The plan was to hold Carl here long enough for Hardin to come get him. We’d come out of this with our hands clean.
“Only if he has to,” I said.
“You should have quit when I told you to. None of this would have happened, not Washington, not this. The police shouldn’t be involved in this—they wouldn’t be, if you’d just shut up. If you’d done what I told you to, I would have kept you safe.”
“Like you kept Jenny safe?”
Something changed in his expression. I’d managed to calm him—he’d stayed in one place, I’d kept him talking. But a rage burned in his eyes now. His skin flushed. The snarl returned.
“She left me.”
“You should have let her go.”
“She belonged to me—”
“She didn’t belong to you! She didn’t belong to anybody!”
Roaring, he lunged. Startled, I rushed backward, almost tripping on my own feet. He sparked the flight instinct—the two-legged, human version of it. I put up my arms to protect myself from the coming blow. Not very effective.
He grabbed my arm, swung me, and slammed me against the brick wall of the building. Stars burst in my head and my vision went dark for a second. Wolf sprang to life—run, claw, fight, rip, run—torn between fear and anger. I felt her in my bones.
“Kitty!” That was Ben. Don’t shoot, I wanted to say, but couldn’t. As soon as he turned from the henchmen to shoot Carl, they’d spring on him. He had to hold them back; he couldn’t fight them all. Becky and Shaun didn’t have guns, and I didn’t think they could take them all on.
I couldn’t speak, because Carl had his hands—thick, powerful hands—around my throat and had lifted. My feet kicked at air. Lungs fought for nonexistent breath. I gripped his wrist, dug in my nails, tried to pull his hand away, to flail at him, but he pinned me to the wall without effort. I couldn’t even look at him. He forced my face up to a fading sky.
Just when I wanted to ask where the hell Hardin was, police sirens wailed. Tires squealed. Doors slammed. Impeccable timing.
No, not timing. Intent. She’d probably waited right around the corner, out of sight, until Carl did something that they could arrest him for. Get him for assault now, prove the warehouse murders later, after they already had him in custody. I thought I was using her for muscle, but she was using me for bait. Wonderful.
“Put your hands up! Move away from her! Let her go and step away!” Five or six voices screamed that at once.
Carl’s hand tightened around my neck, and I felt the vibration of his growl.
Please, please . . .
I recognized Hardin’s voice, “Mr. O’Farrell, put down your weapon! Let us handle this!”
Then handle it, goddammit!
The voices were still shouting at Carl to let me go. We could all get shot to pieces right here. I had to assume that Hardin had issued silver bullets to her people.
Then, my back slid against the wall and my feet touched ground. Air flooded my lungs, which rattled as I gasped. But he didn’t let me go. I looked at his eyes, which were fire, bestial. His body was all sweat and musk. The fur, his wolf, were close. If he sprouted claws right now, he could rip out my throat. Slash the jugular and I’d bleed out before I hit the ground.
“Don’t do it,” I whispered. “You’ll die here if you do it.”
The cops were still shouting, “Step away now, now!”
And I thought he was going to do it, silver bullet in the back or no, I thought he was going to rip my throat out.
What happened next happened very quickly. Carl made one of those sudden moves—the ones you’re not supposed to make around the police when they’re pointing guns at you. I couldn’t guess what he planned—if he wanted to get shot, if he thought he could move faster than bullets. Or if he simply took a chance in the hopes that it just might work.
He grabbed my wrist and yanked. I flew from the wall and into the open—between him and the cops.
A gun fired.
A punch nailed into my back. I stepped forward to keep my balance. Then, fire. Fierce pain through my chest dropped me. Like something had exploded inside me. My knees cracked on the sidewalk.
Carl ran around the corner and away, defended by his shield.
“Sawyer, hold fire, hold!” That was Hardin, sounding fierce.
The world stopped for a moment. I couldn’t see anything outside of myself, I couldn’t hear anything but my blood in my ears. I was breathing fast but wasn’t getting any oxygen. Blood covered my hands—it was all over my chest, soaking my shirt, slick and red.
