What are you doing here?" I said, choking on the lump in my throat. "All of you." A couple of the wolves had perked up their ears, listening to us.

"Mick was watching the house, but when the cop got there he went into the hills. Lost phone reception, so Becky and Wes came looking for him. They caught Carl and Meg's scent and followed them. Then Rick called me about Ben and Dack. He said he sent the cops here as well. They should be here any minute."

I let out a bitter laugh. Rick probably thought calling the cavalry made up for sending Ben into danger in the first place.

"Thank you," I said, instead of swearing a blue streak.

"You looked like you were doing just fine," Shaun said.

I shrugged. To be honest, I was glad to not have to shoot Carl in the end. I didn't regret not being the one to pull the trigger on him.

"Wolves hunt in packs," I said, and left it at that.

Police sirens howled, far at first, but quickly growing closer. Sounded like three or four cars.

I sighed, resigned. I didn't know how I was going to explain all this.

"Wes!" Shaun called out to one of the pack who was still human. The man stood, displacing a couple of wolves who'd settled in near him. Wes trotted over. "Help me clean up."

Before moving off to where Meg lay, Shaun said to me, "We'll take care of it."

The two men pulled Meg's body off the ground, hoisting its arms over their shoulders. Meg's long, dark hair fell forward, masking her face. Quickly they dragged her into the hills, out of sight. There were places they could make bodies disappear. The pack cleaned up its messes. I watched her go, surprised at the hate still welling in me at the sight of her. Gone, she was gone, I had to remind myself. She couldn't hurt us anymore.

Ben brought me back to earth.

"Nice of them to give us some warning," Ben said. "It's Detective Hardin, isn't it?"

"Oh, probably."

"Should we go meet her? Where'd you put the gun? Ergh—" He tried to get to his feet, then slumped back, halted by pain.

"I dropped it. I'll look for it in a minute. Hardin’ll take care of herself."

Sure enough, five minutes later, Hardin and a half-dozen officers came from the street, emerging around the cottonwoods. They fanned out, like they expected resistance in force, and they all had weapons drawn.

The wolves, the pack, had gone, fading into the hills. Only Ben and I remained, covered in drying blood, sitting in the dry summer grass, drenched in the morning light.

I put my hands harmlessly in the air and tried not to look like a target. "Hi, Detective."

"Kitty? What's going on here? Is everything okay? Oh, my God!"

She'd gotten her first look at us. We were a mess.

"It's over. It's all over," I said.

She hesitated, clearly at a loss for words. Not that I could blame her. Frankly, I didn't much care what she made of all this anymore. She could figure it out on her own.

"Do you need to go to a hospital?" she said finally, picking what seemed to be the most immediate problem.

Ben wore a punchy grin. Either he was feeling better or he'd completely lost it. "Naw. I just need to spend a day in bed with my girlfriend taking care of me."

Aww, he was so cute. A day in bed…sounded great. I wondered—was he too hurt to cuddle?

I asked, "Do you need us for statements or anything or can we go?"

"I ought to lock you both up," she said.

I batted my eyelashes innocently. Please, no more, just let me sleep…

She sighed. "Go. But I'll call you later."

"Thanks. Oh—and Dack's still loose," I said.

Hardin shook her head and smiled. "My guy staking out the house caught him speeding in a car I suspect is stolen. We've taken him into custody."

"Silver-painted cell?"

"You got it."

"And everyone lived happily ever after," Ben said, smiling vacantly.

Wow, I needed to get him home before he really did lose it. "Come on, Prince Charming." He had to lean on me and move very slowly, but he managed to stand. He was creaking like an old man.

"Don't forget the gun," Ben said.

Hardin looked at me. Watched me the whole time while I hunted around in the grass. I finally found it by the smell of spent powder.

"Do you have a permit for that?" she demanded.

"Yes, I do," I said quickly, returning to Ben's side.

She opened her mouth, pointed at me like she was going to say one thing. Then she shook her head. "You stay out of trouble. Try to stay out of trouble."

I smiled. "Thanks, Detective." I pulled Ben's arm around my shoulder and encouraged him to lean on me as we walked.

I couldn't guess what Hardin and her people would make of this. They'd find a lot of blood on the ground. A few shell casings. But no bodies. Nothing else to pursue. It ended here. Maybe, finally, it ended here.

Ben and I traveled to the street by the trailhead, and I walked him toward the BMW.

"Wow. You upgraded," Ben said.

"It's a loan."

"I hate to get blood all over that nice leather seat."

Too late. I'd already opened the door and lowered him into the passenger seat. "It's Rick's car. He'll appreciate it."

As we pulled out to the road and headed for home, Ben murmured, "The world looks better in the light, doesn't it?"

Morning was progressing nicely. In the east, the sun had risen fully, and the sky had finally turned blue. I glanced at him—he'd closed his eyes, and his breathing had turned deep and regular. He'd fallen asleep.

I smiled. "Yeah, it does."