Kitty in the Underworld (Kitty Norville)

by Vaughn, Carrie

  Nothing. Something—fear, power, purpose, whatever—was driving her patience. Me, I wanted to pace, faster and faster, until I could wear a hole in the stone and maybe escape that way. Wasn’t going to happen, but that didn’t stop the restless burning in my muscles. If I couldn’t pace, I wanted to punch something. If I couldn’t punch something, I wanted to scream. I wanted to do them all at once. Any of that would show them I was weak, so I didn’t. Instead, I gave up. Just this battle.

  I pulled my hand back inside.

  The plastic-wrapped object she’d given me was a sandwich. The prewrapped deli kind from the supermarket. It even had a label that I couldn’t quite make out in the dark. Shit, these people probably shopped at Safeway. Pulling back the packaging, I got a better smell of it—turkey and swiss on whole wheat. All that for a cheap fucking deli sandwich.

  A thump and a click, and my “visitor” closed and latched the panel back in place. I was shut in, again. As bids for freedom went, this one had been awfully lame.

  I rubbed a hand over my face as tears fell. Just a few, burning on my cheeks. My next breath shuddered. Then I was calm again. I held it together, somehow.

  Bringing my hand to my face, I smelled her feline scent. Sensing deeper than that, I tried to find the person underneath. Female, with the ripe undertone of someone living in close quarters for a long time. She wasn’t filthy, but she was probably longing for a shower. Sweat, mustiness. A jumbled scent of others, male and female. The wolf I’d smelled before, the chill of the vampire I thought I’d sensed. Whoever they were, they’d been together long enough for their scents to blend, as if they’d become a pack. An eclectic pack, but still.

  Her scent reminded me of the werewolf army veterans I’d met, when they were at their worst: beaten down by trauma, at the edge of giving up. This group had been on some kind of campaign for a long time, and they were tired. But they must have also been incredibly determined, to go through all this. To capture me, to keep me here.

  I didn’t smell Tom on her. The only werewolves I smelled on her were me and the male we’d scented in the forest. I let myself believe that they hadn’t captured Tom as well. That gave me hope.

  One of my nails had a fleck of blood underneath it; I’d broken her skin. Despite being lycanthropes, my captors must not have been too worried about all the silver in the environment. Or maybe they were. Maybe she’d rushed off to get a bandage. Not that it mattered; a wound that small would have healed already.

  I set the sandwich aside with the bottle of water. After a day without food I should have been starving. Mostly, though, I was numb. I couldn’t feel anything at all.

  Chapter 7

  I DISCOVERED, GRATEFULLY, that my little pocket cave sloped slightly downward, away from the door. When I finally gave in and had to relieve myself, I went to the farthest end to do it. The urine pooled there and didn’t trickle back to where I was spending my time. Small favors. My jeans around my knees, I’d contorted myself into a crouch, thinking how much simpler this would be as Wolf. If I could just Change, squat to piss, howl at a moon I couldn’t see …

  After pulling my jeans and panties back up, feeling gross and wishing for home, I curled up on the ground, back toward the door, and tried to think. If she wouldn’t make a sound while I was digging nails into her arm, how could I get her to talk to me?

  Just to be doing something, I started pounding on the door again. “Somebody better come let me out or talk to me or I’m gonna start singing show tunes!” I didn’t really know many show tunes, it was just the worst thing I could think of right at the moment. A sad state of affairs.

  That only lasted a couple of minutes. My voice was still hoarse from the last round of shouting. Nothing had changed. Not the light, not the smells, not the sounds coming from outside. Except that my prison now smelled like an unflushed toilet. My headache was worse. I curled up on the floor and wrapped my arms around my head, because that seemed to still the pounding in my temples.

  If they hadn’t taken Tom, then the cavalry was on its way. I held on to that thread, slender as it was. My captors weren’t going to kill me, they had no reason to kill me. I just had to hang on.

  Somehow, I slept again.

  * * *

  THE TURKEY sandwich was rotting, slowly. It was still good, would still be good for a few more hours, and even then my lycanthropic immune system could handle just about any fun bacteria growing on it. Wolves were fond of carrion, after all. The ripe sandwich and old urine became part of the background odor of the place, and I tried to ignore them. I still wasn’t hungry.