Shot, I’d been shot. My next breath squeaked. I ought to do something, I thought vaguely. I ought to scream or cry or something. I ought to fall down and die already.
But I stayed kneeling, staring at my own blood on my hands like it was part of a movie. Just art, or ketchup, or something. My breathing slowed, and with the fresh oxygen my vision cleared. And I realized the burst of pain had faded to an ache.
I pulled down my collar, wiped away blood, tried to find the hole—the bullet had gone all the way through between my heart and my collarbone; there was the wound, covered in caked blood. Already clotted. Already healing.
Someone’s hands touched my face and forced me to look up. I flinched, startled, because I hadn’t known anyone was there. Ben held my face and studied me with a wild gaze. His heart was racing. I could hear it.
“Kitty,” he said roughly.
I slumped, gripping his arms to keep myself upright. Every muscle had turned to molasses. My laugh sounded more like a gasp. “It wasn’t silver.”
He slumped, too. We were in danger of melting into the ground. “Not silver.”
I nodded quickly, and he pressed his face to mine. “Oh, my God,” he sighed near my ear, then kissed my cheek. I clung to him.
Hardin barked a question. “Officer Sawyer—you’re not packing silver?”
“Uh . . . no, ma’am. Didn’t have time to file the requisition form.” He sounded sheepish.
Thank God. Thank you thank you thank you . . .
“Next time, get those bullets. And don’t fucking shoot the informant!”
This wasn’t over. I felt a new pain—not from the wound, which had faded. Something else tore at my gut. Wolf. We’d been attacked. We’d been hurt. Now, it was up to her to protect us. She surged through my blood, took hold of my eyes, my senses. My whole body tensed as she seized me.
“Ben.” My voice grated through my clenched jaw. I was Changing; it was coming so fast.
He knew what was happening. He pulled me to him, held me tight, and hissed in my ear. “Keep it together. Deep breaths, Kitty. Hold it in.”
My skin was sliding, my bones melting, I thrashed at my clothes, had to get them off, had to get away—
“Hardin, get your people out of here!” Ben shouted. Finally giving in to what was happening, he ripped off my shirt and tugged at my bra.
Wrenching out of Ben’s grip, I screamed.
Dizzy, angry. Can’t see straight. Chest aches—injured. Not for long, already healing, but the pain lingers. So does the anger.
She kicks at the ropes that trap her, tangle her legs—remnants of the old shape. Hadn’t gotten rid of that false skin in time. It’s come so quickly, so unexpectedly. But she is in danger. She has to protect herself, and she can run faster on four legs than on two.
An attack, hunters on all sides of her, cornering her—Her other half recognizes the two-legged hunters with their handheld burning deaths. Must defend herself. There—the one whose hand smells hot, burns with the scent of sulfur and oil. He’s the one who hurt her.
She lowers her head and growls.
“Oh, my God,” the voice behind her says. “Becky, Shaun, stop her!”
Nothing can stop her. Her body is wind, her claws are blades, her voice is thunder.
Now her target smells like fear. Sweat has broken out on his skin. When he takes a step back, she knows she has him. She will rip his flesh and taste his bloo
d. Her lips draw back from fierce teeth and a salivating mouth as she launches herself toward her victim. She runs, her claws scraping on the pavement. Digs into the ground, leaps, stretching for him, and his scream thrills her blood. Her paws are on him, her rough pads scraping his false skin, and he falls—
A body intercepts her, knocking her away from her prey. She lands on her feet and looks. The attacker crouches, facing her, staring her down. Daring to stare her down. She pants and takes the scent of the intruder—one of her kind, one of her pack. The new female.
And before she can strike at her, to put her in her place, hands—human, naked hands—grab her from behind, pull at her, hold her. She snarls, fights, twists, slashes with claws, with teeth. Two of them hold her back. They are pack. They can’t do this, she’ll show them, she’ll show them who’s strongest—
The place is chaos. There is running and shouting. Still can’t see straight for all the chaos.
“Kitty! Hold still, just hold still!”