  But that changed when they offered me something other than an aging sandwich.

  A sudden new scent of fresh blood cut through it all and fired my hindbrain, bringing me fully awake. Steaming, rich blood. I could taste it on the back of my tongue. My nerves fired with the imagined flavor. God, I wanted to hunt. Run, break out of here and make my way to open sky, track my prey, rip into it. Flesh shredding, organs bursting within my powerful jaws—

  The scent of blood awoke memories, dozens of memories, dozens of hunts in which I’d feasted. Wolf lived for the hunt; it was what we were made for.

  The walls of my cage seemed to grow smaller. My imagination, surely. Unless my captors had found some way to move the stone. Maybe they had. Maybe this wasn’t a mine at all, but a room, and they were closing the walls on me. Anything was possible. My captors, my enemies, my prey, if I could only find my way out of this cage, I would tear into them all, devour them. I licked my teeth and snarled. I could almost taste them.

  Dizziness turned my vision soft, wavering. Might have been hunger, might have been fury.

  The smell grew thicker, bloodier. Steaming, the blood rushed from a still-beating heart. I took another long, testing breath. The male wolf was there, in human form, invading the tiny territory I considered mine even if I couldn’t defend it. He had blood on his hands as well as the fur of prey—rabbit, he’d slaughtered a rabbit right outside the door. Finally, my stomach rumbled; I was starving. I gagged at the thought of pouring that blood down my throat. I needed it …

  No no no, they were doing this to me on purpose, this was another manipulation. I should have eaten that sandwich, just to take the edge off, so I could think about something other than filling the hollowness in my belly.

  The panel in the door slapped open. I jumped back, startled, but then lay flat and pressed myself close, to try to see out. The slight slope to the ground meant a rivulet of blood ran through the opening toward me. A thin stream of cooling blood that picked up dirt and grit as it went. It might even have contained tiny flecks of silver. It hardly mattered.

  I stopped the trail of blood with my finger, let the thick stuff collect on my hand. Took a good long sniff of it—I would have smelled it, if it had been poison. But it didn’t smell like poison, it smelled so good. I licked my hand, my tongue spreading to take in every drop. The taste flared through my nerves. Even after that trickle was gone, I licked my hand again, tasting the memory of it. So sharp, perfect, intoxicating.

  The man, the wolf, was still there, right outside the door, holding the slaughtered rabbit. So close, I could just take it. I resisted reaching through the opening to grab the meat from him. That would have made me far too vulnerable; it would have meant entering the territory that he controlled and leaving my own. Had to guard my own small space.

  But I wanted to kill. I wanted that meat.

  A wet thud slapped the stone as the dead rabbit fell outside the door. Just out of my reach. I could stretch my arm and brush the fluff of its fur but not take hold. They were teasing me. They could, because I was in the cage. Because I had no way out, and I was helpless.

  No, let me out, not helpless at all, let me fight—

  The bars of a cage inside my gut snapped, shattered to dust. Wolf was free now. She howls, and the piercing sound breaks from my own throat. Her claws slash at the inside of my skin.

  I double over, hugging myself, groaning. No,
please, not this, I can’t shift, I have to keep it together, stay in control. How can I stand up to them if I can’t keep myself together?

  Finally, it’s over. I scream, and all the rage that’s been building rips out of me in a throat-splitting howl. Reflexively, I pull off my shirt and sweater, shoving my jeans off in a panicked, violent seizure. Have to get free. The howl just keeps going, a lungful’s worth that doesn’t stop until I tear out of my own body—

  * * *

  There is a tiny opening to her cage, and if she fights hard enough, she can break free. She snarls, spit flying. Digs her snout and paws through the opening. Almost fits her whole head through. Almost. Her body flops, back claws scrabbling against rock, trying to push herself out. A male stands outside—an enemy. She can almost see him.

  Almost almost almost. She can’t do anything. The snarls turn to howls. The sound echoes against rock. The wood of the door bites into her skin, and she can smell the silver in the rock pressing toward her.

  A voice from her gut speaks: Calm down. Please be calm. This isn’t helping.