Even as the growl rattles her lungs, a hand on her chest and a voice by her ear make her pause.
“Sh, Kitty. It’s okay, you’re safe. You’re safe.”
She stops struggling; the two-legged wolf holds her back.
This is her mate who holds her, who soothes her. Whining softly, she turns to him, licks his hand. He tastes like home.
“Sh,” he keeps murmuring. “We’re okay. We’re going to be okay.”
He radiates calm and she believes him.
Then the whole pack is there. Her little pack, all of them with her, all of them safe. She leans close to her mate, presses her body full against him, panting shallow breaths because she’s still nervous. Still waiting for an attack. Have to trust the pack to take care of each other. She trusts her mate with all her being. Letting her muscles relax, letting the anger seep away, she settles into his arms.
“I don’t know enough about this,” he says, his voice strained. “I don’t know if she’s going to be okay.”
“She’ll be okay,” says the other. “Once she sleeps she’ll be fine. Try to get her to sleep.”
So the voice continues, close to her ear, breathing comfort into the fur of her neck. Furless, clawless hands stroke her flanks, a strange and soothing touch.
And because he smells and sounds and feels like home, she settles with him and closes her eyes.
I remembered being shot and started awake.
I lurched up onto an elbow and looked around. I was in a corner of the KNOB lobby, wrapped in a scratchy wool blanket, and curled up on the cold tile floor. Underneath, I was naked.
Ben was standing nearby, talking to Detective Hardin and a couple of other cops. Ozzie was there, too, and some other KNOB staffers. The station manager wore a worried frown and rubbed a hand through his thinning hair. Some of the cops were taking statements. Red and blue lights flashed against the front windows.
Ben turned around before I could draw breath to speak. Quickly he came over and knelt beside me. I screwed up my face and felt vaguely ashamed. I pulled the blanket tightly around my shoulders.
“What happened?” I said, my voice scratching.
“You got shot,” he said.
“I remember that. What about after?”
“You didn’t hurt anyone.”
I gave a thin laugh. “Thank God for small favors.” In truth, this relieved me immensely. I felt lighter.
Idly, he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. Bloodstains covered his shirt, complete with handprints and streaks from where I’d grabbed his arms. “How do you feel?”
“Crappy. I didn’t want to hurt anyone.” The horror of it took a long time to settle over me—Injured and frightened, I’d shifted in the middle of a crowd of people I’d have done it and not thought twice. I’d have just been defending myself. “I can’t believe I got shot.”
“Tell me about it.” He sat beside me and tucked me under his shoulder, wrapping his arm around me. I snuggled in closer. “Hardin sent a couple of cars after Carl. They’re cordoning off the neighborhood to look for him.”
“They won’t find him.”
“I know. She took the rest of his guys into custody. She thinks she’ll find forensic evidence linking them to the warehouse. She seems to be having a good time with all this.”
“She wants to try out her silver-lined jail cell.”
“Well, more power to her.”
The woman herself came over then, looking tired but smug. I had an impulse to stand—I didn’t want to have to look up at her. From wolf eye level no less. But I was too tired, and Ben was too comfortable. Blearily, I stared up at her.
Wary, she studied me, edging toward me like she might toward a wild animal. Which I supposed I was. She’d seen me shift—seen both halves of my being. I’d attacked one of her people, though the specific memory was fuzzy. But she seemed to have the intention of treating me like a human being. However much of a struggle that would be. She visibly gathered herself.
“How are you?” she said. The concern was touching.
I shrugged, then winced, because I still hurt some. My ribs felt bruised, and my whole body felt pounded. “I’ve been worse.”
“For what it’s worth, I apologize. Officer Sawyer’s going to get a reprimand. Just because you weren’t permanently hurt doesn’t mean he gets away with shooting a civilian.”
“And if he’d had silver bullets?” I said. Both Ben and I stared up at her, waiting for the answer.
“Just be glad that he didn’t.” She walked back to her people and the cleanup.
I didn’t even want to think about it. “I need my clothes.”
“They kind of got trashed. You ready to get out of here?”
I propped myself against Ben and braced against the wall to get myself to my feet. My muscles popped, and my bones creaked. Ben pulled me to my feet without effort. I let him hold me up. I’d turned Wolf twice in the last twenty-four hours. I’d never done that before, never turned a second time so soon after the first. Almost, it seemed the pieces hadn’t come back together quite right. Fur still peeked between the cracks. Wolf still looked out of my eyes. My brain felt fuzzy, the world looked strange; the shadows seemed to loom.
He must have noticed me craning my neck and squinting, trying to focus.
“You’re going to have to sleep a week when this is all over,” he said.
God, that sounded so nice . . . “I could just let Carl kill me. Sleep all I want then.”
He gave me an odd sideways look.
“Kitty! Are you all right?” Ozzie intercepted us. He was actually wringing his hands.
“I’ll be fine,” I said. Though I must have looked awful, all tangled hair and bloodstains. “So, are you worried about me, or are you really worried about your cash cow?”
He gave me a look that was half hurt, half admonishing. “Geez, Kitty, give it a rest. When I heard the gun and they told me who got shot I about had a heart attack. Don’t ever do that again.”
I smiled tiredly. “I’ll try not to. Ozzie, have you met Ben?”
Ben said, “He introduced himself while you were asleep.”
Ozzie pointed at him. “Don’t let her get shot again.”
“I think we’d better get home and cleaned up,” he replied.
Ozzie found me a T-shirt and sweats from the stash of KNOB giveaways. I could add them to the million KNOB T-shirts I already had. I was just grateful not to have to drive home naked.
During the ride home, Ben kept asking if I was okay. Huddling in the passenger seat, I kept muttering that I was fine.
Finally, he gave a frustrated sigh. “You’re damned lucky, you know that?”
Yeah, I was. I had to remember that. I smiled at him. “Thanks. For taking care of me.”
“We’re pack.”
I wished he would stop saying that. I wasn’t sure why it was starting to piss me off. He wasn’t saying anything that wasn’t true. Maybe because it sounded like a cop-out. Like if we weren’t pack, he’d have
been out of here a long time ago.
chapter 13
The car’s tires squealed as Ben swung into the parking lot of his building. With his help, I stumbled out of the passenger seat and limped toward the front door. I hurt all over. The bullet wound itself had faded to an ache, but the shock of it, the shape-shifting, and waking up on the hard floor had wracked my whole body. I wanted a very hot shower.
Ben stopped before we reached the front of the building, and I lurched to a halt beside him. I started to ask why—I wasn’t really paying attention, not like I should have been. I was lulled into a false sense of security, tucked snugly under Ben’s arm. But then I saw Cheryl marching toward us on the sidewalk. She wore her usual T-shirt and jeans, and a furious expression. I hadn’t seen that expression since she caught me borrowing her Metallic Mayhem nail polish when I was eleven.
Out of all the trouble I was currently facing, I hadn’t expected this.
“What’s she doing here?” I muttered.
“She’s your sister,” Ben said. “You tell me.”
I’d done something. Something so horribly wrong and sinister she had to come in person to chew me out. And I thought I knew what it was. “Mom went in for surgery yesterday,” I said. “I wasn’t there.” No, I was at the shooting range, learning how to be a killer.
A sudden cold washed through me, and I tried to dismiss it. If something had gone wrong with the surgery, someone would have called me right away, not waited a day.
“Cheryl, what’s wrong?” I said when she was close enough.
She put her hands on her hips. “I’ve been waiting for you to get back. I’m taking you to the hospital to see Mom since you can’t seem to be bothered to get yourself over there.” Then her eyes grew wide, and the color left her face. She was staring at Ben’s bloody shirt. The blood had turned dry and crunchy. My own shirt had a sizable spot of blood on the upper chest, where the wound was still leaking.
“Holy crap, what happened to you guys?” She started to look a bit green.
“I got shot,” I said.
“You what? Oh, my God. Why aren’t you in a hospital?” Her voice was going shrieky.
Kitty and the Silver Bullet Page 20