  She’s furious, but the other half of her being pleads. The weaker, two-legged half. This territory is strange, the situation is strange. She doesn’t know what to do, so she listens to the calming voice. Backs away from the opening, shaking out splinters caught in her fur.

  She lies on the ground, looking out to the dim light. The man is there, the other werewolf. Standing, watching. If she could see his eyes she would challenge him, but she can’t. If she could leap at him, she would tear out his throat. She pants, her tongue hanging from her mouth. Blood still stains the ground.

  When the man moves, taking a step back, she perks her ears. Tries to guess what will happen next.

  Calm.

  He kicks the dead rabbit through the hole in the door, right in front of her. She jumps back, stares. Her mind tumbles. It has to be a trick. It doesn’t smell like a trick. A soft whine, in the back of her throat. Her other half is silent.

  Blood wins out over all.

  She eats the carcass, kneading it with jaws and teeth. The blood and flesh sings through her. She forgets about all but the blood and flesh.

  Soon it’s gone, all of it but a few scraps of fur and bone. Her awareness has collapsed to the space of her own body. She paces, yawns. Wonders where the light is, there should be light, there should be a moon.

  Her mate should be here. But no, not in the cage. He’s safe, and that’s good. But she longs for him, to feel him curled beside her, breathing into the ruff of her neck. The meat feels heavy in her gut. She doesn’t want to sleep, but she doesn’t have a choice. The walls hold silver. She cringes away from them, curls up in the middle of the floor, her muscles taut. It’s all so wrong.

  She dreams of running.

  * * *

  I’D BEEN moved. The smells I woke to were different, slightly. While I still smelled the musty damp of underground, the dust and rock of the tunnels, the air had opened up. I wasn’t breathing my own waste anymore. A glow pressed against my closed eyelids.

  Starting awake, I saw a rocky room with a half a dozen small, battery-run camp lanterns resting on the floor around the edges. I squeezed my eyes shut, rubbed them, opened them again and reveled in the feeling of being able to see something, anything, clearly. This wasn’t a cave so much as a junction, a place where two tunnels came together. I was still in the mine; the pale granite walls were even, blasted out by dynamite and hammers. The lamps didn’t give much light, and the arcing ceiling was dark, the jagged surface forming weird shadows.

  I wanted to believe I was dreaming. But no, I wasn’t, because I was naked, and the cold grit of the cave floor bit into my skin. I checked myself for cuts, open wounds. Nothing that I could tell. I was alive, so the silver hadn’t gotten to me yet. But I could still sense it, in the itching on my spine.

  While propping myself on an elbow, I stayed low, curling up, sheltering myself as best I could. I didn’t know where my clothes were. I didn’t know where I was in relation to the cave I’d been in before. I looked around for an exit, for a hint of sunlight. Didn’t see anything. Two tunnels leading out, that was it.

  Four people stood on the far side of the space, maybe twenty feet away. Two women, two men, one of whom was old, decrepit. My nose flared, taking in their scents. I sneezed. Too much to process all at once.

  While I’d slept off my Wolf, they’d brought me here so they could have a look at me. No—I realized what had really happened. The rabbit, and being out of that cage, were a reward. Finally, I knew what they wanted from me. They wanted my Wolf.

  Chapter 8

  I HARDLY DARED move, not knowing what would happen when I did. Not really wanting to know. I stayed calm, kept my breathing steady. I wasn’t in a strong position here; I couldn’t rip out all their throats at once, however much I wanted to. I stayed low to the floor, crouched protectively, and stared. Finally, I had a good look at my captors.

  They were not what I expected, especially in the Gothic atmosphere of the cavern. They were startlingly … normal. Standing to my left against the far wall was the woman, the were-lion who’d brought me the water and sandwich. She was muscular and beautiful, with silky black hair knotted into a braid, sharp features, and bronzed skin. Middle Eastern, maybe. She made me think of deserts. Her clothing was simple, casual—a knit tank top and peasant skirt that had seen a lot of washing. She went barefoot. Her expression was neutral—not giving any sort of reply to my challenge.

  Next to her stood a powerfully built man—the wolf, the one who’d taunted me and driven me to shift. He wore jeans, boots, and went shirtless, showing off an impressively sculpted chest. He worked out. I thought he might have been Indian, deep brown skin, a round face. A frown to bring down mountains. His dark gaze matched my own. He’d accept any challenge I gave him. Wolf didn’t like him.

  To my right stood the other woman, and she was human, but her scent was so mixed up with the others she came across as something in between, neither one nor the other. Average height and build, hollow cheeks and tired eyes. Not getting enough sleep or food. Pale, with dirty blond hair tied back in a ponytail. She wore a tunic-type shirt over jeans, and three or four pendants on leather cords around her neck. Not pendants—amulets, cast in metal or made of twisted wire. A pentacle, a Thor’s hammer, a couple of others I didn’t recognize but were clearly symbolic of something. She was probably some kind of magician. Her hands were clenched at her sides, and her breathing was fast—she was scared. She wouldn’t meet my gaze.

  Then came the fourth one, the ancient one, standing effectively in the middle. My nose flared at his smell, which was cold, corpselike, preserved. He was the vampire, but unlike any vampire I’d ever met. He wasn’t pretty, well dressed, or haughty. Calculating, yes, with his stony gaze and iron demeanor. Powerful, I didn’t doubt. But his skin was gray, wrinkled, like paper left out in the weather. Bald, he wore a shapeless shirt and drawstring pants that made me think of hospital scrubs. He might have been ancient, or he might have simply been through hell and lived—sort of—to tell the tale. He also wore some kind of amulet around his neck, but it was too small for me to make out. If the vampire was up and about, night must have fallen. Which night, I still didn’t know.

  Here they were, the international werewolf kidnapping squad. What an eclectic, unlikely group of people. My curiosity about them and how they’d come to be working together almost won out over my extreme annoyance and my deeply buried fear. I wanted to make some jab, some clever and pointed remark. Something that would give me a tiny bit of dominance, however small. But my voice was stuck, my tongue dry and thick. Wolf still stared out of my eyes; I wasn’t fully human yet, and the words wouldn’t come. My arguments were building in my throat and would come out as a howl if I couldn’t get them out as words. My lips opened, baring my teeth. All I had was Wolf’s body language.

  I was naked, exposed, weak, and I hated it. If I just ran, I wondered how far I would get.

  The vam
pire took a step forward and drew a breath to speak. I held my ground—what little ground I had. Stared at him, without meeting his gaze. I had to stay out of his power. I wondered if he’d enslaved the others somehow, or if they were here voluntarily. This was the first time I’d really thought of a vampire as ancient. My usual, traditional first question for vampires—how old are you, really?—died. It seemed pointless here. Irrelevant. Knowing the answer wouldn’t get me out of here.

  “We gather from the far corners of the world on a dire quest. Finally, we can strike the blow that I have been preparing against the enemy for centuries…”

  If I expected an explanation or an apology—something straightforward and rational, in other words—I was disappointed. The answer to who would want to kidnap me: crazy cult. I still didn’t have any idea what kind of crazy cult it was. And I still had no idea what they intended to do with me, or what I’d have to do to get out.

  The vampire continued intoning his story, chanting a practiced speech. He had an accent, but it was light, clipped, hard to place. He spread his arms to me, a patriarch welcoming a child into the fold.

  “You—you are the heir to a great spirit, to the mother wolf who nurtured an empire, whose statue stood in the Forum for centuries, a symbol of such untold strength and loyalty—”

  “What?” I croaked, finally able to make my throat work. I didn’t know whether to lurch to my feet or fall over entirely, so I just sat there. “You mean like the Capitoline Wolf?”

  I might have handed him a birthday cake, the way his face lit up. He smiled, a hideous expression on his cracked face and thin lips. “You understand. The fates are with us.” He tipped his head back, as if beseeching the heavens in prayer. “You are our Regina Luporum. You truly are ready to join us.”

  Huh?

  My laugh came out as a hiccup. Then the dam burst, and I doubled over, pressing my face to my arm, trying to stop the hysterics. Really, it was too much. I was laughing so hard, I thought I was going to throw up. That would have been cute.